Chapter 7
LILY
In the morning quiet, my patio chair creaks as I settle deeper into it, wrapping both hands around my coffee mug.
Sunrays slice through the palm fronds, painting zebra stripes across my bare legs.
I close my eyes and inhale the bitter steam, letting the calm seep into my bones.
No need to entertain anyone. Or frantic searches for missing toys.
And no negotiations over how many bites of breakfast must be consumed before leaving the table.
Just forty-eight hours of freedom stretching before me like an empty highway.
“Good morning, dear!”
I nearly launch my coffee into orbit. Agatha is leaning over her railing, decked out in one of her colorful kaftans.
“Sheesh, Agatha.” I cough out a sip of coffee that went down the wrong pipe. “You scared me.”
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” She beams, unapologetic. “Perfect for enjoying some fresh air.”
“It is,” I agree, mourning my shattered moment of peace. Agatha is lovely but also the worst chatterbox.
“Soooo”—she draws out the word—“did you get the sink sorted last night?”
I take another sip of coffee, buying time. Her chipper tone has me on high alert; she must already know the answer and has probably monitored the comings and goings of my apartment from behind her curtains. “I did. Josh fixed it for me.”
“Ah.” She clicks her tongue. “Such a nice young man. So helpful. So… handy.” The inflection she puts on handy is loaded with innuendo.
I narrow my eyes at her. “He replaced a pipe assembly, Agatha. Nothing more.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She nods sagely, as if I’ve confirmed something important. “So, what’s the verdict on our new handyman?”
A million answers fleet through my mind, each more inappropriate than the last. Gorgeous.
Charming. Trouble. He throws me off balance.
One smile and I forget every rule I wrote for myself.
He stirs up wants I’ve sworn off, cravings buried so deep I forgot I had them.
But when I’m around him, the part of me that hopes for more in life wakes up, no matter how hard I try to keep it asleep.
He’s everything I’m afraid to want again.
Josh Collins is a complication I don’t need. A temptation I shouldn’t indulge. The first spark of interest I’ve felt in four years, and it had to be another firefighter with a hero complex. Someone who risks his life every day on the job.
“I didn’t expect him to be so…” I begin, searching for a neutral descriptor that won’t give Agatha ammunition.
“Ugly?” she interrupts with a sarcastic, foxy grin.
I snort into my coffee. “Yes, Agatha. That’s what I was going to say. He’s hideous.”
She cackles. “Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”
“Agatha!”
“What?” She blinks innocently. “I may be old, but I’m not dead.”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “What are you doing up before ten? I thought you didn’t emerge from your lair until at least noon on weekends.”
She leans forward, dropping her voice to a stage whisper that they must hear in San Diego. “Just enjoying the view.” Her gaze shifts suggestively toward the courtyard below.
I stand and lean on the railing, peering past the large palm that blocks the pool from view and…
Oh.
Josh is stretched out on one of the poolside chaises.
Shirtless. Arms crossed behind his head, elbows wide, face tilted up toward the sun like he’s photosynthesizing.
His chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, the morning light highlighting every defined muscle on his body.
Those ripped abs, the narrow trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his swim trunks, the powerful thighs that look like they could crack coconuts.
The white bandage I applied to his arm last night stands out against his tanned skin.
Yep. Trouble. Capital T, underlined twice, with flashing sirens all around.
“Not bad, huh?” Agatha says, her tone smug.
Before I can respond, Josh gets up and stretches, his muscles rippling in a way that should be censored. He walks to the edge of the pool and dips a toe in, testing the temperature.
Wait. Is he about to—
“Oh my gosh,” I mutter, watching in horror as he wades in.
On impulse, I drop the coffee mug on the small table and race down the exterior stairs, my flip-flops slapping with each step.
I march across the courtyard toward the pool, my cotton sleep shorts and tank top hardly appropriate for a public confrontation, but I don’t care.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand when I reach the pool’s edge.
Josh turns, startled. He’s standing waist-deep in the water. When he spots me, his face breaks into a smile so boyish, so unfiltered, that I almost stagger backward.
“Good morning to you too,” he says, his voice warm and amused.
I ignore the greeting, planting my hands on my hips. “Explain yourself.”
“I’m… enjoying the pool?” He raises an eyebrow, confusion clear.
“With a fresh wound? Do you have any idea”—I launch into full nurse mode— “what could happen if the gash gets infected? That water is a petri dish of bacteria. E. coli, pseudomonas, Legionella—”
“I’m gonna need subtitles for that,” he interjects.
I continue, refusing to acknowledge his joke. “You could end up with a systemic infection that lands you back in the ER.”
Josh’s smile widens, which only fuels my irritation. “I’m not swimming, just dipping my toes. See?” He lifts one foot out of the water, wiggling his toes like a five-year-old showing off.
