Page 5 of Sparks with the Firefighter

"Yes. Nice to meet you." She clears her throat. "We'll let you go. Drew, Thoran's got a station to build and we've got a dog to return. His owner's probably worried sick. We will see you around."

She gives me a smile that makes it all the way to the corners of her eyes as she turns away. But I'm not ready to let her walk out of here.

"Give me your number."

She stops dead and turns back to look up at me. "What?"

"For the shop." I tip my head at the open bay, which is no more than forty feet away from her storefront. "We're going to be cutting concrete on the other side of your dryers for about six weeks. You tell me your appointment blocks, I'll tell my guys when to hold off. Saves you screaming over a saw at a woman holding a poodle." I hold her eyes. "So I need your number. Trust me. It's for the best."

She looks at me for a long second. It’s long enough that I hear the flagging tape out back snapping in the wind.

"Oh." Something in her shoulders comes down half an inch. "Yes. That does make sense I suppose."

She takes out her phone. There’s a hesitation in her movement, but I get her number.

I watch the two of them go. The kid tows the stolen dog. Vivien’s hand rides his shoulder like she's not letting go of it again today. There's a pang under my sternum that doesn't make one bit of damn sense.

But I know what I know. Those two belong with me.

CHAPTER FOUR VIVIEN

The first text comes at 8:40 that night.

It doesn’t register at first. I don't even put my book down. In my experience text messages at that time of night are almost certainly from my ex-husband. Now Drew's finally asleep down the hall and the house has that ticking quiet old houses get after dark.

Then the phone buzzes a second time on the arm of the couch. I've got one finger holding my place in my book. I glance at the screen and see the name Thoran. Then my heart does something embarrassing.

He asked for my number. He asked for it, and somehow I still didn't expect him to actually use it.

Thoran: No construction scheduled for tomorrow. You're all good.

Me: Good to know. Thanks again for today.

There, that should be it. It’s a complete transaction. A man told me when the saw would be off, I thanked him, and there is no further business between us.

But my phone buzzes again. This time I let my book fall all the way to the floor.

Thoran: Today was a good day. You got your sign up and I got to meet the coolest kid.

Heat floods my whole face. I press the back of my hand to my cheek like that's going to help. I catch myself grinning at a screen in a dark living room like a teenager with a crush.

Me: It was a good day.

That's it. That's got to be it… But I'm wrong again.

He asks about the dog Drew found and whether the owner ever noticed he was gone. Then he asks why I moved up from Peony Pointe. I tell him more than I mean to. It’s not everything, but it’s more than I’d usually share.

My thumbs go faster than my judgment. Chatting with him is easy in a way that scares me a little. He types slow and answers plain. There are no games in any of it. Every time the three dots appear I stop reading whatever I was pretending to read and let my heart thud out of my chest.

At 9:52 I'm still holding my phone.

By 10:30 I'm lying on my back with the book tossed on the other side of the room and the awful, dawning certainty that nothing in my life is ever going to be quite the same again.

I fall asleep somewhere between asking about his plans for the fire station and answering his question about my favorite genre.

I wake up to an emoji. A simple smiling face that somehow knocks the wind out of me. I look at it for longer than an emoji warrants. Then I get up and make coffee and burn the sourdough toast because I'm still thinking about it.

The next few days pass in a blur of text messages. My heart leaps in my chest every time I feel the ping of a new message. I keep my phone at arm’s length. The days feel extra special. My feet feel like they’re floating. It's all very high school. I know it’s extremely uncool for a divorced mom rapidly approaching forty, but I can’t seem to care.