Page 38 of Smoke Signals

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Of course you did.”

“I need you to know,” I add, “that nothing happens unless you want it to. I’ll set the pace if you want. Or you can. Or we can do nothing at all.”

He swallows. “Thank you.”

I reach out slowly, giving him time to pull away. When he doesn’t I rest my hand over his, warm and steady. His fingers curl into mine like they’ve been waiting for permission.

“You being a firefighter,” he says carefully, like the words might bite. “That scares me.”

I don’t interrupt, I don’t try to soften it or explain it away. I just let him talk. This matters too much to rush.

“Since Lance,” he continues, “I don’t do well with what-ifs. Alaska’s already lost too much. I can’t let her get attached to someone who might not come home.”

Something tightens in my chest. I keep my face steady, but my jaw locks for a second before I can help it. I breathe out slowly through my nose, grounding myself the way I’ve learned to.

“She already loves you,” he murmurs. “I see it. She trusts you. And if something happened to you…” He shakes his head. “I can’t put her through that again. I can’t.”

“I’ll be safe,” I say.

The second the words leave my mouth, I know they’re wrong.

He stiffens just enough for me to feel it. “You can’t promise that,” he says, sharper than he probably means to. “Lance said the same thing. Every time he walked out the door he said it, and now I’m raising my niece alone.”

I don’t pull my hand away. Instead, I let my thumb press lightly into his skin.

“You’re right,” I say quietly. “I can’t promise I’ll never get hurt. I won’t insult you by pretending I can.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, like he’s deciding whether I’m worth believing.

“But I can promise I don’t take it lightly,” I continue. “Not a single call. Not a single shift. And no matter where this goes,” I add, lowering my voice, “I won’t disappear on you. Or on her.”

His throat works as he swallows, and something in his expression cracks just a little.

“Life’s too short to live in fear of what-ifs, Hartley,” I say.

“I’m beginning to see that,” he says.

That’s when he shifts closer, our shoulders brushing, touching now. I lean in slowly, my breath catching as I give him every chance to pull back, to change his mind if this is moving too fast. But his eyes hold mine, dark and steady, flickering with something raw and unspoken.

Our lips touch softly at first, like we're both savoring every fleeting second, mapping the moment. His mouth is warm, yielding just enough to invite me deeper, tasting faintly of the dinner he had earlier mingled with the clean, earthy scent that clings to his skin.

His hand rises to my chest, fingers splaying wide over my heartbeat, palm flat against the steady thrum beneath my shirt. It's like he's feeling the rhythm of my pulse sync with his own, the pressure firm yet tender. I respond by tilting my head slightly, deepening the kiss with care, my tongue brushing his lower lip in a silent question.

He parts for me without hesitation, a soft sigh escaping against my mouth—a sound so vulnerable, so laced with need that it slices straight through me, igniting heat low in my belly. His body relaxes into the touch, shoulders easing as he leans closer, his free hand finding my waist, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of my shirt as he pulls me nearer. I slide my arm around his back, my palm settling against his spine as his body shifts under my touch, arching just enough to meet me as the kiss deepens.

The kiss builds, lips sliding slick and insistent now, breaths mingling in short, heated bursts. His tongue meets mine with a tentative stroke, then bolder, exploring with a hunger that mirrors the ache building in my chest. Every brush, every pull back for air only to dive in again heightens the intimacy; the way his eyelashes flutter against my cheek, the faint scrape of stubble along my jaw, the shared warmth blooming between us. In this suspended space it's just us, bodies attuned, hearts pounding in unison, the world narrowing to the electric pull of skin on skin.

I break the kiss and search his eyes, my thumb brushing lightly over the flush on his cheek. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Don’t,” Hartley says, then corrects himself with a shaky laugh. “I mean, don’t stop.”

I smile, the sound of his voice, raw and earnest, stoking the fire already simmering between us. The air feels thick, charged, and I can’t wait any longer. I stand up slowly, pulling him with me by the hand still tangled in his shirt, our fingers interlocking as I meet his gaze. “Where’s your bedroom?” I ask, my voice low, laced with intent.

Hartley blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he nods, leading me down the short hallway. His steps are steady but quick, like he’s as eager as I am and I follow close, my free hand grazing the small of his back, feeling the tension there ease under my touch. He pushes open the door to his room, a simple space with a bed against one wall, dresser opposite, soft light filtering through half-drawn blinds—and before he can say a word, I spin him gently against the closed door, pressing my body to his.

Our mouths crash together again, hungrier this time, my hands framing his face as I kiss him deep, tongues tangling with an urgency that makes my cock throb against his thigh. He gasps into my mouth, hands clutching at my shoulders, and I pull back just enough to murmur against his lips, “You good?”

His nod is immediate, eyes dark with want so I dive back in, one hand sliding down to tug at the hem of his shirt.