Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
My stomach hangs somewhere near my knees. The fire station feels off-limits, a place I’m not supposed to go.
But where else am I supposed to find the man who saved my life? Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step inside before I change my mind.
“Can I help you?”
A man, tall with closely cropped thinning salt and pepper hair, stands near a red fire truck.
“Hello.” I smile at the man and walk closer. He’s built like a wall with a shirt that reads ‘Captain.’ The mustache on his face looks like it’s lived there a long time. “I’m looking for someone, um…” I swallow against my awkwardness. “Last Saturday night there was a fire at my house. I was inside, and he rescued me.” It’s not a question, but my voice lifts at the end and it comes out sounding like one.
His head cocks sideways. “On Vista Buena?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“That was Woodruff. He’s in the kitchen. Let me grab him.”
He leaves me in the bay. To keep busy, I study the equipment. A long yellow tube hangs from the ceiling, and off to the side a pole leads up to the second story. I don’t know why, but I’d always thought that was fire station lore. I guess not.
A door to the left opens, and the firefighter I’d been talking with walks out. He’s followed by two men, dressed the same, and about the same height.
The second man steps sideways, coming into my full view. His dark brown hair shines like glazed chocolate in the overhead light, and even from this distance I see what his gear hid. This man is attractive, a brand of handsome that knocks a person sideways and requires them to recover.
His eyes find mine. The warmth in his gaze settles into me, the pleased surprise on his face flooding my senses. His strides are long and certain. Two feet from me he stops, extending a hand. He doesn’t smile, but the corners of his lips lift. Somehow, in a way that defies reasoning, I know this man has a deep soul. I feel it in my own.
I place my hand in his waiting palm, and when his calluses scrape my skin, my breath steals up my throat. I find my voice, and say, “Last Saturday night… Thank you for what you did. If it weren’t for you, I…” The unsaid portion of my sentence hangs in the air. He knows just as well as I do what could’ve happened if it weren’t for him. “You’re a hero.”
He releases my hand. His teeth capture the side of his lower lip and he shakes his head. “I was only doing my job.”
A sliver of something slips through me. Something delightful . “Then I guess I’m very happy you’re good at your job.”
Now he smiles, a closed-mouth, almost shy grin, as if the flattery pleases and embarrasses him in equal measure. A thin white scar stretches from the top of his upper lip to his nose, lifting his lip a fraction on that side. It makes an otherwise handsome face appear rugged. I like it.
Quiet falls over us, and normally I’m good in these situations. I can chat, fill a space, but my unexpected attraction has robbed me of my talent. The silence stretches across a handful of seconds, awkwardness building, and the older firefighter nudges him. The third firefighter, who I’ve nearly forgotten is present, grins and urges, “Come on, hero.”
He doesn’t react to the nudge or the teasing. His gaze stays locked on me and he says, “I didn’t catch your name?” His hands tuck into his pockets, his eyebrows lift.
My name? Do I have one? Oh, right. “Avery Burke.”
“Gabriel Woodruff.”
The hero has a name. It’s a good name, too. Solid. Stable. “It’s nice to meet you, Gabriel.”
“You as well, Avery.”
He says my name with care and purpose, his voice a warm caress around all five letters.
I force myself to step back into reality. “I said what I came here to say, so I won’t keep you.” My gaze swings over the three men. “Thank you for doing what you do.”
I turn to the exit, retracing my steps. There’s movement behind me, the soft swish of fabric, but when I don’t hear footsteps I keep going.
My hand is on my car door handle when I hear my name.
“Avery?”
I turn, tenting a hand over my eyes to block out the sun. Gabriel walks closer. The light of day makes him more handsome, illuminating the arch of his eyebrows, allowing his high cheekbones to form shadows.
He stops a few feet from me. I have the uncharacteristic urge to close the space, to run my palms over the expanse of his chest and let my fingertips explore the back of his neck.
“Sometimes, after people have had the experience you had a few days ago, it helps them to talk about it. Would you, uh…” He nibbles the side of his lower lip again, and it makes me smile. Gabriel has a thing . A nervous habit. I don’t know why this thrills me, but it does. “Would you want to talk about it with me?”
My smile stretches my cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. “I would love to.”
“Great,” he says, breathing the word in relief. “That’s great.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Can I have your number?”
I recite my number, trying to keep my excitement from my voice and embarrassing me.
He slips his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
He backs away, waving, and I climb into my car. He disappears into the fire station, and I melt into my seat. “Oh my God,” I whisper, pressing a hand to my chest and taking my first deep breath since the moment Gabriel walked into my line of sight.
My phone dings. I take it from my purse.
Hi. It’s Gabriel. Am I supposed to wait a few days before reaching out? Oh well. I’m off work the day after tomorrow. Would you like to get coffee?
My grin splits my face. My stomach backflips, my arms quake as adrenaline spreads.
Coffee sounds perfect.
Should I include an emoji? An exclamation point? I hit send before I can overthink it any longer. He sends another text, proposing a location and time. I agree to it, and just as I’m about to break into a dance in my car, it hits me he might be able to see me. Are there windows? Surely the fire station has windows. No dancing, then. I back out of the space, keeping my gaze straight ahead, and pull into midday traffic.
I’m driving, but all I see is tan skin, brown eyes fringed by the darkest of lashes. Assertive eyebrows and the gentle nip of a lower lip.