Chapter 5
Chapter Five
EMBER
The buzz of six-year-olds fills the classroom, a mix of squeaky chairs, whispered secrets, and pencils clattering on desks. I smooth my skirt over my lap and try not to look at the clock for the fifth time in two minutes.
Any second now, the fire department is going to walk through that door, and I’ll be forced to face him again.
Him.
The British firefighter who smiles as if saving me was just another Tuesday.
The one who smells like soap and sin. The one who has no idea I’m still replaying that smirk in my head when I have no business fantasising about a man much younger than me.
A single dad too. Yes, I checked Sienna’s file yesterday after he left.
It doesn’t say his age, but you only have to look at him to see he’s in his prime.
Unlike me in my midlife, midriff and midnight snacking era, not to mention the bouts of perimenopausal anxiety, brain fog, and the odd chin hair.
And now he’s coming into my classroom.
The door opens, and a ripple of excitement runs through the kids. A dozen little voices squeal, “The firemen!”
He walks in first, broad shoulders filling the doorway, navy shirt stretched just right, turnout coat slung over one arm like he’s in a recruitment poster.
Behind him, Phoenix grins, wheeling in a trolley of props—a plastic fire extinguisher, a smoke alarm, and a poster with cartoon flames. “Morning, little legends,” he calls, earning a cheer from the kids.
None of it matters. My eyes lock on him.
Mr. October, or Mr. Coleman as I found out from his daughter’s file.
He catches my gaze, and the corner of his mouth lifts in that slow, panty-melting smile.
“Good morning, class,” I manage, my voice wobbling like jelly. “This is… Firefighter Coleman, here to talk about fire safety.”
He smiles at the class and says, “Call me Drake.”
“Draco,” Phoenix coughs under his breath, and the class erupts in giggles.
“Draco?” I echo before I can stop myself.
His eyes glint with amusement. “Nickname,” he says with a shrug, like it explains everything. Then he discards his jacket, revealing an inked dragon tail trailing down his arm.
The heat in my cheeks spreads to my toes.
“Cool!” one boy blurts. “Is that a dragon?”
Another boy says, “Are you a dragon? Can you breathe fire?”
The room bursts into chatter, and Drake chuckles low in his throat, the sound curling straight through me. “Only if I eat too much chilli,” he says, winking at the boy.
The class laughs. I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, too. He’s good with them. Too good.
Sienna, sitting front and centre, beams up at her dad like the sun itself. My heart twinges with warmth.
He launches into the talk and I take a back seat, letting him have the room. “Stop, drop, and roll, crawl low under smoke, check your batteries in the alarms.” His voice is steady, confident, magnetic, and every so often, he glances at me with a smirk, like he knows exactly how flustered I am.
When he crouches to demonstrate “crawl low under smoke,” half the class crawls after him in a giggling wave. He plays along, pretending to be a dragon chasing them, and the kids shriek with delight.
I should be mortified. Instead, I’m watching him through fiery eyes, my heart thudding as if I’m the one who’s six.
When it’s over, the kids line up for high-fives, clamouring around him like he’s a superhero. And maybe he is.
“Any questions for Firefighter Drake?” I ask, trying to steer the chaos.
A hand shoots up. “My mom wanted to know if you were married?”
My stomach drops. “Oh, uh—maybe let’s keep the questions about fire safety.”
But Draco is grinning. “Not married,” he says, like it’s nothing, and my entire class erupts in ooohs.
Another hand. “Do you like Miss Sparks?”
I choke on air. “That’s enough!” I squeak, flapping my hands as if I can wave the question away.
“Do you drive the fire truck really fast?” one boy yells.
Drake grins. “Only when I have the sirens on.”
“Do you get to keep kittens when you rescue them?” another girl asks.
He chuckles, throwing me a glance that makes my stomach somersault. “Not usually. Though sometimes they end up in the care of very kind teachers.”
My cheeks flame.
Sienna’s hand shoots up. “My daddy said he rescued a kitten from your roof.”
Twenty pairs of eyes swing to me, wide and curious. I want the floor to swallow me whole. “All right, class,” I say too brightly. “Time for thank-yous.”
But the questions keep coming.
“Can you spray the hose on the playground?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Do firefighters wear capes?”
Drake answers each with the same effortless charm, convincing the kids he’s part superhero and part dragon.
Phoenix leans against the wall, chuckling under his breath as the chaos unfolds. “Mate,” he mutters to Drake, “you’ve got ‘em eating out of your hand. Even the teacher.”
I shoot him a glare over the kids’ heads, but it only makes him laugh more.
I shout over the kids all talking at once. “Please, questions about fire safety only.” But the kids are merciless, grinning, whispering. Drake just smirks at me, the devil himself in navy blue.
“Fire safety,” he drawls in his British accent, eyes locked on mine. “Very important.”
I press a hand to my desk to steady myself. He’s trouble. He’s too young. Too hot. And no matter how much I want to believe in sparks, I know how this ends.
Because men want families, children, futures I can’t give. And I’ve already learned the hard way what happens when I love someone enough to confess that truth.
I get left behind.
The bell clangs overhead, and the kids erupt, chairs scraping, voices high and squeaky as they stampede for the door. Sienna hangs back to give her dad a hug before following Phoenix out the door.
I wave them out with a sigh of relief, clutching at my dignity as tightly as I do my lesson planner.
In seconds, the classroom is quiet. Just him and me.
