Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Gabbi
The coffee shop was quiet, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.
The scent of roasted beans filled the air, normally something that would relax me, but today, even the strongest coffee couldn’t fix the exhaustion weighing me down.
I had barely slept, tossing and turning all night, my mind refusing to shut off.
I told myself it was because of the fire, because of the story I had to write, but deep down, I knew better.
It wasn’t the fire keeping me awake. It was him.
Bobby Norman.
I sighed and stared at my laptop screen, the blinking cursor mocking me.
I was supposed to be writing my article about last night’s fire, detailing the chaos, the heat, the way the flames had swallowed the building whole.
I was supposed to be focusing on the little boy who had been trapped inside and how, against all odds, he had made it out alive.
Instead, all I could think about was the fight.
Bobby’s voice still echoed in my head, sharp and raw with anger.
"What if I hadn’t pulled you out in time? What if I lost you, too?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the way he had looked at me.
The mixture of fury and fear, like I had ripped open an old wound he had spent years trying to forget.
And maybe I had. Maybe last night wasn’t just about the fire.
Maybe it was about the past, about Liam, about all the things neither of us ever really said.
I shook my head and rubbed my temples, frustration bubbling up inside me. This wasn’t helping. I needed to focus. I had a job to do, and thinking about Bobby Norman wasn’t part of it.
My phone buzzed against the wooden table, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen, expecting a message from my editor, but instead, a name I hadn’t expected flashed across it.
Mrs. Delacruz.
I hesitated for a second before picking up. "Hello?"
"Miss Mason?" The voice on the other end was warm, familiar.
I sat up straighter. "Mrs. Delacruz? Is everything okay?"
"Oh yes, dear. More than okay." There was a soft smile in her voice. "I just wanted to call and personally thank you. I didn’t get the chance to do it properly last night."
I relaxed a little, my grip on the phone loosening. "You really don’t have to thank me. I just did what anyone would have done."
"Nonsense," she said firmly. "You saved my son. That’s not something I can ever repay, but I would at least like to try."
I frowned slightly. "Try?"
"Yes," she said, her voice brightening. "I’d love to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. Just a little thank-you meal. Nothing fancy, just home-cooked food and good company."
I opened my mouth, ready to politely decline, but then she added, "Bobby already agreed."
I froze.
I blinked, sure I had misheard her. "Wait… what?"
"Mr. Norman," she repeated. "He came by the firehouse this morning. I invited him, and he said yes. A little hesitantly, but he agreed."
Bobby agreed? That didn’t make sense. Why the hell would he agree to this?
I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. "Are you sure?"
"Of course, dear. He was very polite about it." She chuckled softly. "Though he didn’t look particularly excited."
That sounded more like Bobby.
I stared down at my laptop screen, the article long forgotten. This was a terrible idea. Dinner with Bobby? Sitting across from him, pretending like we hadn’t nearly killed each other with words last night? It was a recipe for disaster.
And yet… I couldn’t say no.
Maria Delacruz had been through enough. She had almost lost her son, and now she wanted to do something kind, something simple. How could I refuse that?
I exhaled slowly. "Alright," I said. "I’ll come."
Her voice lit up. "Oh, wonderful! Come by around seven tomorrow. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of food."
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up, setting my phone down on the table, staring at it like it had just personally betrayed me.
Bobby agreed.
Why?
I drummed my fingers against my coffee cup, biting my lip. Maybe he felt obligated. Maybe Maria had cornered him at the firehouse, and he didn’t know how to say no. Or maybe… maybe he wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be.
I groaned, slumping against my chair. This was going to be a disaster.
Dinner in a cozy house, sitting across from Bobby while Maria talked about how we “saved her boy.” A whole meal filled with awkward silences, forced conversation, and me trying not to think about the way Bobby’s hands had felt gripping my waist in the fire.
I should have said no.
But I didn’t.
Because some part of me wanted to see him again.
I picked up my coffee and took a sip, wincing when I realized it was still ice cold.
Tomorrow night, I’d have to sit across from Bobby Norman and pretend like my heart wasn’t still tangled up in the past.
I was walking straight back into the fire.