The question catches me off-guard. Not because it's difficult to answer, but because I'm not used to anyone asking. To anyone caring what thoughts move behind my silence.
"That I didn't expect this," I answer honestly. "You. This night."
"Rescuing teenagers in blizzards?"
"Finding someone who makes silence comfortable again."
Her expression softens, understanding blooming in her eyes. "I know what you mean. There's a difference between emptiness and peace."
"And this is peace," I say, not a question.
"Yes," she whispers. "Even with a storm outside and a generator threatening to quit and the crew due back any minute, this feels like peace."
The mention of the crew makes me glance at the clock on the wall. Nearly 8 PM. Chief had said they'd be back within the hour, and that was nearly an hour ago.
Denise follows my gaze. "How long before they return?"
"They should be here by now. But it depends on the road conditions."
She sighs, pressing a kiss to my chest before sitting up. "I suppose that means we should probably get dressed."
"Probably," I agree, but make no immediate move to follow. Instead, I allow myself the luxury of watching her gather her clothes—the confident way she moves, unembarrassed by her nakedness, the small smile that plays at her lips when she catches me looking.
She laughs, throwing my shirt at me. "Up, Engineer. I'd rather not have the entire Whitetail Falls Fire Department find us in a compromising position."
The thought of Logan's merciless teasing is enough to get me moving. I pull on my pants, still slightly damp from the rescue, and button my shirt with practiced efficiency. When Denise runs her fingers through her tousled hair, attempting to restore order, I stop her with a gentle hand.
"I like it," I say quietly. "Like this."
Color rises in her cheeks, but she drops her hands. "Tousled and wild?"
"Especially that." I allow myself to touch the wild strands, feeling their softness between my fingers. "Reminds me of what just happened between us."
Her smile turns knowing. "As if either of us could forget."
We're nearly dressed when the sound of an engine outside makes us both freeze. Headlights sweep across the frosted window, momentarily painting the room in harsh brightness before fading.
"They're back," Denise says, hurriedly straightening her sweater.
"Come on." I take her hand, leading her toward the door. "Let's get downstairs before they come looking."
We make our way through the narrow corridor to the kitchen. The storm seems to have quieted somewhat, its fury spent, though rain still taps steadily against the windows. I start the coffee maker while Denise begins exploring cupboards.
"Do you think they'll be hungry?" she asks, finding some packaged cookies and setting them on a plate.
"Starving," I confirm. "Cold, wet work always leaves you hollow."
The casual domesticity of the moment catches me off-guard, her moving with growing confidence between refrigerator and counter, me measuring coffee grounds, both of us preparing for the return of people who are, to me at least, family. It feels right in a way I couldn't have anticipated.
She belongs here, somehow. Has from the moment she walked through the door with those batteries and that smile.
"What?" she asks, catching my gaze.
"Just thinking," I answer, pouring water into the reservoir. "How different tonight would have been if your car had started."
She pauses in her preparations, turning to face me. "Would you have stopped me from leaving?"
The question carries weight beyond its simple words. I consider it honestly.
