Chapter 22 Fondue And Fire Trucks #2
I fit here. Somehow, impossibly, I fit in this loud, chaotic space full of people I've just met.
The old Rosemarie would have been pressed against the wall, watching from the sidelines, desperate to leave.
But this Rosemarie—this version of me that's slowly emerging from the shell my family and ex-pack forced me into—this Rosemarie is actually enjoying herself.
After we've eaten our fill of savory fondue, Elias catches my eye and nods toward the garage area where the trucks are parked.
"Want to see something cool?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You're going to show me the fire trucks, aren't you?"
"I'm going to show you the fire trucks," he confirms, grinning unrepentantly. "And we're going to eat dessert in one. Because I'm the chief and I can do whatever I want."
Dessert. In a fire truck. With the fire chief. My life has taken turns I never could have predicted.
We slip away from the party with plates loaded with chocolate-dipped strawberries, cheese cubes, and an assortment of treats. The garage area is quieter, the party noise muffled by distance. The trucks loom in the dim lighting—massive, gleaming, impossibly red.
Elias helps me climb into the cab of the largest truck, his hand warm on my back as I settle into the passenger seat.
The interior smells like leather and metal and something faintly chemical—fire retardant, maybe, or industrial cleaner.
It's surprisingly comfortable, the seat worn soft by years of use.
He slides in beside me, our shoulders brushing, and hands me a chocolate-covered strawberry.
"So," I say, biting into the fruit and letting the sweetness burst across my tongue. "This is your kingdom."
"Something like that." He leans back, gazing out the windshield at the darkened garage.
"I know it's weird—spending Valentine's at work.
But this place..." He trails off, searching for words.
"The guys here, they're family. Rodriguez gives me grief constantly, but she'd take a bullet for any of us.
When you don't have the most traditional home life, you find family where you can. "
I nod, understanding exactly what he means. "Found family," I say softly. "Sometimes it's better than the one you're born into."
"Exactly." He's quiet for a moment, dipping a piece of bread into the container of melted chocolate we brought. "Can I tell you something? About my past?"
"You can tell me anything."
Elias sighs, running a hand through his hair. The motion makes him look younger somehow—less like the confident fire chief and more like the man underneath.
"Remember Destiny? From the registration office?"
Oh. That Destiny. The clingy one who covered her natural scent with perfume and couldn't take a hint.
"The one who was... very enthusiastic about reconnecting?" I ask diplomatically.
He snorts. "That's one way to put it. We dated.
A while back." He pauses, staring at the chocolate dripping off his bread.
"It was... toxic. Not physically or anything like that, but she was only interested in the image.
Dating a firefighter seemed romantic to her.
The hero thing, you know? She loved showing up at the station, loved telling people her Alpha was a first responder, loved the attention it got her. "
"But?"
"But she wasn't interested in me. The actual me.
The one who comes home exhausted and haunted by the calls that went wrong.
The one who has nightmares sometimes. The one who isn't always heroic and brave—who's sometimes scared and unsure and just..
. human." He shrugs, trying to pass it off as casual, but I can see the old hurt beneath the surface.
"She valued the hero image over the vulnerabilities.
And when I tried to show her the real me, she didn't want to see it. "
Another person who couldn't handle the reality behind the facade. Another person who wanted the shiny exterior without dealing with the complicated interior. Why does everyone keep doing this to the people I'm growing to care about?
"The fallout wasn't insane," Elias continues.
"It's not like Tank's situation—no engagement broken, no dramatic exits.
And it's not like Tank or Julian were even close to being interested in settling down back then.
But maybe I was just... desperate to make something work for the sake of it.
Because we're all getting older, you know?
The Late Alphas pack. The ones who couldn't find an Omega.
At some point you start wondering if the problem is you. "
"It's not you," I say firmly. "It's never been you."
He smiles—a real smile, not the performative one he wears for the public. "Thanks, Sweet Rebel."
I set down my strawberry, turning to face him more fully in the confined space of the truck cab. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Are you okay with this? The temporary arrangement?" The question has been nagging at me—whether any of them resent being thrust into this situation, whether they're going along with it out of obligation rather than genuine interest. "I know it started as a business deal, and I don't want—"
"Yes," he interrupts, his voice steady and certain. "I'm okay with it. More than okay, actually."
"Really?"
"Really." He shifts to face me, his knee brushing against mine.
"Maybe it allows me to also realize the potential I can have with someone who's actually respectful.
Someone who isn't doing it for shits and giggles or because dating a firefighter sounds romantic.
" His eyes meet mine, warm and sincere. "Sure, we're technically faking it.
But it's not like you're trying to use any of us.
The arrangement worked in our favor—otherwise, you wouldn't be doing more than was absolutely necessary.
You'd be keeping your distance, not showing up to firehouse fondue nights and drinking beer with my crew. "
He's right. If this were purely transactional, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be eating chocolate in a fire truck at eleven at night. I wouldn't be learning their histories, their hurts, their hopes. I'd be doing the minimum required to fulfill our deal and nothing more.
