The urge to lean in for a hug or press a kiss to her cheek was so strong that I had to jam my hands in my pockets to avoid the inappropriate response my body had when I knew she was leaving and the night was ending.
It was as if the thought of her not being within a few feet of me brought on the incessant need to pull her close and keep her there—a completely inappropriate thought to have about someone my brain knows I barely know yet my heart thinks I know all too well.
I bring my palm to my forehead, dragging it down over my face, fighting the heat that threatens to ease up my neck, reddening the skin.
The last thing I need to be thinking of right now is last night.
It was nothing special.
Just two mutual friends of a friend becoming…friendly?
Fuck, it’s like I’m sixteen again with a crush—one I have absolutely no business having. I shouldn’t be thinking about her dark brown hair twisted into a messy braid, or the pieces perfectly framing her cool blue eyes. I shouldn’t be thinking about her dark lashes batting as she watched me talk, or herfull lips that would turn up into the most beautiful smile, or the timidness she had at first, and how I watched her comfort with me grow as the seconds ticked by, making me feel as if I was being offered the most precious gift.
And I definitely shouldn’t be thinking of the way her slender arms wrapped around her sleeping daughter who has the same brown hair and waves in her eyes as her mom and how it made my arms physically ache to be wrapped around the both of them.
“Hasting!”
I’m jolted back to reality, brought back to the kitchen in the fire station, rather than the dark corner of Lenny’s last night with Rumi and Evee. I feel a slight ache in my cheeks, and that’s when I realize I was smiling to myself like a crazy son of a bitch, and I wish someone would punch me in the face for the ridiculous thoughts taking over my brain.
“Come on, we’re in charge of the grocery shopping today,” one of the other firefighters, Anderson, says to me.
I give him a curt nod, standing up and following him and two other guys down the stairs toward the truck.
“Who’s got you daydreaming over here?” Anderson teases over his shoulder, but I ignore him, hopping into the passenger seat of the fire truck. Anderson rounds the truck, getting into the driver’s seat. “Nice to see you smiling once in a while, Hasting,” he says, obviously not getting the hint that this isn’t a conversation I am interested in having. When I don’t respond, he says, more to himself than to me, “Not in a talking mood. Noted.” The engine rolls over, the truck coming to life, and we head on our way.
When Anderson, the other guys on grocery duty, and I get back from the store, the hours fly by. Between a handful of routine calls, writing reports, and a couple visits to classrooms at the local elementary school to talk about fire safety, the sun is already setting.
The members of the crew on clean-up just finished tidying the kitchen from dinner, and there’s a quietness among the station as the day winds down and we enter into the evening portion of our shift.
There are ten of us currently on shift, our department being more of a mid-size unit, and there is a soft buzzing of conversations from a few guys still sitting at the dining table playing cards.
The TV is playing tonight’s baseball game, and the rest of the crew are on the couch watching. I’m in one of the loungers with a book in my lap, a habit I picked back up when I was staying in my grandfather’s cabin—having been a big reader in middle school but not keeping up it until I got much older.
Since there was no Wi-Fi or TV up there, my main source of entertainment was the shelves of my grandmother’s books—the ones she’d bring out on the boat to read while my grandfather fished.
Most of them were nonfiction books about the different wildlife of the area where they built the cabin, but I got through those relatively quickly. I ended up getting into her cozy mysteries that she kept on the bottom shelf. I didn’t get through all of them, and it didn’t feel right taking them.
It worked out that there were some to choose from at the grocery store we stopped at, so I grabbed the first book of a new series when we were out on our run.
“Time to go,” I hear, looking up from the page I was reading to find Anderson standing in front of where I’m seated, hands on his hips in the same station wear as the rest of us—black Northshore Fire Department T-shirt, cargo pants, and black work boots. His light brown, shaggy hair is swept over his forehead, one of his brows lifted at me as his eyes roam to the book in my lap. “Murder Over Coffee?” The title of the book comes off as a question.
I set the book down on the small table next to the lounger and take off my wired reading glasses, putting them on top of the book.
“That’s surprising,” I reply as I stand.
“What?” Anderson asks.
“That you can read,” I deadpan, walking past him, heading toward the stairs.
He lets out a laugh, as if the joke wasn’t the lazy one that it was. “Good one,” I hear from behind me.
Anderson started a few weeks before I left, so I don’t know him too well. He’s a few years younger than me, and he still has that excitement about the job that he had when he first started.
I admired it when I first met him, but now I can see it getting old quickly.
“Where to first?” I ask him, as he follows me down the stairs. We were tasked with a few fire inspections at some nearby duplexes and local businesses, and Chief Sanders partnered Anderson and me together for them.
Between this and grocery duty, I think the chief wants me around the most positive, happy-go-lucky guy on the crew—I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s his way of keeping an eye on me.
