12. If the shoe fits
Chapter twelve
If the shoe fits
Penny
Evan slows as we turn into the station parking lot with one hand steady on the wheel. He’s not on duty, and he’s wearing a backwards cap, which should not be a problem.
But it is.
It’s a very big fucking problem.
Especially when he starts reversing into a space near the side of the building. And especially when he throws his arm over the back of my seat, twisting in his with easy control.
His forearm brushes the top of my headrest as he looks over his shoulder, and I can smell his cologne as I tilt my head, watching the way his hand guides the wheel with ease.
Elle chatters from the back, completely unaware that I am suddenly hyper-aware of the way her dad’s T-shirt stretches across his shoulders. He straightens the wheel, kills the engine, and glances at me.
“You good?”
Absolutely fucking not.
“Mm. Yep. Yes.”
Last night hums somewhere under my skin. The way he breathed my name and the way his palm felt cupping my chin.
Get it together, Penelope.
We step out of the truck into the afternoon and the noise of the bay. Two firefighters in navy station tees and jackets move past us toward the office, mid-conversation about a call earlier that morning. One of them gives Evan a chin lift in greeting before disappearing down the corridor.
The air hits first—grill smoke, charcoal, something sweet and sharp that’s probably barbecue sauce, layered over the familiar scent of diesel and metal. The bay doors are open enough for ventilation, and some folding tables have been dragged into the dining hall next to it.
“Don’t you drown that in sauce!” Mason bellows from somewhere near the grill.
Frankie’s laugh cuts through everything. “Says the guy who burnt the first batch and used the sauce to cover up the evidence.”
“I was experimenting!”
Elle wriggles free of my hand, her penguin stuffie dangling from her hand.
“You sure you wanna bring Pengie inside?” I ask
“Yes! He’s good luck.”
Evan chuckles lightly. “Don’t forget we’ve got Lucky Penny too, bug.”
My eyes snap to his.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “Just didn’t think you remembered that story.”
His eyes move from mine toward the bay as we approach the doors, and he shakes his head slightly. “Course I remember.”
I nod, because at this point, that’s all I’m able to do. He steps closer than necessary as we walk toward the tables, his shoulder brushing mine lightly.
It’s subtle. It isn’t. Fuck.
The noise swells as we fully enter the chaos, with Elle careening toward Remi and Max. Colt, holding Zela, spots us first.
“There they are,” he calls, grinning. “About time.”
Remi looks up from greeting Elle, with Max clinging to one of her legs. “Hey, you all made it!”
Frankie barrels in from the side and loops her arm through mine. “Finally, another woman to dilute this testosterone circus.”
Evan glances at me, almost nervously. “You want water? Cider? Something?”
Something.
“Water’s fine, thank you.”
Luke stands near the end of the long table with his arms folded and eyes sharp. He gives me a small nod, and I smile back.
Evan appears back beside me and hands me a cold bottle of water, his fingers brushing mine for a fraction longer than necessary.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Mason takes that moment to look up with his tongs in hand, eyes moving between Evan and me with open curiosity.
“Prince,” he calls, grinning. “You finally brought a date to Sunday roast!”
There’s a beat of silence, but Evan doesn’t rise to it. He just flips Mason off without looking at him and shifts closer to me instead, guiding me toward the tables.
“Do I need to sign a waiver?” I ask over my shoulder, and Mason chuckles.
“Ignore him,” Evan says.
I smile. “I assume this is him behaving.”
“This is restrained,” Luke mutters dryly.
Remi bumps my hip gently as Elle takes off with Max.
“You’re safe,” she says under her breath warmly. “Mostly.”
Colt appears at my other side with a plate already loaded with way more food than I’ll ever eat in one sitting.
“Eat before Mason experiments again,” he says, pressing it into my hands without ceremony.
I blink down at it. “I didn’t even—”
“Too late,” he says easily. “Food is our love language.”
And if it’s measured by the contents of this plate, their love is immense. It's warm against my palms, heavy with potatoes and slices of brisket and something covered in enough cheese to qualify as a health risk.
“Aww, Colt. Do you love me?”
The joke comes out bright, but something small and stupidly hopeful shifts underneath it. If Colt hears it, he’s kind enough not to show it.
“Obviously. Remi already decided we’re keeping you, and I don’t argue with my wife.”
“Smart man,” Remi calls from down the table, raising a glass.
Evan’s eyes flick to Colt’s. “You adopting my nanny now?”
Colt’s grin widens. “Your nanny, huh?”
The room’s hum dips a fraction, everyone far too interested to pretend otherwise.
Evan’s jaw shifts. “Elle’s nanny.”
“Right.” Colt looks toward Remi. “You hear that, Rem? Elle’s nanny.”