He leans against the desk, casual as anything, rolling his sleeves up his forearms. The dragon ink twists with the movement, coiling down his muscle. He’s not even doing anything, and my heart is trying to pound its way out of my ribcage.
“Guess that went well,” he says, his accent smooth, smug, entirely too aware of the chaos he just caused.
“Well?” I scoff, though it comes out more breathless than I intend. “My class is convinced you’re a dragon who eats chilli and flies a fire truck like the Batmobile.”
“Sounds about right.” He flashes that smile again, and my insides flip.
I busy myself stacking a pile of spelling books so I don’t have to look at him. “You didn’t have to answer their… personal questions.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “They asked. I answered. Besides—” His eyes lock on mine, wicked and amused. “Didn’t seem like you minded too much when I said I was single. I’m sure I saw a smile tugging at your lips.”
Heat rushes up my neck. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re flustered.” He pushes off the desk, closing the gap just enough that I catch a trace of soap again. Too close. Far too close.
“I should—” My voice cracks. “—check on the kids.”
“They’re fine.” He nods towards the large window at the side of the classroom.
“The playground looks secure enough. Plenty of staff out there already, not to mention Phoenix having the time of his life.” His lips twitch as though he’s holding back another smirk. “I think you’re just trying to escape.”
He’s right. But the worst part is, I don’t want to.
Through the window, Phoenix shows a group of kids how to aim a hose with no water pressure, pretending to spray Drake through the glass. The children are in hysterics. He gives me a mock salute before turning back to them.
“Thank you for coming in today,” I blurt, the professional tone falling flat with how breathless I sound.
“My pleasure,” he says, and I swear it’s not about the fire safety talk at all.
The silence stretches, charged and thick, until the distant squeals of children outside yank me back to reality. I clear my throat, clutching the books tighter. “The kids loved it. You… did a good job.”
“Always happy to do my bit.” He straightens, giving me that lazy, devastating smile again. “See you Friday.”
“Friday?”
His grin deepens. “Halloween party. Chief mentioned it.” His gaze lingers, warm and knowing, before he finally heads for the door. He turns to look back at me. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing you in a catsuit.”
“Catsuit?” I shake my head at the thought.
I don’t go to my brother’s stupid Halloween parties.
Even if it is a fundraiser for the firehouse.
I’ve never cared for them, since I was a teenager.
Finding a costume to fit is hard enough, not to mention how ridiculous I look in it. “What are you wearing?”
He grins. “The guys said they have a costume for me.” He winks before walking out the door.
And just like that, I’m left in my empty classroom, my heart racing and my hands shaking, wondering where on earth I’m supposed to get a cat costume in my size at such short notice.
I wasn’t going to go, but I’m drawn to this man like a firefly drawn to the light.
If attending my brother’s fundraiser means I’ll get to spend more time with Mr. October, then so be it.
Before the kids return from break, I pull my phone from the drawer to message the girls. “Wine & Whine Whores” lights up my screen and I smile at the name of the group chat.
Anyone know anywhere I can get a sexy cat outfit before Friday?
Nikita Devan: The pet shop? Though I don’t know about sexy.
Raine Grosvenor: Who is Cersei trying to seduce now?
Nikki Lowther: Ugh, don’t tell me it’s her brother again.
Raine Grosvenor: Can’t you just buy a collar with a bowtie attached? You pamper those fur balls way too much.
Nikki Lowther: They’re her babies.
It’s not for Cersei.
Nikki Lowther: Is it Ghost? He’d rock a bowtie.
It’s for me.
…
Silence…
I chew on my bottom lip, knowing I’m doomed.
Nikita Devan: You could try Target, but I went to get my son a costume yesterday and they didn’t have much left.
Raine Grosvenor: Why do you need a sexy cat outfit?
Nikki Lowther: Oh! It’s for the firehouse Halloween party, isn’t it?
Nikita Devan: Wait—are you finally going to one of your brother’s parties? Voluntarily?
Maybe.
Raine Grosvenor: Who are you trying to impress?
Nikki Lowther: Tell us everything. Is he hot?
Nikita Devan: Ripped or dad bod?
No one. I just want to look nice for once.
Nikki Lowther: Like hell you do.
Nikita Devan: Holy. Flaming. Hosepipe, it’s the new guy.
Raine Grosvenor: What new guy?
Nikita Devan: The British fireman. You go girl. Cersei would be proud.
I’m deleting this chat.
Nikki Lowther: Not before you send a selfie in the costume.
Raine Grosvenor: More importantly, I need a selfie of this British fireman. How have I missed this?
I’m changing all your names in my phone to Nosy, Pesky, and Bossy.
Nikki Lowther: Aren’t those dwarf names?
Nikita Devan: Pretty sure you mean Menopausal, Horny, and Whiney.
Raine Grosvenor: Do you still have our full names in your phone?
Of course I do. What if I have more than two people with the same name? How else would I tell you apart?
Raine Grosvenor: Right, because Raine is soooo popular.
Nikita Devan: Yeah, every other person I meet is called Raine
Nikki Lowther: She’ll probably still list us as “Bossy (Full Name).”
Don’t tempt me. I’m adding emojis next.
The kids come barrelling through the door and I slip my phone back into my pocket with a huge grin on my face. Mr. October might look like he stepped out of a calendar, but I’m gonna look like the treat he didn’t know he was trick-or-treating for.