Chapter 4
CHEVY
The thing about falling for someone you've never seen: it makes you honest in ways you’re not accustomed to.
Three weeks into talking to Cursive&Caffeine and I've told this woman things I've never told anyone.
Not Aiden, who's been my best friend for over a decade.
Not Mami, who I tell almost everything to.
Not bartenders, the hookups, or the therapist I went to twice before deciding I could just "handle it"—which, I’m sure is not what they recommend.
But this woman gets it out of me. She asks questions that don't have easy answers, and she waits. She doesn't fill the silence with chatter or rush me toward a punchline. It’s as if she knows there's more underneath and she's got no problem hanging around while I find it.
I told her about my dad. The real story…
.not the surface stuff I give most people: "He left when I was four, no biggie, my mom's a rockstar, I turned out fine.
" I told her about how I used to sit on the front porch waiting for his truck to pull into the driveway, even though Mami had already told me he wasn't coming back.
And that I stole a photo of him from her dresser and kept it in my pillowcase for two years because I thought if I wished hard enough, he'd feel it and come home.
He didn't, obviously. Turns out deadbeat dads are immune to the psychic pleas of six-year-olds. Who knew?
We talked about how I’ve been underestimated my whole life.
That people look at my face and decide they already know my story.
I'm the hot one, the fun one, the one who keeps things light.
Nobody expects depth from me. And after a while, you stop trying to show them they're wrong.
You just become the version they already decided you are. It's easier.
Lonelier, and much less fulfilling, but easier.
She listened and tried to relate without sarcasm or pity. She just said: "That sounds exhausting. Performing a version of yourself so people are comfortable."
And I sat there like she'd reached into my chest and stroked my heart.
Then I tried to make a joke. Something about how at least the performance comes with good hair.
And she replied: "You just did the thing where you make a joke so you don't have to feel the emptiness. I’m onto you, hon."
Nobody has ever said that to me before.
The other thing I love about Cursive, is how fun it is to get her riled up. And I'm extremely good at it if I do say so myself. That night a week back—the one where I walked her through undressing and touching every inch of her—that was the hottest conversation I've ever had with a woman. Bar none.
It was different from other sexual experiences I’ve had. This was her trusting me enough to admit she wanted it. And all I wanted to do was make her feel good, please her, and allow her the fantasy.
I said goodnight to her that night like a gentleman.
Then I laid flat on my back, and absolutely lost my mind.
I didn't even make it thirty seconds. Just closed my eyes and replayed everything—her responses, the way she said "hell, yes," the image of her lying on her bed, aching for more—and I stroked my cock until I came so hard there were actual fireworks behind my eyelids.
I reread that conversation every night. Sometimes twice. Sometimes with my hand already moving before I've finished scrolling.
But it's not just the heat. I can handle that.
I'm a firefighter. I'm built for heat. It's the softness underneath that gets me. It’s how she tells me about her day as if I'm the person she wants to tell.
How she asks about mine like the answer matters to her.
And the way she says goodnight and I lie there in the dark, smiling from ear to ear, makes me feel less alone than I have in a long time.
Today though, the universe decides to remind me that my actual job involves running toward danger, and I can’t just daydream about the sweetest woman on the internet.
We get a call around two in the afternoon.
It’s a structure fire in a residential area on the east side of Deepwood.
When we roll up, the house is almost completely engulfed.
Flames are blowing out of the second-story windows and the smoke is black and ugly, meaning everything inside is burning hot and fast.
We do our thing. The Captain’s calling commands, Aiden’s on the hose, and I'm doing a primary search of the first floor with Jasper because there's a report of someone possibly still inside. Turns out the house is empty, but the floor is compromised and I don't know it until my boot goes through.
Just my foot. Just for a second. Jasper grabs me, hauls me back, and we get the hell out.
It's not a big deal. It's the kind of thing that happens. You train for it, you shake it off, you move on.
But my hands are shaking in the truck afterward, and I can't make them stop.
Aiden catches it. The man notices everything, which is annoying when you're trying to be stoic and unbothered.
"You good, brother?" he asks quietly, while the rest of the crew is loading equipment.
I give him a smile. The one that's served me well for thirty-four years. "Yeah, man. All good. Just need a shower and a beer."
