Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Hayes
Emmy’s curled against me, one bare leg hooked over mine, her head tucked beneath my chin like it’s the most natural place in the world for her to be.
Her scent lingering on my skin. The taste of her on my tongue.
Add in the thought of her getting pregnant with my child?
I’m a fucking goner.
This is exactly why I never let myself imagine it too hard before.
Because now? I’m ruined.
Addicted to her in an uncontrollable way.
She shifts, pressing even closer, a soft sound escaping her throat as she burrows into my side. I’m helpless against it—against the way my heart pulls toward her like it’s got its own damn compass.
I brush a kiss against her forehead.
She stirs, lashes fluttering. “Hayes?”
“Hi.” I grin at her.
She shifts again, stretching like a cat in the morning sun. The sheet slides down her back and it takes everything in me not to pull her right back under me and start worshiping her all over again.
“I wish I could stay,” she murmurs, fingers tracing over my heart. “Really, I do. But I should probably get home.”
I swallow a groan. Not from irritation. But from wanting her to stay so badly that it borders on painful.
“Well,” I say, brushing a thumb across her shoulder, “I’m not kicking you out.”
A soft, breathy laugh spills from her, her shoulders lifting in a helpless little shrug as though gravity hasn’t fully found her again. Her cheeks flush deeper, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with fingers that still tremble. “I know. That’s the problem.”
I tilt her chin toward me. “Hey. No regrets?”
Her expression turns earnest in an instant. “None.”
Good. Because I’ve got exactly zero.
She slides out of the bed with the sheet wrapped around her, giving me one last look over her shoulder that absolutely does not help my self-control. I should get up and help her search for her clothes, but part of me hopes if she doesn’t find them, she’ll have to stay.
Emmy disappears from my room and I hear her rummaging around.
She returns, fully dressed. Coat draped over her arm. A cookie in her mouth.
Before she slips on her coat, she comes back to the bed and straddles my lap. She takes a bite of the cookie and sets the rest on my nightstand then her hands are on my shoulders, eyes searching mine.
“We should do this again,” she says quietly.
Not a joke.
Not a tease.
A request.
A hope.
I grip her hips, keeping her there just a second longer. “Oh, we’re definitely doing this again.”
She bites her lip, and damn it, my resolve just about snaps. Instead, I lean in, give her a slow, deep kiss that promises more. Soon. Often.
Her breath is shaky after our kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“I’ll answer.” Immediately. Always. No matter what.
The smile she gives me is brighter than the Christmas tree in the town square. A glowing grin that lights up every inch of her face. It hits me again just how long I’ve been waiting to see that look aimed at me.
Then she slips off my lap and pulls on her coat.
I finally sit up and grab a pair of shorts off the floor, tugging them on. The least I can do is walk my girl to the door.
One hand on the doorknob, she turns back and looks at me. “Hayes?”
“Yeah?”
“Last night was,” her voice is shaky. She presses her palm lightly against her chest, grounding herself, then gives a single, deliberate nod—as if anchoring the truth out loud. “It was exactly what I needed.”
I feel that. All the way through me. “Me too.”
She gives me one more mega-watt smile and steps out into the early morning chill.
The door closes behind her, leaving my house quiet again.
But it doesn’t feel empty.
Not anymore.
Oh yeah. She and I are definitely doing this again.
And, if I have it my way, she’ll be packing up her things and moving in before Santa can gather up his reindeer.
I start toward the kitchen when there’s a soft knock on the door that stops me in my tracks. My heart flutters, hoping Emmy’s changed her mind and has decided to stay the night.
Rushing to open the door, I narrowly miss stubbing my toe on a side table.
Em’s amused expression greets me. “Hi. So. Uhm. I really don’t want to call Joe McGillicuddy’s taxi service to take me home.”
It takes half a second for my brain to catch up, then I nearly double over in a fit of laughter. “Oh shit,’ I wipe the tears from laughing so hard, off my face. “I’m sorry, Em. I guess we both forgot that you don’t have your car.”
She steps back into the living room and shakes her head. “I think it’s safe to say, you scrambled my brain.”
I can’t help myself, I pull her to me and give her a kiss, and a pat on the ass for good measure. “Same, babe. Same. Let me throw on some clothes. I’ll drive you home.”
I don’t get much sleep after I take Emmy home, even though I’m exhausted. But it’s not because I’m restless.
No. It’s all because my bed still smells like her, and my mind won’t shut up—replaying everything that happened between us—her laugh in my kitchen, her breath against my neck, the way she whispered my name right before she fell apart in my arms.
