"We should finish up here," I say. "It's getting colder."
We complete the remaining checks efficiently, moving in a rhythm that feels surprisingly natural. When Denise passes me a wrench without being asked, anticipating my need exactly, I feel a flicker of something I can't immediately identify.
"Last one," I say, closing the access panel. "Just need to check the—"
A deafening crack of thunder directly overhead cuts me off mid-sentence. The lights flicker violently, plunging us into darkness for three heartbeats before the generator surges, stabilizing the power once more.
In those suspended seconds of blackness, Denise gasps, startled. My hand finds her arm instinctively, steadying her. When the lights return, we're standing close, my fingers wrapped gently around her forearm, her free hand having somehow landed against my chest.
"You okay?" My voice comes out lower than intended.
"Fine." She doesn't move away immediately. "Just... not a fan of sudden darkness."
I release her arm slowly, reluctantly, the moment stretching like taffy between us.
"Generator's solid," I say, stepping back. "We should be fine."
Denise nods, her eyes lingering on my face a beat too long. "Right. I should probably get to the comm room before Ramirez sends a search party."
"After you check in, you should eat something." I gather the tools, returning them to their places with methodical precision. "The storm could last all night."
The walk back through the corridor feels different. I find myself noticing things I normally wouldn't: the curve of her neck as she glances over her shoulder at me, the way her steps match mine naturally, the small space between us that seems to hold its own gravity.
Denise pauses at the doorway.
"I'll just be a few minutes," she says. "Need to check in with Ramirez, see what's happening across town."
I nod. "Kitchen's down the hall. I'll see what I can salvage for dinner."
I watch her disappear into the comm room, then continue to the kitchen. The space feels emptier without the usual crew, just the storm's constant percussion against the windows and the faint buzz of the emergency lights overhead. I move through the familiar routine of reheating the leftover chili, setting out bowls, checking the coffee maker.
In the military, and after, I'd cultivated stillness like a garden—carefully tending the quiet spaces inside myself where chaos couldn't reach. It was how I survived, how I functioned. Being the steady one, the reliable one, the man who never lost his cool.
So why does my pulse quicken when I hear her footsteps approaching the kitchen?
"Ramirez says it’s tough out there," Denise announces, entering the room. "Looks like we're on our own for a while."
She's shed her damp coat, I notice. The green sweater beneath it brings out flecks of gold in her eyes that I hadn't noticed before.
"Hope you like chili," I say, gesturing to the pot warming on the camp stove. "Nathan made it, so it's actually edible."
"Smells amazing." She moves closer, peering into the pot. "I missed lunch today. Too busy coordinating that brush fire response."
I ladle chili into two bowls, setting them on the table where I've already placed spoons and napkins. I'm oddly pleased by her appreciative smile.
"Do I detect actual organization?" she teases, taking a seat. "The way Logan talks, I expected chaos and pizza boxes."
"Logan exaggerates." I pour coffee into the least chipped mugs I can find. "Besides, some of us prefer order to entropy."
"A man after my own heart." She accepts the coffee with a grateful nod. "My apartment in Seattle looked like a disaster zone most days. Now I alphabetize my spice rack."
The confession makes me smile. "Small town living changes you."
"That it does." Denise wraps her hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm hiding or healing."
The candor in her voice catches me by surprise. I take my seat across from her, considering her words. "Maybe both," I finally say. "That's how it worked for me, anyway."
She looks up, meeting my eyes. "And now?"
