Chapter 9
NINE
CORD
The morning light slipped through the blinds in soft golden bars. I blinked against the brightness, disoriented for a second, until the scent hit me.
Coffee .
Not the sludge from the firehouse kitchen, or even the unapologetically bold roast from Kiss My Grits. This was gentler. Cozy. Like it had been brewed to be sipped slowly instead of inhaled between alarms.
Lucy .
The spot beside me was empty but still warm. She hadn’t been gone long. I stretched into it instinctively, still feeling the press of her body in the sheets, the softness of her thighs hooked over mine, the echo of her breathless laugh.
I hadn’t meant to stay. That wasn’t my thing. Nights like last night usually ended with a quiet, pre-dawn exit, no mess, no questions, no expectations.
But I’d stayed.
And now? I didn’t want to go.
I sat up, ran a hand through my hair, and looked around in the muted light. Her room was quiet, the house still. I could hear the soft burble of the coffeemaker down the hall.
No TV. No footsteps. No voices. Just peace.
I pulled on my jeans and padded toward the kitchen barefoot, still rumpled from sleep, still not entirely sure what I was doing.
But I knew I wanted to see her again. And that was new.
She was at the stove when I stepped into the kitchen—barefoot, in a soft gray tee that hung off one shoulder and a pair of pajama shorts that showed off a whole lot of long, bare leg. Her hair was piled in a messy knot on top of her head, wisps curling around her neck and cheek.
She looked like a goddamn dream.
Lucy turned at the sound of my footsteps, eyes widening just slightly before she caught herself. Her smile came quick, but there was a nervous flutter to it, like she was still trying to figure out what this was. What we were now.
“Morning,” she said, voice light but tight around the edges. “Coffee?”
“Wouldn’t say no.” I leaned against the doorway, watching her as she reached for a second mug, her movements a little too precise. Like if she didn’t focus, she might drop something.
She poured without looking at me, her posture still relaxed on the surface, but that energy underneath told a different story. She wasn’t panicked. She wasn’t pulling away. She was just… unsure.
Not of the night before. I could still feel the imprint of her fingernails on my back.
But of this. The morning after. The part neither of us had written yet.
I stepped forward, took the mug she offered, and let my fingers brush hers as I did. “Thanks,” I said softly, just to see her look up.
Her eyes met mine. And for a second, the nerves eased. Just a little.
I stepped in close, the coffee warm in my hand, and reached up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. She stilled under my touch, like she wasn’t sure what I was going to do next.
Then I kissed her. Soft. Unrushed. No heat, no pressure, just a quiet press of my mouth to hers.
She sighed against me, her body leaning in, and that sigh went straight to my chest. She tasted like coffee and something sweeter. Like safety wrapped in a storm.
God, I liked kissing her.
Too much.
When I pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes, she opened them slowly, as if coming out of a dream.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice low.
She nodded, the motion small but sure. “Yeah. Just… not used to this.”
I let out a breath that was half a laugh. “Me neither.”
“Want breakfast?”
I waited for the alarm bells to ring. The fire to light under my ass, urging me out the door. But I felt none of that. I didn’t want to be anywhere but right here, drinking coffee with her. “Breakfast sounds great.”
She turned back to the fridge, humming low under her breath, pulling out eggs, cheese, and a little carton of something that looked like half-and-half. The domesticity of it made something unfamiliar twist low in my gut.
While she moved around the kitchen, I let my gaze drift.
The space was tidy—lived in, but not messy.
A corkboard hung on one wall, half-covered with sticky notes and a grocery list. And there on the fridge, pinned up with a novelty magnet shaped like a cactus, was a brightly colored thank-you card.
Stars, rainbows, a smiling stick figure holding what I guessed was a chalkboard.
Miss Sullivan rocks! it said in bubble letters, complete with glitter glue and a backward “S.”
I smiled. “Miss Sullivan?”
She glanced over her shoulder, like she’d forgotten it was there. “I teach elementary school.”