By the time my alarm goes off the next morning, I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling like a fool in love.
The firehouse is quiet when I walk in, just the hum of early-shift chatter and the smell of burnt coffee someone forgot on the warmer. I shrug out of my coat, clock in, and try—try—to act normal while my brain keeps drifting back to Emmy in my sheets.
Wyatt takes one look at me and snorts. “You look like you slept, what—two hours? Busy night?”
If he only knew.
I keep my voice casual. “Something like that.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. I flip him off. He laughs and walks away.
I’m checking gear in the bay when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Pour Some Sugar on Me, the ringtone I set for Emmy years ago, begins to play.
I wipe my hands on my pants and answer as my stomach flip-flops like I’m some love-sick puppy.
“Hey, you,” I say, unable to hide the smile in my voice.
There’s a burst of breathless excitement on the other end.
“Hayes! We passed!” Emmy practically squeals. “Dockside passed inspection! He said everything looked perfect—better than perfect—and we can reopen starting tomorrow morning.”
My chest goes warm, satisfaction humming through me. “That’s great, sweetheart. I told you you’d be back in business.”
“No,” she says quickly, “don’t play it down like that.
Hayes, he was really impressed with the work you did.
The electrical. The cleaning. The shelves.
Everything.” Her voice softens. “You made it look beautiful. And, you painted my kitchen! That shade of turquoise? The exact color I wanted but couldn’t justify spending money on yet? How did you even know?”
I smile and lean against the truck, letting her voice wash over me. “I pay attention.”
She goes quiet for a second and I wish I was there to see her face right now. To kiss her senseless and remind her just how much I care about her.
“I love it,” she finally says, breathless again. “I love everything you did. I love—” She stops herself, but there’s a hint of something more. Her hesitation is full of meaning. “I just wanted you to know how much it meant. I feel like I got my happy place back.”
I swallow my throat tight with emotion.
Give me burning buildings, overturned cars. Ice rescues? They’re easy.
This?
Her giving me credit, her letting me inside that guarded heart of hers?
That’s the dangerous stuff.
“Em?” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“I’d fix that kitchen a thousand times if it meant you being this happy.”
A pause.
A soft inhale.
“Hayes,” she says my name with a warmth that could melt me from the inside out.
Before she can say anything else, the firehouse alarm blares overhead.
Loud. Piercing. Instant.
The bay becomes a flurry of motion.
“Shit,” I mutter into the phone. “I gotta go. Call-out.”
Her voice jumps in pitch. “Oh—of course. Go. Be careful.”
“I will.” I’m already moving, ready to jump into my turnout pants. “I’ll see you tonight at the bonfire?”
“Yeah,” she says, excitement glowing beneath the worry. “I’ll save you a cookie.”
That makes me grin like an idiot. “Save me two.”
“Deal.”
The alarm cuts off, leaving urgency in its wake.
“Emmy—” I say quickly, because I need her to hear it before I hang up, “I’m really damn proud of you. And I can’t wait to see you later.”
There’s a soft, shaky exhale on the line. “Same.”
I end the call, shove my phone into my pocket, and jump into my turnout gear before climbing into the truck as the engine roars to life.
Wyatt is seated across from me, an amused expression on his face. “Emmy, I’m really damn proud of you. I can’t wait to see you later,” he immediately teases, his voice taking on a feminine pitch. “Guess we know exactly what you were up to last night.”
“Shut. Up.” I warn.
He just laughs. “Whatever, man. Love looks good on you.”
“I’m not in love.”
“Liar.”
“Head in the game, Keaton,” I tell him.
Work now; Emmy later, I remind myself.
We pull up on scene and the frantic cat owner is waiting for us outside.
“She’s up there. I was just trying to take out the trash and Muffy ran out the door. She chased that damn squirrel right up that tree and now she won’t come down.”
“Hey, Mrs. Miller.” Wyatt turns on the charm. “We’ll get Muffy down. I promise. Hayes is an expert with the kitties.”
I raise a brow at him. Cheeky fucker.
“Lieutenant Thatcher, can I give this a shot? I think I can get the cat down,” our rookie comes bouncing over to me.
“Go on.” I’m all too happy to let him try.
It takes him a few minutes of coaxing but he does good.
One cat rescued and we’re on our way back to the firehouse.
The bonfire site is already packed when the engine pulls up—families, tourists, kids running around with glow sticks, someone handing out hot cider near the bandstand at Bayside Park.
The is a towering sculpture of driftwood and stacked timber, nearly twelve feet high. The department has been prepping it for days.