Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Briar
Junie is vibrating in her booster seat like she’s powered by electricity instead of chicken nuggets and applesauce.
“Are we there yet?” she asks for the ninth time in twelve minutes.
“Almost,” I say, turning into the driveway of Devil’s Peak Fire and Rescue. “We have to give Captain Saxon his moose!”
“I know!” she squeals, clutching the lumpy, misshapen clay figurine like a priceless artifact. “I worked so hard on him. I made the antlers extra big because he’s strong.”
“Right.” I exhale, of course she did.
“And because Captain Saxon is very strong,” she adds matter-of-factly. “Like… the strongest EVER.”
I grip the wheel a little harder. Damn kid notices everything.
She keeps going. “He can carry me with one arm and he can stop bad guys and he can—”
“He’s a firefighter,” I remind her. “Not a superhero.”
“That’s the same thing,” she counters. I don’t answer because honestly? She may be right.
The truth is, Junie wouldn’t eat dinner.
Wouldn’t take a bath. Wouldn’t do anything until I agreed to bring her here.
And what was I supposed to do? Tell her no?
Tell her she can’t give her little clay creation to the man she thinks is invincible?
The man I can’t stop thinking about? Yeah. I caved. Obviously.
We park, and Junie rockets out of the car before I can unbuckle. I hurry after her, calling her name, praying she doesn’t knock over some expensive fire equipment or accidentally pull a lever that floods the entire station.
She barrels through the bay entrance—and skids to a stop.
Because there he is.
Saxon.
Standing beside Engine 19, sleeves shoved up, forearms out, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. He’s talking to Rowan and Boone about something mechanical, but the second he sees Junie sprinting toward him, his entire body shifts. Softens. Flickers with warmth I’ve never seen from him anywhere else.
“Captain Saxon!” Junie shouts at full volume.
His mouth twitches. “Hey, kid.”
She collides with his legs, hugging him like she’s known him forever. He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t hesitate. He just rests a large hand on her back, steady and warm.
Then he looks at me. Not like a man who’s annoyed his fake fiancée is at his job. Like a man who’s been waiting for her. Heat flashes low in my stomach.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, suddenly very aware of my hair, my clothes, my everything. “She insisted—this moose—she wouldn’t let it go. Dinner was a disaster. I figured we’d get it over with so she can sleep tonight.”
He steps closer, still keeping a hand on Junie’s shoulder.
“You never apologize for that,” he says quietly. “Seeing you two is the highlight of my day.”
My heart lurches.
Rowan whistles. “Damn, Cap, go off.”
Saxon shoots him a murderous look. Rowan backs away fast.
Junie thrusts the clay blob upward. “I made this for you. It’s a moose.”
Saxon crouches down. Takes the moose carefully—as if it’s fragile instead of lopsided and vaguely tragic—and turns it over like he’s inspecting fine art.
“You made this for me?” he asks.
“Yes,” she beams.
He nods once. “Best thing I’ve gotten in a long time.”
My throat tightens. Junie practically levitates with joy, then runs off to find the dalmatian statue near the front door. Leaving me alone with him.
“Thank you for being nice about it,” I murmur.
He stands. Looks down at me. “Wouldn’t dream of being anything else.”
I laugh under my breath. “You? Nice?”
He steps closer—too close—voice dropping. “You don’t think I’m nice?”
My breath catches. “I… didn’t say that.”
“No,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to my mouth. “You didn’t.”
Before I can respond, Junie yells, “Mommy! Look! Fire hats!”
I turn, smiling reluctantly, but Saxon doesn’t step back.
Not even an inch. And God, his presence does things to my nervous system I don’t have labels for.
“Let her look around,” he says. “She’s fine.”
“So long as she doesn’t accidentally drive the truck.”
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know Junie.”
“I know you,” he murmurs.
My stomach flips. “You absolutely do not know me.”
He smirks, soft and slow. “Getting there.”
Before I can drop into the floor and combust, Axel jogs in from the back.
“Cap! Boone messed with the hose pressure again—”
“Did not!” Boone shouts.
“Did so!”
Saxon exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Idiots.”
I laugh, and he looks at me again. Something unreadable flickers in his expression.
“Stay here,” he says, voice softer. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks out toward the training bay with his crew, muscles moving under his shirt in a way that should be illegal. I stand by Junie, trying to breathe normally. Bad idea.
Because two seconds later, Axel yells, “Pressure’s ready!”
And Boone yells, “Don’t point it at me, dumbass—”
Too late. A blast of water shoots across the yard. Directly into me. Cold water drenches me from chest to knees. I gasp, choking on air, and stagger backward.
Junie screams, “Mommy!”
I look down at myself—at my T-shirt plastered to my skin, outlining every curve, every shiver.
