Page 4 of Sparks with the Firefighter

"No."

"Please. I just want to check it out. I’ll be⁠—"

"Absolutely not." I say it flat and to my surprise he grins like I handed him something.

The dog on the end of his lead sighs, circles once, and lies down across my boots.

And that's when I look up.

There's a woman standing in the bay opening with one hand on the frame. Her chest is going hard under a thin shirt, but nothing else about her is moving at all. She's got a comb sticking out of her back pocket and her hair's pulled back in a ponytail that runs all the way down her spine.

Something in my chest turns over and settles. It’s one clean motion. Like a bolt dropping into a hole it was machined for. Her eyes are on her son. Then they come up and land on me. They’re gold-flecked, dark, and pooling like her whole life is running behind them all at once. The heat that goes through the space between us takes every bit of air in this building with it.

The woman is breathtaking. She’s all soft curves, round hips, and full lips. But that's not what has my heart rate ticking up.

It's the calm that comes down over me like a hand on the back of the neck. It isn't a question. It's a certainty I have no business having. One sentence goes off in my head.

Oh. There you are.

I take an involuntary step toward her.

"He's been here about twenty minutes," I say. "Sat right down and started running me through the eyelid situation with the dog. He never left my sight. Not once."

She swallows. "Drew."

"I found a dog," he says, in the voice of a boy who has already decided the dog is a legal defense.

"You left the shop."

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "The dog left first. He got untied. I was about to take him back."

"You don't leave without telling me. Ever."

"Ever," he agrees, and leans into her side while he says it, completely unbothered.

She catches the back of his head and holds it there. It’s a second longer than the lesson requires. Her eyes close and I wonder what other weight she’s carrying. Then in an instant she's got the professional voice on and she's already backing toward the door with a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you. Really, I appreciate you showing him everything. We will get out of your hair now. I’ve got a dog on my table right now, I'm just right up the road. At the grooming shop—" She bites her lip and there’s a bubbly nervousness to her voice.

"I know. I watched you put up the sign."

She stops.

The pink climbs right up her cheeks and she tucks a rogue strand of hair behind her ear with a smile. "Oh, I didn’t know I had an audience…"

"Thoran."

"Thoran." She says it slow, testing the shape of it.

I like the sound of my own name in a way I never have before. Then there's a beat where something crosses her face, like she wishes she hadn't.

"I'm Vivien."

You're beautiful. And you're mine.

"It's nice to meet you." I put my hand out.

She takes it, and heat whips straight up my arm to the shoulder. Her palm is warm, small in mine, and she pulls it back fast. But not so fast that I don't wonder if she felt it too.