“Go see if we have a fire extinguisher in the truck!” I yell over my shoulder to Anderson as another scream fills the air, but I’mnot sure if it’s because of the fire or because this person just heard their house get broken into.
“Northshore Fire Department!” I call out, announcing my presence, hoping to eliminate any potential fear. I use one arm to bat away the thin, gray smoke as I enter the house.
“Over here,” a small voice says, followed by a cough. I make my way through the entryway and the small hallway leading to the kitchen, the unmistakable smell of something burning filling my nose.
Through the thin layer of smoke, I can see a small figure, one hand throwing a tray of burntsomethingsoutside her back patio door while the other holds a towel around her body.
Her wet, naked body.
I try not to focus on the latter, finding the open oven—no flames, thankfully.
I quickly move toward it, shutting it off and closing it as the screen of the back patio door slides shut, a small breeze coming in and helping with the lingering smoke.
Grabbing a towel I find on the counter, I begin batting the rest of the smoke away as I hear windows being slid open. The smoke alarm finally stops blaring, and I set the towel down, reluctantly turning to the woman in the towel.
And when I do, I can’t look away.
Strands of dark wet hair fall over her shoulders, making her blue eyes even brighter against her pale skin—skin that is coated in drops of water falling from her waves, instantly making my throat dry. Her arm is still holding her towel around her, and the rise and fall of her chest matches mine as the chaos of the last few minutes—along with the smoke—settles around us.
“Jack?” Rumi says, the grip on her towel tightening. I can’t help the pride that fills my chest that there’s recognition when she looks at me, unlike yesterday at the coffee shop.
I quirk my lips to the side trying to fight the smile threatening my lips as I notice the flush in her cheeks, one that could be from the hot water or the adrenaline from the situation. Either way, I’m all of a sudden thankful I was paired with Anderson for these inspections tonight.
I’m about to open my mouth to say something—anything—but Rumi beats me to it. “I was making cookies,” she blurts out before her eyes dart to the floor, her pink cheeks turning pure crimson as if I caught her doing something that definitely wasnotmaking cookies. “I went to, um, take a shower, but I guess I, um, forgot to—” She pauses, staring at her bare feet on the dark hardwood, and I can’t help but look too, noticing the light pink polish on her toes.
“Set a timer?” I finish for her, hoping she looks back up at me.
“Yeah,” she answers sheepishly.
She stands at the edge of her living room, me in her kitchen, and I feel this unexplainable pull, like I need to be closer to her.
I take a step toward her. “Well, what are friends for?” I try to keep my voice light, just like I did last night. Anything to keep her comfortable with me.
Finally, she looks back at me, and her smile is small, but it’s there, and I take that as a win.
“This is not how I pictured running into you again,” she admits, and I’m embarrassed about how hard it is to forget the fact that this woman is naked in front of me, the only thing between us is that little white towel. A fact I think she remembers that moment because her eyes widen, and she quickly adds, “I’ll be right back.”
I hold in a chuckle as she runs into one of the connecting rooms and shuts the door behind her, giving me a moment to collect myself. I lean back on the kitchen counter, my headfalling back against the cabinets as I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
The aftermath of the last ten minutes—and the whiplash that ensued—running through my head.
What the fuck just happened?
And how the fuck I’m going to get the image of Rumi wet and naked in a towel out of my head.
I peel my hands away from my face just as I hear footsteps coming in through the entryway, and I recognize the sound of work boots. “Looks like we won’t be needing this,” I hear Anderson say, no doubt holding the fire extinguisher we keep in the truck.
Resisting the urge to let out a groan, I answer, “Nope. No need,” with an exhale, pushing myself off the counter.
“So what happened?” Anderson asks, setting the fire extinguisher on the ground next to the refrigerator.
I nod toward the stove. “Forgot to set a timer.”
Anderson looks around the kitchen, and my brow furrows in confusion.
“Well, what was in there?” Anderson asks.
I point toward the patio door, and Anderson follows with his gaze. He walks over to the door, peeking through the screen door.
