Page 70 of How To Not Need You

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. “I hadn’t had a chance to sort dinner yet but there is some cash in the drawer if you want to get take-out.”

“It’s fine.” I wave a hand. Casually. Or at least with a convincing impression of someone who isn't internally calculating all the ways a five-year-old can injure herself in a three-hour period before her bed time. Like I am one of the regular women who date firefighters and is used to them getting emergency calls all the time. Like I wasn’t internally spiralling at the thought of having to keep Tilly alive. “We’ve got it.”

Jake grabs his keys from the hook and checks his phone again.

“Tilly knows the routine. She can let you know. Just don’t believe her when she says she can go to bed after 8:30.” He’s talking faster now, as if he’s mentally already at work. “There’s ice cream in the freezer but don’t tell her I told you that.”

“Ice cream is classified information. Got it.”

He stops. Looks at me like he’s trying to memorise something he’s afraid he might lose. The space is filled with Tilly’s excited chatter to Hades about all the ‘fun’ we will get up to tonight. Jake’s focus remains on me until he steps into my space.

I expect a quick kiss. He does, after all, have an actual fire to get to.

Instead, his hands find either side of my face and he kisses me properly.

Oh.

Okay.

Apparently we're doing this.

My hands grab the front of his shirt before my brain has approved the decision, and for several completely irresponsible seconds I forget that somewhere outside Seabrook, things are literally on fire.

Then Tilly's voice cuts through the kitchen.

“You didn't say goodbye to ME.”

We break apart. Tilly stands in the hallway with her arms crossed, one hip cocked in a pose she’s definitely stolen from Luca, her expression a perfect blend of indignation and theatrical hurt. Her golden curls are a disaster. She looks like she’s been rolling on the rug in the living room.

Jake’s forehead rests against mine for one more second. His eyes are closed and I can feel his breath warm against my lips. Then he pulls back, and the smile that breaks across his face is so fond it physically hurts to look at.

He crouches in front of Tilly who doesn’t wait for him to reach her. Instead, she launches herself into his arms and he catches her without stumbling, which is impressive given that she hits him extremely hard.

“Be good for Liv,” he murmurs into her hair. His hand is enormous against the back of her head. “I’ll call when I can.”

“Will you be safe?” Her voice is small against his shoulder and my heart clenches again at the reminder of him in danger.

“I'll be careful, bug.” He says it with such certainty that even I believe him, and I’ve spent my adult life preparing for the worst-case scenario.

“Don’t forget me.” She adds, which makes my stomach twist with anxiety.

Jake merely smiles at her and replies. “I never do, bug.”

He sets her down, ruffles her hair once, and stands, looking at me over the top of her head. For just a moment, I want to tell him. I want to open my mouth and say the three scariest words in my vocabulary. For one stupid second, I nearly say it.

Three words. Right there on the tip of my tongue.

Then twenty-two-year-old Liv apparently wakes from the dead and slaps a hand over my emotional mouth.

I smile instead.

Then he’s at the door. Keys in his hand. The door creaks open, and he’s gone. The sound of his truck starting filters through the front windows, growing fainter until it’s swallowed by the ordinary noises of a Seabrook evening.

I stand in the kitchen with my fingers pressed to my lips.

The imprint of his mouth lingers. The taste of him. The weight of his hands on my face, holding me like I’m something precious instead of something temporary. My heart is doing something in my chest that I refuse to name because naming it means admitting it exists, and I am not ready for that particular brand of emotional honesty at five-thirty on a Tuesday.

Or whatever day it is. Time has become strange around Jake Reid. Days blur. Weekends move too fast. The careful, bounded life I built for myself has acquired another element, and that element is a firefighter with warm hands and a five-year-old who currently has her small fist wrapped around the hem of my sweater, tugging insistently.