Page 84 of The Fire Line

Harris nodded. Neither moved for another second before Harris turned toward the cabin, irritated that he could have saved himself thirty minutes by going directly after what he wanted.

* * *

Jay gave it a little more than an hour. He reviewed the audio, checked the next day’s schedule, answered two emails that could have waited, and finally admitted none of it was about work.

The cabin light was on when he crossed the yard. He waited until the path was empty before knocking.

“Come in.”

Harris sat at one end of the couch in a soft gray shirt and dark sweatpants, glasses low on his nose, a book open in one hand.

Jay stopped inside the door. He had seen Harris shirtless, exhausted, irritated, and coming apart beneath his hand; apparently none of that had prepared him for reading glasses.

Harris looked over the top of them. “What?”

“You’re reading…” Jay squinted at the paperback. “Middlemarch?”

“Yup.”

“In glasses.”

Harris removed them immediately. “Need ’em when the print’s small.”

“Put them back.”

“Nope.”

“Harris.”

“Navarro.”

Jay crossed the room and took the book from him. Harris allowed it, which was almost more surprising than the glasses.

“You’re more than halfway through.”

“Been reading it awhile.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Some.”

“That’s quite the thorough review.”

“Didn’t know I was being interviewed.”

“You’re not. I’m trying to understand why this entire situation is doing something to me.”

Something quiet shifted between them. Jay placed the book on the side table and folded Harris’s glasses on top of it, and when he straightened, Harris was still watching him.

“C’mere,” Harris said.

Jay went.

The first kiss was slower than the one outside. Harris’s hand settled behind his neck while Jay stood between his knees, leaning down into the kiss, close enough to feel his warmth through both layers of clothing. Harris took his time with it, as though four days apart had left him with something to prove.

Jay caught his jaw and tilted his face higher. Harris made a low sound against his mouth, one hand tightening at Jay’s waist.

The cabin offered something the lookout and line cabin had not: time—no horses waiting to be saddled, no route that needed finishing, no work beginning close enough to count. The lack of urgency made the wanting worse.