Firefighter On Base (Hearts on Base #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Elorie

The storm rolls in like a memory I'm not ready to face.

Thunder cracks overhead, rattling the front windows of The Reading Nook hard enough that the fairy lights strung along the exposed brick shimmer.

I fumble the mug I'm drying, ceramic clattering against the counter before I catch it.

My pulse kicks, sharp and immediate, and I force my breath steady through the tightness crawling up my throat.

Storms remind me of leaving Denver in the rain, knuckles white on the steering wheel, driving away from a man who made me feel too small for my life.

The espresso machine hisses behind me, grounding me in the present.

Pine Valley. The Reading Nook. Safe. I wipe down the counter with movements that are steadier than I feel, the scent of roasted coffee beans and lavender candles wrapping around me like a blanket.

Soft indie music plays through the speakers, barely audible over the rain hammering the roof.

The lights flicker.

My hands go still on the towel. Once. Twice.

The overhead fixtures dim and surge, casting shadows that stretch and contract across the mismatched chairs and overstuffed bookshelves.

I set the towel down and move toward the back hallway where the breaker box is mounted.

Sophie mentioned something about old wiring last week, said we'd need to get it checked eventually.

Eventually just became now.

Halfway across the bookstore, the outlet near the coffee bar sparks.

It's not loud, just a flash of orange light that sears itself into my vision.

But my body doesn't care about logic or proportional responses.

My hip catches the edge of a table as I stumble backward.

Bookmarks scatter across the floor in a flutter of plastic and panic.

Cold sweat prickles the back of my neck, and the rational part of my brain is screaming that it's just faulty wiring, nothing is burning, nothing is wrong.

My body doesn't believe me.

The door chimes.

I spin toward the sound, pulse hammering against my ribs.

A man steps through, rain streaming from the brim of his cap and the shoulders of his dark blue uniform.

He's broad enough to fill the doorway, moving with the unhurried calm that belongs to people who've walked through worse than thunderstorms. The outlet chooses that moment to pop. It’s not loud, just a sharp jolt.

The man looks at me for a second, then his eyes go straight to the outlet, tracking the faint wisp of smoke curling from the wall. He moves toward the center of the shop in three long strides.

"Breaker box?" His voice is calm, controlled.

"Back hall. Left side."

He disappears, and I hear the metallic clang of the panel opening. Thirty seconds later, the overhead lights die completely, leaving only the glow from the windows and the emergency exit signs.

He returns with a small flashlight in his hand, directed toward the outlet. He crouches in front of it and pulls a voltage tester from his belt. He touches it to the outlet, checks the reading, then nods.

"Dead," he says, more to himself than me.

I stand there frozen, watching him work.

I look away before he catches me staring at the way his hands move like he has all the time in the world to make things safe.

He appears to be a few years older than me, early forties maybe, with a face that looks like it's spent years cataloging emergencies and deciding which ones matter.

There's a scar along his jaw, faint but visible in the dim light.

Silver threads through his dark hair at the temples.

He glances up. Catches me staring anyway.

"You okay?" His voice is rough around the edges but not unkind.

His eyes stay on mine a moment longer than necessary, and I realize he's not checking if I'm injured. He's checking if I'm scared. The recognition in his gaze seems to know what panic looks like and doesn't judge it. It makes my lungs find a full breath for the first time since the spark.

I nod too quickly. "Yeah. It just startled me."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. My throat works around words that won't come. Thank you feels inadequate. Who are you feels too direct. So I stay silent and watch him work, this stranger who walked into my storm and made the danger disappear.

"Wiring's shot." He says it matter-of-factly, like he's commenting on the weather. "You're lucky it didn't do more than spark. I'll make sure it's safe for now, but you need an electrician out here soon."

"Okay." The word comes out smaller than I want. "Thank you."

He returns to the breaker box, and a moment later, the shop comes back to life.

For the first time, he really looks at me. Not a glance but a full assessment that makes me hyperaware of how I'm hugging my arms around myself, how my fingers have gone numb against my ribs as though he's cataloging the tremble in my hands and filing it away under important.

"You work here?"

"Assistant manager." I force something close to a smile. "And barista. Sometimes janitor."

One side of his mouth pulls up, not quite a smile but close. "Sounds like a full-time job."

"It keeps me busy."

He scans the bookstore, taking in the mismatched furniture and floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with paperbacks. The fairy lights flicker again, and his jaw tightens.

"Storm's going to get worse before it gets better." He adjusts the cap on his head, and I catch the emblem stitched onto his uniform. Ridgeway Air Force Base. Fire and Rescue. A firefighter. Of course he is. "You planning to close up and head home soon?"

