Chapter 8
I finished organizing my kitchen drawers, a task I had put off since moving, when my phone screen lit up on the counter. I reached for it, expecting another text from my mother asking if I'd met any nice people yet. Instead, I was caught off guard with a text from Liam.
Liam:
Goodnight, beautiful. Sweet dreams.
Lieutenant Crawford had actually texted me. And not just any text, but a text making my stomach do things I hadn't felt since sophomore year when Terrance Washington asked me to homecoming.
I sank onto a barstool. Beautiful? The man who barely smiled sent me a goodnight text with terms of endearment?
"Girl, stop acting brand new," I muttered to myself, unlocking my phone to see the full message. There wasn't any more, only those words flipping my evening upside down.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. What would be an appropriate response for a man who'd kissed me senseless on a street corner, then walked away like some hero in a romance novel? The kiss had been fire, literally and figuratively, and we both knew it.
Me:
I thought lieutenants weren't supposed to text civilians after hours. Breaking protocol, Crawford?
I hit send, and not even thirty seconds later, my phone lit up again.
Liam:
Some protocols are worth breaking. Still thinking about that kiss?
Damn, so much for subtlety. Heat rose to my cheeks.
Me:
Bold of you to assume I am.
Though, of course, I had been. His response came quickly.
Liam:
Aren't you?
I bit my lip, debating how honest to be. Screw it.
Me:
Maybe. When I'm not busy being a productive member of society. Besides, I have kitchen drawers to organize.
Liam:
Kitchen drawers at 11 p.m.? Now who's breaking protocol?
I laughed out loud at that, settling more comfortably onto the stool.
Me:
Insomnia makes for excellent productivity. Plus, my place is still a disaster zone.
There was a longer pause before his next message appeared.
Liam:
Any trouble sleeping since the fire?
This question hit differently than the playful banter, striking something raw and vulnerable I hadn't planned on sharing. Something about the late hour and the distance between us made honesty easier.
Me:
Yeah. I keep dreaming about smoke and waking up thinking I can't breathe.
I hit send, hoping I hadn't killed the mood.
Liam:
That's normal. Trauma response. Have you talked to anyone about it?
Me:
Only you, and now I'm feeling ridiculous about it.
Liam:
Don't. I still dream about fires, too. The bad ones stay with you.
I stared at his text, reading between the lines. There was history there, something deeper than the general stress of the job. I remembered how his crew had talked about him, the respect in their voices when they mentioned the lives he'd saved, including theirs.
Me:
Is that why you keep people at a distance? Are you afraid of what might stay with you?
The typing dots appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared.
Liam:
That obvious, huh?
Me:
Only to someone who recognizes the signs.
There was another longer pause this time.
Liam:
It's easier. Letting people close means giving them the power to hurt you when things go wrong.
The raw honesty in his message made my chest ache. I'd built my own walls after Shelton. The toxic gaslighting had me questioning my own reality for months: different circumstances, but the same mechanism.
Liam:
Then I complicated things by kissing you on a street corner.
I smiled at the screen.
Me:
To be fair, I kissed you back. Enthusiastically.
Liam:
I noticed. Breakfast tomorrow? To properly balance the universe, coffee, food, daylight, and the opposite of street corner kisses.
My fingers froze. Breakfast. An actual date, a deliberate choice to spend time together.
The flutter in my stomach morphed into a knot of anxiety.
Was I ready for this? For him? The intensity of his eyes when he looked at me, the weight of whatever trauma he carried — none of it screamed simple and uncomplicated.
What if this turned into another situation where I invested myself, only to discover I'd built something on quicksand? I pushed myself off the barstool to pace the small kitchen.
Me:
Sure, why not? I could use some pancakes in my life. When and where?
Liam:
Goodwin Grove Diner, 9 a.m.? Best pancakes in town.
Me:
It's a date, Lieutenant.
I added a winking emoji.
Liam:
See you tomorrow. Now get some sleep instead of organizing drawers.
I smiled at my phone, turned off the light, and headed to my bedroom.
I changed into some sleep shorts and a tank top, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed, pulling the covers under my chin.
As I settled, a smile lingered on my face, and for the first time since the fire, no dreams of smoke followed me into the darkness.
The next morning, I entered the diner at 9:07 a.m., telling myself the seven-minute delay was casual, not calculated. It was absolutely calculated. The bell above the door announced my arrival with a cheerful jingle, drawing a few glances.
