Things You Save in a Fire(99)

“We thought the coast was clear,” the rookie said to the room, “but then the captain showed up.”

The captain stared at me. “Hanwell was the drunk girl?”

Owen nodded. “Yep. Except not drunk. Just pretending so you wouldn’t recognize her.”

“It worked,” the captain said, impressed.

“We gave her a false name so word wouldn’t get back to the station.”

Everybody in the room got that. Every single person there knew what a scandal that would have been. Firefighters didn’t date.

“But why would you even have brought her, son? Why take the risk?”

The rookie looked around at everybody, like, Duh. And if it embarrassed him to say this, to admit it out loud for everybody to hear, he sure didn’t show it: “Because I’m crazy in love with her,” he said with a shrug. “I have been since the first day.”

The room went quiet.

Then everybody at once seemed to look down at us holding hands.

Then the guys all burst out cheering, slapping each other on the back like we’d all just won the lottery.

“It was all those blood draws,” Six-Pack called out.

“It was when we duct-taped them to the pole!”

“Or when we trapped ’em on the roof.”

Here’s what surprised me: how cheerful the guys were about it. They seemed so pleased at the idea of Owen and me—and so eager to take the credit. All this time, I’d expected to be reprimanded, at the minimum, and probably more like shunned, if we were found out. But the guys were all for it. They seemed not just okay with it but delighted—a whole crew of firefighter yentas.

Maybe they were just glad the rookie wasn’t dead.

Or maybe I’d misjudged them, too, in my way.

We really do see what we expect to see.

The rookie tugged me a little closer. “Come here.”

The room quieted as I stepped closer.

“I’ve got something for you,” the rookie said. Then he reached toward the tray where his breakfast still sat and he picked up a little silver ring.

Made of tinfoil.

I stared at it.

“I made it from the applesauce top,” he said, meeting my eyes. “It might be a little sticky.”

I held very still. “What’s this for?”

He held it up. “I promised myself that if I lived, the very first thing I’d do was ask you to marry me.”

“Guess he likes you back, Hanwell,” someone shouted.

“Will you marry me?” the rookie asked, holding up the tinfoil ring, his gaze pinned on mine.

I nodded before I could find the words. “I will.”

And then he was tugging me closer, and then sliding that homemade ring on my finger, and then he kissed my hand in a way that inspired the captain to start hustling everybody out of the room.

“All right, all right,” the captain said. “Let’s give these two kids a moment of privacy.” The rubberneckers weren’t easy to herd. “You!” The captain pointed at the closest guy to the door. “Let’s move!” Then, to another guy, “You! Out! Let’s go!”

Once the crowd cleared out, the captain put his arms around the final two stragglers, Big Robby and Colleen. “Let’s give Loverboy a minute and take you two for some coffee.”

The door closed behind them, and we were alone.

The rookie tugged at me to sit beside him. “Get down here.”

I let his bedrail down and sat. “They wouldn’t let me in to see you,” I said. “But I snuck in anyway.”

“I thought I dreamed that,” he said.

“No. It was real.”

I didn’t even realize my face was covered in tears until the rookie reached up to brush them off.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I said, and my voice was so shaky, the words trembled, too.

“Thank you for not letting me die,” Owen said.

“Thank you for not dying.”

“Thank you for agreeing to marry me.”

“Thank you for asking.”

“If I could lean forward and kiss you some more right now, I would.”

I smiled. “I’d kiss you back.”

He nodded. “But I can’t. You know—because of the ribs.”

“I get it,” I said.

“So if you want to get kissed,” he went on, eyeing me, “you have to do all the work yourself.”

I leaned in. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I said.

“But you do want to kiss me.”

“I really, truly do.”

“Be careful, then,” he said.

So I kissed him. Carefully. Supporting my weight on one arm, and resting the palm of my other hand against the contour of his unshaven neck. I could feel his pulse, simple and steady, and I let myself feel so grateful—so unabashedly grateful—that it was there.

When I pulled back to take in the sight of him, he said, “Don’t stop.”

“The captain says I have to go easy on you.”

“Don’t go easy on me.”

“I should probably let you rest.”

“Don’t let me rest.”

“I should probably go.”