Page 58 of Second Alarm

---

"Hanna — "

"Shh." I pull him back.

"Your hand is on my — "

"Yes, I know, shh — "

"Cal is in the kitchen — "

"He's making pasta. He's going to be making pasta for another twenty minutes. He doesn't know how to make pasta in under twenty minutes. Shh."

"The door doesn't lock from inside — "

"I'm aware."

"Hanna."

"Shut up."

I kiss him. I kiss him like a teenager. I'm not a teenager. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old paramedic kissing a thirty-three-year-old firefighter against a shelf of pillowcases at Station 7 on a Tuesday night while my brother boils pasta sixty feet down the hall, and the part of me that should absolutely be in charge of my body right now has filed for an unscheduled personal day and isn't responding to any of my internal attempts to reach her.

Ty lets me kiss him for only a few seconds. Then he puts both hands on my shoulders and holds me back at arm's length with the firm patience of a man with responsibilities.

"Out," he whispers.

"No."

"Out, Hanna."

"I haven't — "

"Hanna, we're going to — "

"One minute, Ty — "

"No." He holds the arm's length steady. "I'm trying to save both our jobs. Out. You first."

I let him go, smooth my hair and my uniform in one sweep, take one steadying breath that isn't steady at all, and look at him in the half-darkness. He looks back with that face — the one he makes when he's trying to be serious and can't quite manage it all the way.

"Tomorrow," I say. "After shift. Your place. Three p.m."

"I'll be there."

"Tell Cal you have a dentist appointment."

"Cal has a sixth sense about my appointments. I swear to God, he's caught me three times in ten years — "

"We need a code."

"A what."

"A code. A signal. For going forward. Our infrastructure."

"Our — " He tips his head.

"I'm running an operation. We need signals."

"You've gone insane."

---