I scanned the diner, finding Liam in a corner booth by the window. He wore a navy-blue DryFit shirt stretching across his shoulders in a way that should be illegal before noon, and dark jeans. The man made the basic clothes look like they were designed for his body.
Liam looked up as I approached the table. My heart did a ridiculous flutter thing again, and I silently told myself to get my shit together.
"You're late," he said, but the corner of his mouth quirked up, taking the sting out of his words.
"By seven minutes. That's early in architect time." I smiled, sliding into the booth across from him.
"Is that like musician time? Show up when you feel like it?"
"Please. We're professionals. We have exact calculations for how late we can be while still appearing fashionably unbothered."
Liam chuckled, a genuine laugh transforming his entire face. Damn, I was in trouble.
"Coffee?" He nodded toward the mug already in front of him.
As if summoned, the waitress appeared with a fresh pot of coffee. "You must be the architect? I'm Marlene. I run this place," she said, filling the empty mug on the table.
"Gisselle. How did you—"
"Chile, it's Goodwin Grove. News travels faster than the internet. Are you ready to order, or do you need a minute? She winked at Liam, who grinned widely.
"I hear the pancakes are the best in town," I answered, meeting Liam's eyes over my coffee mug.
"Yes, ma'am," Marlene replied.
"I'll take blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon, and maybe some fruit if you have it," I decided.
"Short stack, eggs over easy, turkey bacon," Liam added.
"Coming right up. And Lieutenant, try not to scowl so much. You'll scare her off."
I bit my lip to keep from laughing as Marlene walked away.
"How did you sleep?" Liam asked, clearing his throat.
The unexpected thoughtfulness of the question, referencing our text conversation last night, caught me off guard. "Yeah, my first night without smoke dreams since the fire."
"Good." He nodded, adding more cream to his coffee.
"How about you? Did you sleep well?"
"Better than usual. Though my sister kept texting me ridiculous dating advice until midnight."
I raised an eyebrow. "Dating advice. I wondered if this was an official date," I noted, grinning.
"Yeah, if that's okay with you."
"More than okay. Though I should warn you, I haven't been on a proper breakfast date since college."
"What constitutes an improper breakfast date?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
I giggled. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I teased as heat spread through my core.
We enjoyed more small talk before the arrival of our food broke the moment, plates piled high with food. We fell into an easy conversation as we ate.
"How's the community center design coming along?" Liam asked, reaching for the syrup at the same time I did, but he let me take it first.
"It's challenging. The building has great bones, which is a plus."
"Your vision is what this town needs."
I looked up. "You sound pretty sure about that."
Liam shrugged, cutting into his eggs. "I've seen what happens when a town refuses to evolve. It dies slowly. Goodwin Grove needs new energy and fresh ideas. People like you."
"People like me, huh?" I smiled.
"Yeah, people who see possibility here, where others only see what used to be."
That struck me, how he pinpointed what drove me as an architect, not only preserving the past, but finding ways to bridge it with the future.
"Tell me more about your design," he prompted, sounding genuinely interested.
I explained the technical challenges of the renovation and the need to obtain clearance from the historical commission to make exterior changes. Liam asked questions about the material and structural integrity of the building.
"You know a lot about building construction for a firefighter," I observed.
"It's part of the job. Understanding how buildings are constructed helps us understand how they may come apart in a fire. How they might fall," he replied.
There it was again, the hint of something painful in his eyes. I wanted to ask but sensed it wasn't the time. Instead, I steered us back to safer ground, describing my vision for the community spaces.
Before I knew it, we had talked for almost two hours. Our plates were empty, yet neither of us seemed inclined to end the conversation, even as the diner filled with some of the after-church crowd.
"I should probably let you get on with your day," I finally said, though it was the last thing I wanted.
Liam checked his watch. "I didn't realize… Hey, there's this mini-golf place. If you don't have other plans?"
The hopefulness in his voice squeezed my heart. This man asked me to play mini-golf, as if we were teenagers on a first date. It was so endearing. I couldn't have said no if I tried.
"Mini-golf sounds perfect, but I'm extremely competitive, and I will absolutely talk trash if I'm winning," I warned.
A broad smile spread across his face. "You're assuming you'll win, Ms. Daniels. Bold of you."