"As soon as the rain lets up."

"Good." His voice drops lower, and his words bring butterflies to my stomach.

His voice settles over me like a protective touch. I don't know this man, not even his name. But the way he’s talking makes me believe he'd come back if I needed him. That he's the kind of person who shows up when things go wrong.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card, writes something on the back, and sets it on the counter between us.

"In case anything else sparks." His voice is matter-of-fact, but his eyes hold mine a beat too long. "Electrical issues don't always show up right away."

I reach for the card at the same time he pushes it toward me. Our fingers brush. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm that has nothing to do with faulty wiring. His hand is warm, rough with calluses, and so much larger than mine that the size difference makes my breath catch.

He pulls back first, but slowly, as though he felt it too.

"Thank you," I say.

"Anytime." He adjusts his cap, and I catch the emblem stitched onto his uniform again. Fire and Rescue. "You shouldn't be alone in here if the power goes out."

The words settle over me like an invitation. Or a promise.

The door chimes again. Sophie sweeps in on a gust of wind and rain, shaking out her umbrella. She stops short when she sees him, and a grin spreads across her face.

"Brooks Maddox." She says it like she's greeting an old friend. "What brings you to my humble bookstore?"

Brooks. So that's his name.

"I thought it was coffee, but you have a faulty outlet." He nods toward the coffee bar. "Thought I'd make sure it didn't turn into a bigger problem."

Sophie's expression softens into something knowing. "Well, aren't you a lifesaver. Literally." She glances at me, eyes twinkling. "Elorie, this is Brooks. He’s with fire and rescue over at Ridgeway. If you ever need someone to save the day, he's your guy."

Heat crawls up my neck. I duck my head, pretending to straighten the scattered bookmarks. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," he says. When I glance up, he's still watching me.

The door chimes a third time. A younger guy in a matching uniform bursts through, grinning like he just won something. "Brooks! Didn't know you were here. Just grabbing coffee for the night shift before we head back."

He waves at me. "Hey, Elorie. The usual?"

Elijah. He comes in three times a week, always orders a caramel latte, always talks too much. "Sure thing."

I move behind the counter, grateful for something to do with my hands. The familiar rhythm of pulling espresso and steaming milk steadies me. When I hand him the cup, he takes a sip and sighs dramatically.

"Best coffee in Pine Valley. I keep telling Brooks he needs to come here more." He grins at his boss. "See? Told you."

Brooks' expression is somewhere between resigned and uncomfortable, but he doesn't argue. Elijah taps his phone to pay, waves, and heads back into the rain, leaving the three of us in sudden quiet.

Sophie glances between us, then at the windows where rain lashes the glass. "I'm going to grab my laptop from the car before this gets worse." She says it casually, but the look she gives me is anything but. "You two good out here?"

"We're fine," I say, but she's already moving toward the door, umbrella in hand.

The silence stretches after she leaves. Brooks shifts his weight, hand nearing the door handle. Then he stops.

The air between us thickens.

"I'll come back tomorrow." Not a question. A statement. "To check the wiring." His jaw tightens. "Make sure you're safe."

He says the word safe like it's a promise, like he's already decided I'm his responsibility. Heat pools low in my belly. I nod because words feel impossible.

He steps away like he's forcing himself to move. At the door, he pauses with his hand on the handle and looks back at me one more time. Then he's gone, the door swinging shut behind him. I hear his truck start over the rain, the engine idling for a long moment before he finally drives away.

I lean into the glass, watching his taillights through the rain. The storm rages outside, thunder rolling across the mountains, but I feel warm all the way through.

The bookmarks are still scattered across the floor. I crouch down and gather them, stacking them in neat piles on the table. My hands are steadier now.

On the counter, his business card sits where he left it. Brooks Maddox, Fire too much hope is dangerous. Too much wanting leads to hurt.

I tuck it into my jeans pocket instead.

Through the window, the storm still rages, but the sound doesn't make my hands shake anymore. The lights stay steady. The outlet doesn't spark.

Tomorrow I'll make his coffee the way Elijah orders it when he’s on a coffee run: black, two sugars, and have it ready when he comes back.

Because he'll come back. I don't know how I know, but I do. I feel it the same way I felt the electricity when our hands touched. The same way I felt safe when he stood between me and the sparking outlet.

This time, I'm not running.

I'm staying. I'm choosing to hope. I'm keeping his card in my pocket and his promise in my chest and the memory of his eyes on mine like an anchor.

The storm can rage all it wants.

In here, something new is beginning.