The entire station goes silent.
Every firefighter freezes.
And then Saxon appears from the training yard. He stops dead in the middle of the bay. His eyes snap to me. His jaw locks. His pupils dilate.
And he swallows. Hard. So hard the entire crew hears it.
Rowan whispers reverently, “Captain’s suffering.”
I laugh. I cannot help it. The absurdity, the mortification, the cold—all of it bubbles into hysterical laughter.
Saxon doesn’t laugh.
“Saxon?” I say, breathless.
He moves toward me slowly, deliberately, like a predator approaching something delicate he’s not sure he should touch.
His eyes travel down my soaked shirt. Down my skin. Heat detonates low in my stomach.
“Briar,” he says softly, voice rough, “are you okay?”
“I—yeah—just cold.”
He lifts a hand as if to touch me then stops himself at the last second.
Glares over his shoulder. “Which one of you idiots did that?”
Boone immediately points at Axel. “Him!”
“Traitor,” Axel hisses.
Saxon groans like he’s praying for strength. “The hell is wrong with you two?”
Rowan hops up on the front bumper of the engine. “Cap, be honest, you didn’t mind.”
Saxon turns slowly. “I will throw you through a window.”
Rowan grins. “Worth it.”
I clamp my arms over my chest, which only makes Saxon’s jaw clench more.
“I—I should go dry off,” I say.
He looks at me with something like pain. “No,” he says immediately. “Stay.”
“Saxon, I’m soaked.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes darkening, “I noticed.”
Rowan howls. Boone fans himself dramatically. “Captain, please. We’re in public.”
“Shut up,” Saxon snaps.
Junie trots over, tugging my sleeve. “Mommy, you’re wet.”
“Sure am,” I chirp awkwardly.
Saxon tears his gaze away from my shirt long enough to swallow again. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
He guides me toward the locker room—not touching, but close enough his body heat cuts through the chill. Once we’re inside, he shuts the door behind us. And the second it clicks closed, the air shifts. Thickens. He steps closer. Slow. Controlled.
“Saxon,” I whisper.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I lie.
He looks at me—really looks.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
“I’m cold.”
“Liar.”
I inhale sharply. “You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it.”
My pulse mutinies. “Your crew saw.”
“Don’t care.”
I choke on a laugh. “They’re going to tease you for weeks.”
“Let them.”
“Saxon—”
“No,” he says, stepping closer, “you don’t get it.”
I stop breathing.
“You show up here,” he murmurs, voice low and dark, “with your kid and your cookies and your little clay moose—”
“That was Junie,” I cut in.
“—and you smile at me,” he continues, ignoring me, “and I can’t think straight for the rest of the damn day.”
I blink.
He leans down slightly. “And then you get drenched and look like—”
He stops. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Look like what?” I ask, breathless.
He exhales sharply. “Like trouble.”
My heart pounds so loud it echoes in my ears. “Saxon—”
“Don’t say my name right now,” he growls.
“Why not?”
“Because if you do, I’m going to forget we’re standing in the middle of my locker room at work.”
Heat crashes through me, and I step backward instinctively—except there’s a wall there. He follows. Not touching. But close enough I feel every ounce of restraint vibrating off him. My fingers curl into the hem of my wet shirt.
“Don’t do that,” he says.
“Do what?”
“Touch your shirt like that.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did.”
I swallow. “It’s wet.”
“I know.”
“It’s uncomfortable.”
“Same.”
The room crackles with tension. His gaze drifts to my mouth. “You should go home.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Not because I want you to,” he adds quickly. “Because I don’t want an audience next time you walk in here looking like that.”
My stomach flips violently. “Next time?”
He nods once. “Yeah. Next time.”
Before I can respond, a distant voice yells: “CAP! YOU GOOD IN THERE?”
Saxon closes his eyes for a beat. “I am going to kill Rowan.”
I smile. “No you’re not.”
“I’ll try.”
I laugh, and something in his expression softens—barely.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs. “Come on.”
He opens the door, shielding me from view as best he can, then escorts me back to the bay.
Junie runs toward us immediately. “Mommy! Did Captain Saxon fix you?”
He groans. “Jesus.”
I grin. “Not exactly.”
Rowan yells, “Looks like he tried!”
Saxon glares so intensely Rowan actually hides behind the engine.
But I see it—the warmth in his eyes, the way he watches me walk like the tension is killing him. And killing me too. We’re both pretending this thing between us is manageable but it’s not. It’s heat. And fire. And friction that wants to burn everything down.
And as I buckle Junie into her car seat and see Saxon watching from the bay with his jaw tight and his hand flexing at his side, I know one thing for certain: This fake engagement is only getting hotter.