Page 9 of The Firefighter’s Forever

The way I said his name when I came.

My face heats so fast I have to press both palms over it.

I don’t regret it. That’s the problem. Regret would be easier. I could tell myself we got carried away, that it was a mistake, that the past made everything feel more intense than it really was.

But I liked it. I liked all of it. And that makes the panic worse, because I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with the fact that I slept with Lucas after one dinner. I came home to figure out my life, not complicate it with the boy who used to know every version of me and the man who now knows what I sound like when I fall apart under him.

Lucas shifts behind me, his arm tightening for half a second before he wakes. His mouth brushes the back of my shoulder in a sleepy, affectionate touch that makes my throat close.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” I barely whisper.

He goes still. I feel the change in him. The relaxation fades, replaced by alertness so fast it’s startling. He lifts himself on one elbow and looks down at my face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Harmony.”

Of course he doesn’t believe me. I sit up, pulling the sheet with me. “It’s just morning.”

His gaze moves toward the closed bedroom door, then back to me, and I watch him come to the wrong conclusion. “Your parents back?”

I nod.

“Okay.” He sits up, calm and already solving a problem I haven’t actually named. “I’ll head out before they realize I stayed over.”

“Lucas, you don’t have to⁠—”

“It’s all right.” He reaches for his clothes, moving quietly. “I’ll call you later.”

The words should reassure me, but they only twist the knot in my stomach tighter. He gets dressed, then leans over the bed and brushes a kiss against my forehead.

“Get some more sleep,” he says.

Then he slips out.

I sit there in the tangled sheets, listening to the faint creak of the hallway floor and the careful opening of the front door.

A day later, I get to the park early with two coffees and a stomach full of nerves. The day is bright, cool, and too pretty for the conversation I’ve been practicing since I texted Lucas yesterday. He’d called a few hours after he left, just as he promised, and I let it go to voicemail because I couldn’t make myself sound normal. Then I spent the rest of the day staring at my phone, drafting and deleting messages until I finally asked if he wanted to meet up after his shift.

Now I’m sitting on a bench near the walking trail, one coffee cooling beside me and the other untouched in my hands. Every few minutes, I rehearse the same words in my head. Last night was nice. No, too mild. Last night was amazing. Too honest. I think we should be careful. Too vague. I value our friendship. Too formal.

By the time I see him walking across the grass toward me, every version has abandoned me.

He’s in a dark T-shirt and uniform pants, his hair lightly damp from a shower, his large presence enough to make several people glance his way as he passes. My heart immediately starts behaving as though I didn’t invite him here to create distance. He spots me, and he brightens, the kind of brightness that makes everything harder.

“Hey,” he says when he reaches me.

“Hi.” I stand too quickly and nearly spill coffee on my hand. “I got you coffee.”

He takes it from me, smiling. “Thanks.”

For a second, neither of us speaks. He studies me over the lid of his cup, and I can tell he’s already reading too much from my face.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks carefully.