Chapter 3
There’s not an ounce of recognition of the memory in Connor’s eyes. I’d even take a smidgeon. I glance at him again because I’m an idiot.
No, scratch that. I’m not an idiot. I’m an optimistic person. A firm believer in true love. A hopeless romantic.
But whatever I am, it doesn’t matter, because he’s unreadable. His face is a stoic mask that I can’t see past.
I guess that makes me an optimistic idiot.
Why did I ever think he’d remember giving me his sweatshirt?
Just because it’s a core memory in my mind doesn’t mean it meant anything to him. He probably was just trying to be nice to his sister’s friend, especially in front of his mom.
I used to think I was an expert at reading Connor Porter—that I could see through the mask he wears—but I think I’ve lost my touch. Or maybe I never knew him as well as I thought I did. That thought stings like the prick of a thorn from a rose stem.
I fidget with my hands in the sweatshirt pocket. I don’t want to give up the one piece I have of Connor, but it doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice now. “I’ll make sure to wash it and get it back to you. How long will you be in town?”
He presses his lips into a firm line.
I was embarrassed before about my appearance, but now that Connor has seen me in his sweatshirt, my ratty sweatpants, and my panic-induced state, I’m not embarrassed.
No, I’m mortified. It’s becoming more obvious by the minute that he doesn’t want to talk to me.
I wish his obvious indifference would knock this silly childhood crush out of me, but it hangs on like the last petals on a flower in a spring breeze.
I like to think it’s because I’m resilient…but it’s probably just because of the optimistic idiot thing.
I’m so lost in my own mortification that I barely hear his delayed, whispered response. “Indefinitely.”
“What?” My eyes shoot to his, searching for any other explanation for his answer. Because there’s no way he just told me he’s going to be staying in Louisville indefinitely.
Connor swallows hard. “I’m moving back.”
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “To Louisville?”
He nods.
“You’re moving back. To Louisville.” I repeat the words slowly, trying to let them sink in as truth.
My childhood crush is going to be living in the same zip code as me again. I should be thrilled. Overjoyed. Ecstatic. And I would be…if I thought I stood a chance at being with him.
It’s already hard enough to see Connor when he visits around the holidays. To have small blips where he returns to my life and serves as a very muscular, very handsome reminder that all other men are ruined for me because all my heart seems to want is this off-limits, indifferent man.
Connor cups my face. The rough calluses on his palms brush my skin. My mind creates images of him in his turnout pants held up by red suspenders and wearing a tight muscle tee, a fire hose in his hands. No, better yet, an axe. Like a hot-lumberjack firefighter.
My body tingles with awareness. If his hands weren’t in the way, I’d reach up to make sure I’m not drooling.
No more thinking about his hands. Or his muscular body. Or Connor in general.
Although, that’s a little difficult to do with him sitting right next to me, his hands on my face.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
He tilts my chin up with his thumb with a gentleness I wouldn’t expect from a man who runs into burning buildings for a living. “You’re repeating everything I say. I think you might be in shock.”
“I am in shock. But not the medical kind.” I reach up and wrap my hands around his, lowering them to my lap, though he quickly pulls them back into his own space. “Mallory didn’t mention you were moving back, is all.”
When Connor doesn’t respond, I look up to find his eyes fixed on the lavatory behind me. I can’t think of a reason he’d rather be looking at that biohazard than me, unless…
“Your family doesn’t know?”
No response.
“Where are you going to work?”
No response.
“Where are you going to live?”
No response.
I open my mouth, ready to continue my inquisition, but he cuts me off.
“Are you done interrogating me?” One of Connor’s eyebrows rises slightly, almost as if he’s amused.
“If you start answering my questions.”
His lips twitch, not quite a smile. Mrs. Porter always complained about how he never even smiled for family photos. No one’s getting a smile out of Connor Porter unless he wants to. So this little twitch of his lips? I consider it a win.
He sighs. “They don’t know.”
“Why doesn’t your family know that you’re moving across the country?”
“Didn’t tell them,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Why?”
He rubs the back of his neck, his mouth a firm line.
“Let me guess,” I say. “In case you changed your mind?”
Connor grunts. “Something like that.”
Looks like I still know some things about him. “I’m guessing you already have a job lined up?”
He nods. “It was a long process to obtain my Kentucky fire certification. I won’t bore you with the details, but I recently accepted a position at Station 13.”
I gasp. “Did you know—”
“Yes, I know it’s Taylor Swift’s favorite number.”
“So you actually listened when the Long Live Girlies talked to you about her.”
“Against my will and better judgment,” he grumbles.
I grin. “Yet you’re the one who still remembers her favorite number.”
He shakes his head. “Looks like you’re back to your normal self.”
Connor’s not wrong. He brought me down from the height of my anxiety. Part of it was because of his training and whatever that senses method he used was, but also because of who he is. Because he makes me feel alive.
“I feel a lot better.” I tuck one leg up under me, trying to get more comfortable in the stiff plane seat. “Tell me all the hot gossip. What are you going to do at Station 13?”
Connor quirks a brow. “Are you calling it hot gossip because I put out fires?”
“It’s a phrase people use. Try to keep up.”
His jaw ticks. “I’m fine being left in the dark.”
“That’s fair.” I laugh. “When Mal tells me some of the words the next generation comes up with, I feel the same way.”
He runs a hand over his face. “I don’t want to know. I’m still trying to get over YOLO.”
I giggle. “Okay, tell me about this new job.”
“I’ll just be a probie.”
“English, please?”
“It’s what they call the new firefighter at the station. The actual term is probationary firefighter, but no one calls it that.” Connor sighs. “I was up for lieutenant at my station in Seattle, so it will be a major step down the ladder.”
“So you’re basically starting over?”
He nods.
“But?” I prompt, my voice softer. Getting Connor to open up is like a fine art, one I’m trying to relearn after these years apart.
“But I thought it was time for me to come home.”
This is it, my heart whispers. My chance to finally land the only man who has ever occupied my dreams. But my head tells me I need to let this silly crush go before I get burned by a fire not even the best of firefighters can put out.