Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I stare at the window, knowing it wasn’t that long ago that I stood on the other side. Watching. Picturing what it would be like to hold her. To be with her. And now here I am, her warm body pressed against mine, her soft breathing soothing the raging guilt I still battle. The guilt of my past actions—the watching, the secrecy—tugs at the edges of my consciousness. I know I’ll have to come clean eventually. But for now, I push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the feel of Chloe in my arms, the scent of her hair, the rhythm of her breathing.
As I drift off to sleep, my mind wanders to the future. I imagine more nights like this, more Christmases spent with Chloe. I want this—want her—more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But the weight of my secret hangs heavy.
Morning comes too soon. The alarm on my phone chimes softly, and I carefully extricate myself from Chloe’s embrace. She stirs, mumbling sleepily.
“Shh,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you later at the station and will text you the address.”
She nods, already drifting off again. I dress quietly, pausing at the door to look back at her. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow on her sleeping form. My heart swells with emotion.
I don’t want to fuck this up.
Please don’t let me fuck this up.
Chapter Thirty-One
Chloe
I’ve never walked into a fire station before. Walked past, driven by, but never really paid attention to the exterior and how it differs from other buildings. The large red bay doors dominate the facade, each wide enough to accommodate a massive fire engine. Above them, a row of windows reveals glimpses of the second floor, where I imagine firefighters spend their downtime between calls.
It’s Christmas, and I’m here for dinner with the crew and their families, but I’m uncertain if I overdressed or underdressed. I didn’t ask Jack what the dress attire was and felt silly sending a text after he left this morning to ask.
I take a deep breath and push open the side door, the one meant for people rather than trucks. The warmth hits me first, along with the mingled scents of food and . . . man. Voices and laughter spill out from further inside, and I follow the sounds down a short hallway.
The community room is decked out in full holiday splendor. A massive Christmas tree dominates one corner, its lights twinkling merrily. Garlands drape across the ceiling, and a long table groans under the weight of potluck dishes. I spot Jack across the room, chatting with a couple of his colleagues. He’s wearing navy pants, and his navy fire T-shirt is stretched across his broad shoulders. A wave of relief washes over me; my outfit of a simple red sweater and black slacks seems to fit right in with the casual yet festive atmosphere.
Jack catches my eye and his face lights up with a smile. He excuses himself from his conversation and makes his way over to me, weaving through the small clusters of people scattered around the room.
“You made it,” he says warmly, pulling me into a quick hug. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with a hint of smoke envelops me. “I was starting to worry you might have gotten lost.”
“Sorry I’m a little late,” I reply, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “I, uh, spent more time than I’d like to admit second-guessing my outfit choice.”
Jack chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, you look perfect. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”
As we move through the room, I’m struck by the sense of camaraderie that permeates the air. These people aren’t just coworkers; they’re a family. Children dart between the adults’ legs, their laughter punctuating the steady hum of conversation. The firemen are in the large industrial-style kitchen cooking while the fire wives and girlfriends stand nearby chatting casually. Jack introduces me to so many people that the names start to blur together, but everyone is warm and welcoming. I find myself relaxing, drawn into conversations about holiday traditions and funny stories from the firehouse.
It’s quite the scene watching four firemen in their casual uniforms moving about the kitchen with grace. The food smells amazing and I can’t help but be impressed by their culinary skills. Jack notices my gaze and leans in close, his breath warm against my ear.
“Firefighters make the best cooks,” he whispers with a wink. “We’ve got plenty of practice feeding hungry crews after long shifts. It’s a requirement of the job.”
“To cook?”
He nods. “We all take turns cooking dinner, so yeah, we learn really quick how to cook. Tonight we all pitch in for you guys—our guests.”
“Can I help in any way?”
“No. You just get yourself a drink over there,” he points to a table with sodas and tea, “and I’ll go check on the pumpkin pies I made.”