Except he’s waist-high in water, not just the toes. “Come out before you slip and wet your arm.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll get out if it makes you happy.”
And he does. He wades to the steps and climbs out, water slithering down his legs in rivulets that sort of hypnotize me until he comes to stand right in front of me, towering over me in all his bronzed, muscled glory.
He is so close I can smell his sunscreen and I could count the freckles on his collarbones if I wanted to.
His hair is damp at the temples with sweat, curling slightly, and those blue eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my knees go weak.
“Hey,” he rasps in a low, intimate voice.
That single syllable shouldn’t affect me. It’s just a word, not even a complete sentence. But the husky tone he uses, like we’re sharing a secret, makes something catch at the base of my throat that I can’t swallow.
“Hey,” I reply, annoyed at myself for the breathiness in my voice.
“So.” He either doesn’t notice my out-of-breathness or mercifully ignores it. “What are you planning for your weekend off with no kid?”
The question snaps me out of my trance. Right. Normal conversation. I can do that.
“Does catching up on laundry and collapsing on the couch to do nothing all day count as a plan?”
Josh glances up at the cloudless blue sky, then back at me, his expression incredulous. “On such a beautiful day?”
“It’s California,” I remind him. “All days are sunny.”
“Still seems a waste.” He shakes his head. “Have you been for a hike recently?”
Not in forever; my muscles could use the stretch.
It’s as if he reads the answer on my face. “You could show me one of your favorite trails. I’ve been wanting to explore—”
“I can’t.” The words burst out of me, too sudden, too sharp.
Josh tilts his head. “Can’t hike?”
“No.” I take a step back. “This.” I flip a finger between us, feeling ridiculous but saying what I need, anyway. “You’re flirting with me, and I’m… I’m not ready.”
His jaw locks, playfulness fading into a frown.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to see another man like that,” I continue, unable to stop now that I’ve started. “And if I were, I would never, ever get involved with you.”
Josh raises his eyebrows. “I’m trying really hard not to take that personally.”
I groan inwardly. Even when being rejected, he’s all easy charm. “It’s not you,” I clarify, even though it sounds like a line. “It’s your job.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Ah.”
“I will never, ever, ever date another firefighter.” The words come out with a finality that surprises even me. “Not happening. Not in this lifetime. I can’t do it again. Can’t spend my days wondering when your last one will be.” I take a breath, feeling calmer for having said it out loud.
Josh stares at me, a storm passing behind his eyes. He could play this a million different ways, deny he was even trying anything. But he doesn’t.
“So, it’s what? Good morning and good evening when we pass each other by the mailbox?”
We’ve only shared a meal together. But the thought of us reduced to nodding over junk mail leaves me unexpectedly miserable.
It shouldn’t matter—our paths only crossed twice, not enough to explain this irrational reluctance.
But the idea of him becoming just another neighbor I politely ignore feels strangely unbearable.
“We can be friends. If you want.”
His face falls before sliding back into its usual easygoing attitude. But I caught the flash of disappointment. It stirs something in me that I quickly tamp down.
“I just moved to LA,” he says with a casual shrug that doesn’t fool either of us. “Don’t have many friends yet. Could use a new one who”—he looks behind me, where Agatha must be lurking on her balcony to eavesdrop— “won’t create a dossier on me.”
I laugh despite myself, relief and a strange sense of dejection mingling in my chest. He’s accepting my boundaries. That’s good. It’s what I want. So why do I wish he’d pushed back just a little?
“So,” he continues, that smile returning in full force, “up for a hike, friend?”
I hesitate. Spending more time with Josh feels dangerous, like playing with matches while standing in a puddle of gasoline. Despite my claims, I can’t deny the attraction.
I’ve been numb for years. And Josh is the first person to shake me out of that frozen place I’ve been trapped in since Daniel died. Even if it won’t lead anywhere romantic, I’m not ready to give up that feeling. Maybe friendship is enough. And it’s all I can handle right now, anyway.
“I hope you have proper hiking shoes,” I say, crossing my arms. “If you show up in flip-flops, I’m leaving without you.”
His smile turns triumphant. “Is that a yes?”
“Be ready in half an hour,” I instruct, already turning to head back to my apartment. “And keep that bandage dry!”
I sense his gaze on me as I cross the courtyard and resist the urge to look over my shoulder. I know what I’d find: that dazzling smile, those eyes that see too much set on me.
A reckless half of my brain wants to rewind, to say something different, to risk more than I can afford.
But it’s the scared, wounded, grieving part of me that takes over.
I lengthen my stride, determined to hold the line I drew between us, even if every step I take away from him pushes closed a door I’m not sure I want to shut.
I’m walking, but it feels a lot like running.