Page 10 of The Firefighter’s Forever

I breathe in. “So…the other night was really nice.”

His expression stills.

Damn it.

“More than nice,” I add quickly. “It was good. Really good. I just think maybe we should slow down.”

He doesn’t move. “Okay.”

“I mean, we have history, and everything feels familiar, but it also doesn’t. I’m back home trying to figure out what I’m doing with my life, and I’m not sure it’s a great idea to rush into something like this.”

His jaw tightens.

I keep going because if I stop, I might not finish. “I think it would be smarter if we moved forward as just friends. At least for now.”

He looks down at his coffee, then back at me, and the smile he gives me is almost convincing enough that someone else might believe it.

I don’t.

“Friends,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I can do friends.”

The words land too casually.

“Lucas.”

“What?” He lifts one shoulder. “I’ll survive.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His voice gentles. “If that’s what you need, that’s what we’ll do.”

Relief hits me, followed by something that feels far less comfortable. “Thank you.”

“Don’t feel bad for asking for what you want.”

I look down at my coffee because looking at him is too hard. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t.”

His reassurance should make me feel better. It does, a little. It also makes my chest ache.

“So we’re okay?” I ask.

He nods. “We’re okay.” Then he smiles. “Does being friends mean I still get the coffee?”

I laugh because he clearly wants me to, and because I need the release. “Yes, Lucas. Friends can have coffee.”

“Good. Because this is the only thing keeping me upright after that shift.”

We sit on the bench together, close enough that I can feel the space between us as a living thing. He tells me about a call involving a cat stuck on a roof, and I tell him about accidentally running into my tenth-grade English teacher at the grocery store. The conversation works. It almost feels normal.

Almost.

When he eventually walks me to my car, he doesn’t touch my back. He doesn’t take my hand. He stays exactly the careful distance I asked for, and I hate how much I notice.