Chapter 10 #3
She arches an eyebrow, something playful flickering in her expression. "All bets are off?"
"Something like that."
I lean in and kiss her—quick, hard, full of every promise we didn't quite make last night. She melts into me for half a second before I force myself to step back.
"I have to go in," I say reluctantly. "Captain needs an extra body on shift."
June blinks, still looking slightly dazed. "On a Sunday?"
"Fires don't take weekends off." I grab my keys, shrug into my jacket. "You okay with Emma for a few hours?"
She nods, brightening. "We'll be fine. She mentioned making pasta—maybe I'll finally teach her how to knead dough without turning the kitchen into a flour tornado."
I pause at the door and look back.
June's standing in the morning light—coffee in hand, jeans hugging every curve. It hits me like a punch to the chest. How easily she fits here. How much I want this to last.
"You're amazing, you know that?"
She scoffs. "I'm just me."
"Exactly."
I cross back to her, cup her face, and kiss her one more time. Slower. Deeper.
When I pull away, she's flushed and smiling.
"Be safe," she whispers against my lips.
"Always."
I'm grinning like an idiot the entire drive to the station.
I let myself picture it—coming home to this. Every Sunday. Every morning. June in my kitchen, Emma laughing, the three of us becoming a family.
As long as she'll let me.
As long as she'll stay.
***
Monday afternoon. I'm halfway through sorting turnout gear at the station when my phone buzzes in my pocket. June's name lights up the screen.
Ice slides down my spine immediately.
School's out. The bakery's closed. June's home with Emma. June never calls during a shift. My brain jumps straight to worst-case scenarios—Emma hurt, an accident, something wrong.
I answer fast, heart in my throat. "Hey—everything okay?"
There's a breath on the other end. Then June's voice, pitched higher than usual. "Sarah was just here."
My spine goes ice-cold. "What?"
"She showed up unannounced." June's words come quick, a little shaky. "I was doing arts and crafts with Emma and she just—she was at the door. She saw me. Saw us. Here. Together."
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. "What did she say?"
"I told her about the boiler. That it's temporary.
She barely listened." June pauses, takes a steadying breath.
"She asked where you were. Then she hugged Emma—barely a minute, Adam, like she was checking a box—and when she left, she looked right at me and said, 'We'll be talking about this temporary living arrangement, June. Adam will be hearing from my lawyer.'"
The words land like a fist to the gut.
"She said lawyer?" My voice comes out flat, controlled—but my pulse is hammering.
"Yes. She made it sound like a threat." June's voice cracks slightly. "I didn't want to scare you, but I thought you should know. Be ready."
All the progress of the past week—June settling in, Emma happy and laughing, the easy rhythm we've found—suddenly feels fragile. Breakable. Like one wrong move could shatter everything.
I force myself to breathe. Think.
"You did everything right," I say firmly. "I'll be home as soon as my shift ends. Don't open the door for her again unless I'm there, okay?"
"I won't."
I want to tell her not to worry. That this will blow over. That Sarah's just posturing.
But I know better. Sarah never lets anything go. Custody arrangements, living situations, perceived violations—it's all ammunition to her. Weapons she'll use without hesitation.
"This is going to be a problem," I say quietly. The truest thing I've said all day.
Silence stretches between us. Then June's voice comes back, steadier. "We'll handle it, Adam. Together. Just like we said we would if it came to it."
I need to believe her.
"Together," I echo.
After we hang up, I stand in the equipment bay, phone still in my hand, staring at nothing.
Around me, the station hums with activity—guys laughing, someone yelling about food orders, the scanner crackling with routine calls. Normal. Easy. Like the world hasn't just shifted under my feet.
But my mind is already spinning through scenarios.
Sarah contacting her lawyer. Emergency custody hearings.
A judge asking questions I don't have good answers for.
Why is another woman living in your home?
Is this relationship serious? How long has this been going on?
What kind of environment are you providing for your daughter?
I think about Emma's face when June walks through the door. The way she lights up. The way she asked if June was staying forever, like it was the most natural question in the world.
I think about June—warm and steady, fitting into our life seamlessly.
And just like that, the happiness we've started building feels terrifyingly precarious.
Like something I might lose before I ever really had it.
I shove my phone in my pocket and force myself back to work. But the worry sits heavy in my chest, cold and unshakable.
Sarah's been waiting for this. An opening. A reason to drag me back to court.
And now she has one.