He studies me for a beat too long, and I can tell he knows there’s more. But he doesn't push it. He just wraps his beefy arm around my shoulders and says, "Good work in there."
I nod and we drive back to the station. I laugh at Aiden's jokes and give Jasper shit about his napkins and act as if everything's normal.
But that night, alone in my apartment, I message her.
Wild@Heart: Had a rough day at work. Nothing serious, but there was a close call and it rattled me more than I want to admit.
My hands were shaking afterward and I played it off like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing. I keep replaying the moment and thinking about what would've happened if my partner hadn't been right there.
I can’t tell her exactly what I do for work, since it would be easy to figure out who I am. So I keep it vague.
Her response comes within a minute.
Cursive&Caffeine: Are you okay? Are you hurt?
Wild@Heart: I'm fine physically. Just shaken up. I keep thinking about it.
Cursive&Caffeine: Well, I'm really glad you're safe. That must’ve been terrifying.
Cursive&Caffeine: You want to talk about it? What did it feel like?
So I tell her as honestly as I can.
About the split second where I felt that this could be it. Game over. About the adrenaline crash afterward, with my knee bouncing and my jaw clenched, willing my hands to be steady. About how I went home and stood in the shower, not doing anything but standing under the water, replaying it.
She doesn't panic. She doesn't minimize it or rush to reassure me. She asks questions—not the worried-for-you ones, but the I-want-to-understand ones.
And then she says: "You know you don't have to perform for me. The unfiltered version is the one I want."
And there it is again. That feeling of being exposed by someone who can't even see my face.
Wild@Heart: You're freakishly good at that.
Cursive&Caffeine: At what?
Wild@Heart: Making me feel safe enough to tell the truth.
Cursive&Caffeine: Keep being honest. I can handle it.
We talk well into the night, and somewhere in the middle of it, my hands stop shaking.
The next evening, I'm scrolling my phone after dinner when a notification pops up from Mountain Mates.
You've been matched. Hope it’s going well. Ready for the next step?
It's an invitation to something called the Discovery Retreat—a weekend at a mountain lodge, a town over, where matched couples finally meet in person. Face to face.
My heart rate spikes as if I just ran a five-alarm drill.
I screenshot it and send it to her.
Wild@Heart: Did you get this too?
Cursive&Caffeine: Just saw it. My hands are shaking.
Wild@Heart: Ditto.
Cursive&Caffeine: That's where we'd meet.
Wild@Heart: Yep, that's where we'd meet.
There's a pause.
Cursive&Caffeine: I'm terrified.
Wild@Heart: Me too.
Cursive&Caffeine: What if it's different in person? What if this…doesn't translate?
I stare at the screen. My chest aches. I've been thinking the exact same thing. What if the chemistry just isn’t there?
It would be devastating.
But we’ll deal with that when it comes. For now…I want to believe. I want to think that what we have is meant to be.
Wild@Heart: It'll translate. Because what we have is deeper than the physical.
Wild@Heart: I want to meet you. I want to see your face when you laugh at my jokes. I want to see you bite your lip when I call you trouble.
Cursive&Caffeine: I want that too. All of it.
Wild@Heart: Then let's do it.
Cursive&Caffeine: Okay.
Wild@Heart: Okay?
Cursive&Caffeine: Yes. Let's meet.
We pick a date and confirm. And suddenly this thing that's been living in the safe space between our phones is about to become real.
I'll finally see the woman who's been slowly, methodically, and beautifully dismantling me piece by piece.
Later that night, we’re in rare form.
Maybe it's the adrenaline of saying yes to the retreat, or the weeks of tension that’s been building between us like pressure in a pipe.
Or it could be that now there's nothing left to hold back.
Whatever it is, the flirting that night catches fire.
It starts the way it always does…playful, warm, and toeing the line. I say something about how I can't wait to see her. She says she's nervous about what to wear. I tell her she could show up in a burlap sack and I'd still be entranced.
Cursive&Caffeine: Smooth talker. What if I show up in sweatpants?
Wild@Heart: Then I'd peel those sweatpants off you like it was the most expensive lingerie.
Cursive&Caffeine: Promise?
Wild@Heart: I don't make promises I can't keep.
Cursive&Caffeine: You know what I keep thinking about? That night you talked me through undressing. I think about it constantly.
Wild@Heart: Constantly?