Chapter 3 - Luke
I pace outside Stella's hospital room, running a hand through my hair for what must be the hundredth time. What the hell am I doing? Offering her a place to stay at the station?
I must be losing my mind. But the thought of her alone in some impersonal hotel room, still weak from smoke inhalation...
The door opens, and my thoughts scatter. Stella emerges wearing our station's standard-issue sweats and t-shirt, both comically large on her curvy frame.
Something primitive stirs in my chest when I see her in clothes marked with PVFD (Pine Valley Fire Department).
Mine, a possessive voice growls in my head before I can shut it down.
"I'm swimming in these," she says with a small laugh, rolling up the shirt's sleeves.
"They'll do for now," I respond, trying to keep my voice neutral. "We can stop by a store on the way to the station if you want."
She shakes her head, then winces slightly. "Honestly, I just want to lie down somewhere that doesn't smell like ahospital."
"Let's get you signed out then." I place my hand on her back again, telling myself it's just to steady her.
The warmth of her seeps through the thin cotton, and I have to force myself to focus on the task at hand.
After dealing with the discharge paperwork and getting her prescriptions, we make our way to my truck in the parking lot. I help her climb into the passenger seat, trying not to notice how she bites her lip in concentration or the way the oversized clothes keep slipping off one shoulder.
"This is quite the vehicle," she comments as I start the engine. "Compensating for something, Chief?"
I nearly choke, turning to find her eyes sparkling with mischief despite her obvious exhaustion. So, she's got sass. Interesting.
"It's Luke, you know?" I say, pulling out of the parking lot. "And the truck helps with mountain rescue operations."
"Ah, so you're not just about running into burning buildings? You climb mountains, too?"
"Among other things. Pine Valley keeps us busy."
She shifts in her seat to face me better.
"Tell me about it. I've only been here three weeks, and most of that time was spent setting up my home office." Her voice catches slightly at the mention of her lost workspace.
"Well," I say, wanting to distract her from those thoughts, "we handle everything from fires to rescuing cats from trees. Small town means wearing multiple hats. The guys and I also run the fire safety program at the elementary school."
"Big tough firefighters teaching tiny children? That must be adorable."
I grunt, remembering last month's demonstration.
"One of my mates got tackled by a group of kindergarteners who wanted to try on his helmet. It took us ten minutes to extract him."
Her laugh is adorable, even if it ends in a slight cough.
"And these are the men I'll be living with?"
"We all have our own homes. But, yes, we spend most of our time at the fire station and sometimes sleep there," I tell her. "But don’t worry. They're good men. The best, actually."
"Even if they can't cook, apparently?"
"That's mainly Danny's fault. He tries to get creative in the kitchen. Last week, he attempted sushi."
She raises an eyebrow. "Attempted?"
"Let's just say the local poison control center has us on speed dial."
Another laugh, stronger this time.
"Well, I can cook. It's the least I can do to repay you all."
“You’re a guest in our station. You won’t have to do anything besides recovering.”
We finally get to the station, and I help her down from the truck. She sways slightly, and I keep my arm around her waist as we walk inside. The main bay is quiet – the team is out on a routine call.
"The living quarters are upstairs," I explain, guiding her toward the elevator. I'm not about to make her climb stairs in her condition. "Your room is separate from the guys' bunk room, down a different hallway. You'll have privacy."
The elevator doors close, and suddenly, I'm acutely aware of how small the space is and how close she is. She smells like hospital antiseptic, but underneath that, there's still that hint of vanilla.
"Luke?" her soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Thank you. Really. I don't know what I would have done..."
"Hey," I turn to face her fully. "You don't need to thank me. It's my job to help people."
"Is it your job to sit by their hospital bed all night, too?"
"No," I admit. "That was... something else."
The elevator dings before she can respond, and I lead her down the hallway to her temporary room. It's basic but clean – a double bed with fresh linens, a small bathroom, and a mini fridge.
"Home sweet home," she says, looking around. "At least until I figure out what to do about my house."
"The insurance adjustor will be around in two days. I can go with you if you want help assessing the damage."
She turns to me, and something vulnerable in her green eyes makes my chest tight. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
Because I haven't been able to get you out of my head since I carried you out of that fire. Because something about you calls to me in a way I don't understand. Because the thought of you anywhere else makes me crazy.
Instead, I say, "Because everyone needs help sometimes. Even stubborn illustrators who work too late."
"I'm not stubborn," she protests, then yawns widely.
"Sure you're not. Get some rest. There's a phone by the bed – extension 1 reaches my office directly if you need anything."
She nods, already looking dead on her feet. "Will you... will you check on me later?"
"Yes," I answer, probably too quickly. "I'll bring up some dinner. Real food, not Danny's experiments."
"My hero," she mumbles, and I'm not sure if she means to say it out loud.
I force myself to leave, closing the door behind me. Leaning against the wall, I take a deep breath. This is a terrible idea.
I'm her rescuer; she's younger and vulnerable, and I'm taking advantage of that by keeping her close.
But as I head back to my office, I can't bring myself to regret it. The image of her in my station's clothes, the way she feels against my side when I support her, the sass beneath her sweet exterior – it's all combining into something dangerously addictive.
A few days, I remind myself. She'll stay a few days, get back on her feet, and then go back to her life. That's all this is.
So why does the thought of her leaving already feel like a punch in the gut?