“Crystal clear,” Remi says, smiling into her glass.
“You know what I meant,” Evan mutters.
“Oh, yeah.” Colt claps him on the shoulder as he turns back toward the grill. “I definitely did.”
Around me, the conversations overlap and pick up again in loud, easy waves. Nobody hesitates over me being here. Nobody does the awkward double-take or the polite, tight smile that says we weren’t expecting company.
Frankie’s already dragging a chair into the gap beside her and pats it.
“You’re here,” she announces. “Which means you sit by me. That’s a rule.”
“What rule?” I ask.
“The one I just made.”
I laugh before I can stop myself and lower myself into the seat, then look down at my plate.
“I thought this was a Sunday roast?” I ask, eyeing the slaw and brisket.
“It’s a term we use liberally,” says Luke. “If there’s any sign of sun whatsoever, we must barbecue. Even in February.”
Evan pulls out the chair on my other side, setting Elle’s penguin on the table in front of us as he takes a seat.
I’m so fully aware of him, it’s ridiculous.
The proximity and the way he hovers just enough to check I’m okay without crowding or smothering.
The heat of him beside me, the rough scrape of his knuckles against the table when he reaches for his drink, the steady spread of his thigh beside mine.
Last night sits between us, unspoken still. No one else seems to realize how much of a thread I’m hanging by, which is probably for the best.
Mason moves over from the grill, his eyes gleaming.
“So, Penny,” he says, deliberately casual. “You ever seen a Fire Hall before?”
“I’ve only seen the grill so far,” I reply.
Evan’s hand lands briefly at the small of my back, steadying me as Max bumps past behind us. His palm is warm and broad through my shirt, and it lingers a fraction longer than necessary.
“I can give you a tour soon,” he mumbles huskily. “If you want.”
Heat climbs my neck before I can stop it, and from across the table, I realize Remi is watching. And Frankie. They exchange the smallest look, the sort women have been using for centuries to say well, well, well without moving their mouths.
Elle, however, is also watching. And she has not grown into the subtle exchange etiquette, yet.
“Why are you talking like that, Daddy?”
Evan’s hand drops from my back so fast I almost laugh.
“Like what?”
“Like when you’re all sleepy.”
Colt chokes on his drink, and Mason looks toward the sky as though God himself has personally blessed him.
“He was being polite,” I say, because apparently I would rather leap into traffic than let Evan die alone.
Elle nods seriously. “Daddy does that when he’s shy. Oh—are you shy of Penny, Daddy?”
Remi hums thoughtfully and watches Evan squirm. “Great question, Elle.”
Evan’s ears go red, and I am not proud of how much I enjoy it.
“Steak,” he says, pointing vaguely at the grill as if meat might save him. “I’m checking the steak.”
He stands abruptly and escapes to the guys by the grill. He reaches forward to shift one of the steaks off the grill, and Mason smacks his hand lightly with the metal.
“Oi. Don’t pull out too early, Prince.”
There’s a tiny pause.
“Pull out?” Elle’s curious voice travels across the bay. “Don’t pull out too early of what?”
Max’s head pops up immediately next to her. “PULL OUT,” he repeats gleefully. “PULL OUT.”
Every adult within earshot goes completely still.
Remi doesn’t even glance up from bouncing Zela gently against her shoulder. “Choose your explanation wisely, boys.”
Colt presses his lips together so hard they practically disappear.
“Uhh…” Evan points vaguely at the grill. “It means taking something off too soon.”
“Ohh.” Elle nods. “Like cookies?”
“Exactly,” Mason says in a voice an octave too high, nodding quickly. “Like cookies. You have to wait until they’re finished.”
Max beams. “FINISHED!”
Mason’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, but Colt nudges him hard in the ribs.
Luke takes a sip of his drink. “Fletch is about to be finished if he doesn’t stop yapping.”
Frankie hides her face behind her napkin, but her shoulders are shaking hard enough to give her away.
Colt clears his throat and, for reasons unknown, opens his mouth to make everything worse. “The point is, when meat is resting, you don’t touch it.”
Elle frowns at the grill. “Is the meat sleeping?”
The sound that leaves Frankie is not human, and Evan closes his eyes.
Mason bends over the grill, wheezing silently, one hand braced on his knee, while Luke takes the slowest sip of his drink I’ve ever seen.
“Exactly,” Colt says, seizing the safest explanation with the desperation of a drowning man. “The meat is resting because it’s hot.”
Max slams both hands on the table. “HOT MEAT.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” Mason says faintly.
Evan points at him without opening his eyes. “One more word.”
“Technically that was Max.”
“One more word from anyone.”
Elle leans toward me, brows drawn in concern. “Why is everyone laughing about the meat?”