She snaps.
“Perfect,” she chirps. “Our own firehouse fairy tale.”
Clay mutters, “Not a fairy tale.”
She winks. “You say that now.”
She bustles off.
I look up at him. “You hate this.”
He looks down at me. “You needed it.”
My heart does that traitorous flutter.
I want to say something flirty. I want to bite, tease, make him roll his eyes.
Instead, what comes out is soft. Too soft.
“Thank you,” I say.
His eyes flicker.
He tries to make it nothing. “Just keeping up appearances.”
“I know,” I say, still holding his gaze. “Still. Thank you.”
The air thickens again.
I don’t know which of us moves.
One second we’re two inches apart; the next we’re one. The fire sound fades. The chatter blurs. All I can see is his mouth.
His eyes drop to mine.
“Ember,” he says, warning.
“Yes?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to break my own rules.”
“What if Idowant that?”
His breath shudders out.
Then he does something that is so on-brand Clay I almost laugh.
He takes a step back.
Breaks the tension like he’s severing a wire.
