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She double-checked the address he’d texted her—yep, she was in the right place—eyeing the brick, three-story building with its tidy landscaping and neatly swept stone walkway. A quick scan of the names listed on the door buzzers in the lobby had his front and center for Unit 306, and Lucy reached out to press the button before her common sense got the best of her.
“Hello?” Faurier’s voice slid over her like warm honey, making her heart feel like a jackhammer in her chest.
Stop. “Hi. It’s me. Uh, Lucy. de Costa.” She closed her eyes and prayed for a natural disaster.
And got one when he said, “Great. Come on up.”
Lucy opened her mouth to say she could just wait for him down here, far away from his personal space, no sweat. But then the security lock sounded off with a buzz-click, and she moved automatically so as not to miss the opportunity to open the door to the building’s interior, and awesome, now she was committed to going up to Faurier’s apartment. Where he lived and ate and slept. And possibly walked around naked.
“Oh, for God’s sake, girl,” she whispered to herself, making triple sure no one else was in the hallway with her before continuing, “it was just a dream. Do yourself a favor and let it go.”
The order helped lock her composure into place. Rather than take the elevator, she opted for the stairs, and by the time she’d reached the third-floor landing, her focus was exactly where it should’ve been—on getting the proof she needed to put the warehouse fire behind her. She moved down the hallway with brisk efficiency, placing a polite trio of knocks on the dark-red door marked 306 in shiny brass numbers.
“Hey. You found it,” Faurier said, his smile easy and wide as he stepped back to usher her inside.
“Yep. Sure did,” she said, her boots moving over the threshold. She’d literally spent the night in the same bunkroom as Faurier not even two weeks ago when they were on shift, and a hundred times before that, besides. Being in his living space was no big deal.
Especially because it was freaking gorgeous.
“Wow,” Lucy breathed. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was wide open and loaded with sunshine, giving the illusion that it was far more spacious than the square footage dictated. Her curiosity boiled over in an instant, propelling her from the foyer into the main living space, where she could easily see a small but well-appointed kitchen with stainless steel appliances and polished black granite countertops and a small nook with a built-in desk. A breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the main living area, which housed a leather sofa the color of melted caramel and a recliner that matched, along with a weathered white-brick fireplace with a sizeable flatscreen TV mounted over the mantel. Four large windows took up space on the far wall, covered in cream-colored wood shutters angled to let in maximum sunlight while keeping the view inside private, and a small staircase tucked off to the side led up to a loft that explained the high ceilings. The space was warm and comfortable and inviting—not flashy in the least—and Lucy couldn’t contain her surprise.
“I’ve got to admit, this is not what I was expecting,” she said, the truth out before she could lock it down.
“Cleaner?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifted in an approximation of a smirk, and now that he mentioned it, the place was suspiciously dirt and clutter free.
“Less…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Swanky. I pictured you downtown. In a place with a lot of chrome and glass and fabulous city views to impress women.”
Faurier’s shoulders tightened by the tiniest fraction beneath his heather-gray Henley, then released into a mock shudder. “Chrome and glass are overrated. Anyway, I have other ways to impress women.”
Nope. Nope. Not going there. Move along. “So, this place must have two bedrooms, then,” Lucy said, working up a smile of her own as his brows creased.
“It does, but how did you know that?”
“Well, I figured it must. One for you, the other for your monstrous ego.”
He laughed. “Touché, de Costa. You ready to go investigate a fire scene?”
“Just waiting on you, Superstar.”
Grabbing a navy blue quilted jacket bearing the RFD crest, Faurier led her over the threshold, sliding into his jacket before locking his front door tight and falling into step with her as they moved down the hallway.
“You know, while I do feel like Superstar has a nice ring to it, I was thinking that since we’re not at the academy and we’re not at the fire house, you could call me Sam. If you want.”
It took effort for her not to stumble. “Oh. Well, I guess that since this isn’t official fire department business, that might be smart.” A few more steps toward the elevator, then, “That means you should probably call me Lucy.”
“As long as you’re cool with it,” Faurier—Sam, now, oh how weird—said.
Whether it was the chaos from her week finally catching up to her or the fact that she felt an odd sort of intimacy thinking of him as Sam, she couldn’t be sure. But something made Lucy say, “It’s funny, when I joined the RFD, I knew people would call me by my last name. It’s pretty much the unspoken rule. But it still took me forever to not turn around and look for my dad whenever anyone called me ‘de Costa’. It never quite felt like it fitme, you know?”
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open, and Sam nodded as they got in. “Legacies can be tough.”
His easygoing smile had disappeared completely at the words. But before she could verbalize the WTF pinging around in her head, he snagged her attention with, “I’m sure your father was plenty pissed about what happened earlier this week.”
Lucy huffed out a soft laugh. “Oh, he definitely wasn’t pleased, and he wasn’t shy about letting me know it. But at the end of the day, he knows my choices have to be mine.”
“Wait.” Sam looked at her, his brows lifted halfway to his hairline. “He didn’t read you the riot act?”
“Sam, he was in the room when Bridges demoted us to the academy for three weeks. Pretty sure that ship had already sailed,” she said, busying herself with stepping off the elevator and heading through the lobby before continuing. “Anyway, that’s not really how my relationship with my dad works. I mean, yeah, he thought I made a bad call, and yeah again, he made sure I understood his feelings on the matter. But he knows I’m not him, even if I’m following in his footsteps of being a firefighter. I have to make my own way. Even when that means doing things differently than he would, and even when that means fucking up.”
