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I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to pull it off. Frankly, I’m still kind of amazed that I did. Who knows, maybe Cupid was looking out for me and helped me out. Anyway, as the fireman who was giving me the tour was showing me their sleeping quarters, I walked past one particular room and a shiver ran up my back. And I justknewit was my fireman’s room.
When no one was looking, I slipped in, left the valentine on his pillow, and slipped out.
Now, as I sit in my apartment, I laugh as I think about what I did. My fireman is a grown man, and I’m sure he doesn’t give a crap about getting a valentine. But I’m hoping that maybe it made him smile. That’s something I’ve never seen him do before—every time I get a glimpse of him, he always has such a serious look on his face. He’s always either scowling, or shaking his head, or rubbing the back of his neck in apparent frustration.
There’s so much I want to know about him. What is his family like? What made him want to be a firefighter? What does he do on his days off? Of course, before I ask him any of that, I need to find out his name. I know I could have asked when I was at the firehouse. It wouldn’t have been difficult to find out. But I want to hear him say it. I bet it’s something big and burly. A man like him doesn’t have a quiet, ordinary name.
My fork blindly searches for another piece of pasta, but finds none. I look down and see an empty tray. Picking up the tray, I carry it into the kitchen to rinse it out and toss it in the recycling bag under my sink. Then I get a bowl out of my drainboard and pull out a tub of my favorite raspberry chocolate truffle ice cream from my freezer.
I dish out two scoops, then decide to put one back. I carry the bowl over to my spot by the window and get settled against the pillow I left there. The last hints of daylight are almost completely gone from the sky, and the street below glows from the street lights. Warm lights also glow from the firehouse across the street.
I savor each spoonful of ice cream, letting the flavors melt on my tongue as I dreamily watch the street below. A few people walk by on the sidewalk, and at one point I hear the hoot of a distant owl, but other than that, it’s a quiet evening.
Then I hear a door open, a few footsteps, and a rustling sound.
I see some movement on the far side of the firehouse, but it’s too hard to make out any specifics because it’s so dark over there. I’m guessing it’s probably someone taking out the trash. Yep. There’s the sound of a big plastic garbage lid slamming down.
Out of the darkness walks a giant figure. I almost don’t recognize him at first. But of course it’s him—there’s no one else with a stature like him. My heart trips as he walks into the light.
He stops and leans his weight against the brick exterior of the firehouse, tilting his head back against it. His eyes close as he rests there. That familiar serious expression is on his face, but it looks like he’s thinking hard about something, trying to figure something out.
I keep watching him, every part of me frozen still except for my pounding heart.
After several minutes, he opens his eyes. He looks out into the darkened street for a moment…
…and then he looks up at me.
I gasp as our eyes connect. Something shimmers through my body, a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. What do I do? Feeling uncertain but wanting to do something, I set down my ice cream bowl and hold up a hand to give him a little wave.
He doesn’t wave back. But he’s still looking at me. And now he’s pushing himself away from the wall.
He takes a step in my direction. Then another step. One slow step at a time, his feet carry him across the street to the sidewalk in front of my building.
My heartbeat grows faster as he comes closer. My mind is whirling, a million possible things that I could say to him tangling up all together. I’m so overwhelmed by his approach that I don’t know if I’ll be able to say anything at all.
I swallow, my view of him now better than it’s ever been. He’s standing right below my window, staring up at me with dark gray, gorgeously intense eyes. His jaw is set firmly, his enormous shoulders held taut, his large feet planted heavily on the ground. Light from the nearest streetlight seems to shrink away from him.
When he opens his mouth to speak to me, my own mouth goes dry.
3
THORNE
“It was you,” I say, the words coming out with the roughness of gravel.
The curvy redhead sitting in the second-story window blinks at me, opens her mouth, but gives me no reply. There’s a stunned look in her eyes, but there’s no fear in those hazel irises of hers. Amazing.
“Tell me your name,” I say.
She licks her lips and opens her mouth again. This time, she’s able to speak.
“My name is Sunny,” she says.
For fuck’s sake. Zeke couldn’t even get her name right.
“Thorne,” I say, gesturing to myself. “What’s your apartment number?”
She pauses. “Are you coming up?”
