Things You Save in a Fire(77)

“Could we go upstairs and sleep together—actually sleep?”

He smiled bigger, all teasing. “Firefighter Hanwell, are you proposing that we snuggle?”

I gave a barely-there smile of my own. “I guess that’s one way to describe it.”

“I’ll take anything. I’d sleep on a bed of nails to be next to you.”

I turned and started pulling him toward the house. “That’s actually perfect, because my bed is made of nails.”

“Sold,” he said. “I’m in.”

I led him through the garden, over the threshold, up the slanted stairs, and through my attic door. We kissed and stumbled the whole way.

It’s amazing how brave you can be when you feel safe. I walked him backwards to the foot of my bed, and I tugged on him to sit down. When he sat, I climbed on top of him, perching on his thighs, my arms around his neck, my face right there with his.

We just kept kissing. And the more we kissed, the more I relaxed into the moment, and the more I gave in to all the goodness of being close to him. It was like a tiny, wordless negotiation: Each time I took a step closer and he met me with tenderness, I took another step closer. The closer I got, the closer I wanted to be.

I pulled his shirt off and threw it on the floor, and then there he was, half-naked, all smooth skin and contours. Then I pulled my own shirt off, and there I was in my sports bra—exactly as I’d been with him so many times at the station, as he put EKG pads on me or checked my spine.

Of course, this was nothing like those other times.

When he ran his palms up, then back down, the skin of my back, he wasn’t checking my vertebrae. He wasn’t working to maintain professional distance. He was doing the opposite. He was trying to get as close as possible.

And so was I.

I ran my hands over him, just absorbing the warmth and the softness, and the landscape of his muscles and the miracle of getting to touch him at all.

Then I pushed him back until he was lying down.

I scooted forward and traced his six-pack with my fingers.

His breath came out like a shudder.

It’s amazing how much context matters. I knew Owen. I’d seen him in action. I’d worked with him all these months, and I’d seen him make the right, kindhearted, compassionate choice time and again. The man spent his free time baking cookies, for God’s sake. He brought puppies home in baskets. I trusted him. I cared about him. And the more I kissed him, the more I wanted to kiss him.

“Thank you for coming upstairs,” I said.

He met my eyes. “Thank you for inviting me upstairs.”

“This is a big deal for me.”

“For me, too.”

“But you’ve been in a girl’s bedroom before.”

He shook his head. “Not in the bedroom of a superhero.”

“I’m not a superhero.”

“You’re pretty damn close.”

“I’m the opposite, in a lot of ways.”

“It’s possible that you don’t fully know how awesome you are.”

“That’s distinctly possible.”

He met my eyes. “But I do.”

The intensity of his gaze made me feel shy.

“I think about you all the time,” he confessed then. “In between shifts, all I’m doing is waiting to see you again. Then, during shifts, I can’t concentrate. I’m supposed to be filling out time logs, but all I can see is that one wisp of hair you can’t seem to keep in your ponytail holder.”

I started to lean in for another kiss, but he stopped me.

“I think you are so beautiful,” he went on slowly, deliberately, “that it’s blinding. But it’s not just that. When I look at you, I just see all the things I admire. It’s all the badass stuff about you, sure, like the way you’re so calm when all hell’s breaking loose, and the way you can toss a three-point shot backwards without even looking and make it with nothing but net, and don’t get me started on the one-arm pull-ups. It’s how you never panic and nothing scares you. But it’s also that your first career goal was to be the Tooth Fairy. And that you hum to yourself when you’re washing the dishes. And that when you laugh really, really hard, you run out of breath and start squeaking like a mouse.”

“I don’t squeak like a mouse.”

“There’s all this toughness about you—but the most impressive thing about that toughness, I think, is that you built it to protect the tenderness.”

I blinked at him. Who was this guy? “It’s not true that nothing scares me,” I said then. “You scare me.”

He let out a laugh. “I am far too lovesick to scare anybody.”

I had to clarify something. “Are you lovesick?” I asked.

He met my eyes. “Horribly.”

“About me?” I asked, just making sure.

He gave me a look like I was adorable and ridiculous and lovable, all at once. Then he nodded and got serious again. “Every single minute of every single day.”

“It’s not you that scares me,” I said. “It’s the things I feel about you.”

“The things I feel about you scare me, too,” he said, looking very serious. “We’ll just have to be very careful with each other.”

“Okay,” I said. Agreed. Next, I kissed him breathless.