“Yeah?” I crossed my arms, leaned against the counter. “You seem like you’d be good at it.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just shrugged and gave me a smile—small, polite, a little too practiced.
She wasn’t inviting more questions.
And I got it. She wasn’t cold—just protective. There were layers here. Walls. Not the kind you saw right away, but the kind that didn’t come down easy.
I didn’t push. Just sipped my coffee and let the moment breathe.
Lucy didn’t look at me as she cracked an egg one-handed into the skillet, her other hand fidgeting with the edge of the carton like she needed something to do.
Her voice came soft, almost like she wasn’t sure she meant to say it out loud.
“It didn’t come up last night. Honestly…
it was really nice. Just having legitimate adult conversation. ”
That thread of vulnerability tugged at something in my chest.
I set my coffee on the counter and stepped in behind her. Not close enough to press, just enough that she’d feel the shift.
Gently, I reached up and tipped her chin toward me with two fingers, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes flicked to mine—uncertain, expectant.
My voice dropped. “Mmm, right now I’m thinking about all kinds of fun, very adult things when it comes to you. ”
Color bloomed in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. I leaned in and brushed my mouth over the curve of her neck, letting the heat of my breath linger there. Her pulse fluttered under my lips.
My hands slid to her waist, thumbs stroking over the edge of her soft tee as I gently nudged her back against the counter.
She laughed—low, breathless, intoxicating. “What about breakfast?”
I nipped at the place just below her ear and growled, “It can wait.” To underscore the point, I reached out and switched off the burner on the stove.
She didn’t answer with words. She just turned, leaning back against the edge of the counter, lips parted like she wanted to speak but couldn’t remember how.
So I kissed her again. Not soft this time. There was nothing tentative about it. I took her mouth like I’d been thinking about it since the second I’d woken up—and hell, maybe even before that. She met me with equal heat, arms sliding around my neck, fingers threading into my hair.
Her hips shifted against me, that loose tee brushing her bare thighs as I stepped in, pressing her back just enough to feel the sweet curve of her against me. She was warm and pliant and so damn eager it made my pulse stumble.
I caught her bottom lip between my teeth, tugged just enough to earn that little breathy sound she made when she forgot to be nervous.
Her legs parted slightly, inviting, and I took that invitation, lifting her onto the edge of the counter in one fluid move.
She gasped, then wrapped her legs around my waist like her body knew exactly where this was going.
We were there. Already spiraling.
One of my hands slid beneath her shirt, fingers tracing up her side to the soft weight of her breast. No bra. Good morning to me .
She arched into me, kissed me deeper. My other hand gripped her thigh, thumb brushing the inside, finding skin that made her tremble.
This was it. No hesitation. No rules. Just fire, and I couldn’t wait to dive in.
Until my damn phone buzzed in the back pocket of my jeans, cutting through the heat like a cold slap.
I groaned, forehead dropping briefly to her shoulder. “Hang on.”
I fished it out, already knowing it wasn’t going to be good. One glance at the screen confirmed it—a text from the station.
CALL-IN:
Shift short. Need coverage ASAP. You available?
“Shit,” I muttered.
Lucy straightened a little, tension creeping back into her shoulders.
“I’ve got to go in,” I said, already kicking myself for how much I didn’t want to.
She nodded, casual, like it didn’t matter, but her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt and I knew it did. Knew this morning hadn’t been just nothing for either of us.
I reached for her hand, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. “I want to see you again.”
She blinked, surprised. Then—just for a heartbeat—she hesitated. A pause I might’ve missed if I weren’t watching her that closely. But then she smiled, small and soft. “Okay.”
I exhaled, some knot inside me loosening. “I’ll text you later.”
She nodded again, and I leaned in to press one last kiss to her mouth. Slow. Lingering. Just enough to make her lips part like she wanted more .
God, I wanted more.
But duty called.
I pulled back, grabbed my shirt and boots, and made myself walk to the door—already counting the hours until I could come back.