Page 75 of Anything But Lonely

“This is Jack,” Anderson says, gesturing toward him. “He’s here to make sure I don’t promise these kids they can take a fire truck home.”

Jack doesn’t even blink. “I’m here because somebody has to stop him from telling them firefighters get unlimited ice cream.”

A little boy near the front gasps. “You don’t?”

Anderson points at Jack. “Look what you’ve done.”

Jack shrugs, but he doesn’t bother arguing further.

The kids laugh, and even though Jack barely changes his expression, I catch the smallest hint of amusement in his eyes.

“We’re going to teach you what to do if there’s ever a fire in your home,” Anderson continues. “How to stay safe, how to get out, and how to practice those skills inside our Survive Alive House.”

Crew shifts higher against me, completely captivated.

“First question,” Anderson says. “Who knows how a fire can start?”

Every hand shoots into the air.

I’m watching Crew’s face when I feel someone step into the crowd beside me.

And then I see her.

Emerson.

For a second, everything else fades—the kids shouting, the firefighters talking, the parents laughing around us.

She’s wearing a pink sweater underneath a black trench coat, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. Her nose is rosy from the cold, and something about that tiny detail feels more intimate than it should.

Like proof that she’s real. That she’s actually standing here.

I haven’t seen her since the night I left.

Since the way she looked at me in the parking lot.

Since the way she quietly asked me to come in, and I walked away anyway.

Her eyes find mine.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then Crew shifts in my arms, breaking the spell.

Emerson’s gaze drops to him, and a soft smile pulls at her lips.

“Hey, champ,” she says quietly, not wanting to interrupt the call and response happening around us with the two firefighters and the crowd of kids.

Crew immediately reaches toward her. “Ems!”

She laughs as he practically launches himself in her direction, and I have no choice but to let her take him from my arms.

The ease of it—the way he trusts her, the way she fits into this moment like she was always supposed to be here—does something uncomfortable to my chest.

“Glad you made it,” she says, looking back at me.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “Apparently we missed the part where this wasn’t just a quick stop at the station.”

A small smirk tugs at her mouth as her eyes go to the firefighters at the front.