But that's not what's happening. That's not what I want anymore.
"Rosemarie," Elias says softly, and I realize I've been staring at him while lost in thought.
"Hmm?"
"You have chocolate on your lips."
I start to reach up to wipe it away, but he's faster. He leans in, and instead of using his thumb like a normal person, he uses his tongue—a slow, deliberate lick across my lower lip that makes my breath catch in my throat.
Oh.
And then he's kissing me properly, his hand coming up to cup my jaw as his mouth slants over mine.
He tastes like chocolate and strawberries and something uniquely Elias—woodsmoke and pine needles and the warmth of campfire that I'm beginning to associate exclusively with him.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine, and I hear myself moan into his mouth before I can stop it.
His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer across the center console.
The angle is awkward—truck cabs weren't designed for making out, that's for sure—but neither of us seems to care.
He kisses me like he's been waiting to do this all night.
Like he's been thinking about nothing else since I walked through the firehouse door. Like I'm something worth savoring.
I lose myself in the sensation—the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the way his scent wraps around me and makes everything else fade away. My fingers find his hair, tangling in the soft strands, and he makes a sound low in his throat that sends electricity down my spine.
And then—
HONK.
We jump apart like teenagers caught by parents.
The truck horn blares through the quiet garage, and I look up to see Lieutenant Rodriguez standing beside the neighboring truck, her finger clearly just lifted from its horn button.
She's making a tsking motion with her other hand, shaking her head in mock disappointment.
"Hater," Elias groans, but there's laughter in his voice.
Rodriguez just grins, supremely satisfied with her interruption. "Party's moving to the common room for movies. Unless you two want to stay out here and fog up the windows like high schoolers."
"We're coming," Elias calls back, then looks at me with an expression that's half-apologetic and half-amused. "Want to go inside? Clean up, watch movies with the boys?"
I'm still trying to catch my breath, still feeling the ghost of his lips against mine. "Sure."
"Fair warning—" He helps me climb down from the truck, his hand steady on my waist. "You're sitting on my lap."
I raise an eyebrow at him, feeling that boldness rise up again—the version of me that only emerges when I'm comfortable, when I'm with people who make me feel safe. "I'll do my best to remain still."
His eyes darken, and his grip on my waist tightens momentarily. "Careful, Sweet Rebel. Don't make promises you can't keep."
The common room has been transformed into a movie-watching paradise.
Couches and chairs have been dragged into a semicircle facing a large TV mounted on the wall.
Blankets are piled everywhere, bowls of popcorn and candy scattered across every available surface.
The firefighters have shed their earlier nervousness around me and are now sprawled across furniture like oversized puppies, arguing about what to watch.
"Action!"
"Romance! It's Valentine's Day!"
"If you put on another Nicholas Sparks movie, Martinez, I swear to God—"
"Horror! We should watch horror!"
"You literally cried during the last horror movie, Thompson."
"I had something in my eye! Allergies!"
"It's February. There's snow on the ground."
"Indoor allergies!"
Elias settles into an oversized armchair, pulling me down onto his lap before I can protest. Not that I want to protest. The position is surprisingly comfortable—his arms around my waist, my back against his chest, surrounded by his warmth and his woodsmoke-and-pine scent.
Someone throws a blanket over both of us, and I snuggle deeper into his embrace.
I could get used to this. I could get dangerously used to this. The casual intimacy. The public affection. The feeling of belonging somewhere.
They eventually settle on an action comedy—something with car chases and explosions and a surprising amount of heart.
I find myself relaxing fully into Elias's embrace, laughing at the jokes, groaning at the bad puns, feeling like I'm part of something bigger than myself.
His chin rests on my shoulder, and every now and then he presses a kiss to my hair.
At some point, Rodriguez catches my eye from across the room and gives me a subtle nod of approval. Like she's decided I'm acceptable. Like I've passed some unspoken test that I didn't even know I was taking.
Found family indeed.
The evening winds down slowly. Firefighters drift off to their bunks or their cars, calling goodbyes and making Elias promise to bring me back soon.
"You're welcome anytime, Rosemarie!" Martinez calls.
"Even without the Chief!" The fondue pots are cleaned, the decorations are left for tomorrow's cleanup crew, and eventually it's just Elias and me walking toward the exit, our footsteps echoing in the now-quiet firehouse.
"Thank you," I say, standing by my car in the parking lot. The night air is cold against my heated cheeks. "For tonight. For all of it."
"Thank you for coming." He kisses me again—soft this time, tender. A promise rather than a claim. The cold air wraps around us, but I barely feel it. "Get home safe. Text me when you're there."
"I will."
I watch him walk back into the firehouse, his silhouette framed by the industrial lighting. He turns at the door to wave, and I wave back, something warm blooming in my chest.
I'm just settling into my car when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number. Incoming call.
I stare at the screen for a long moment, watching it ring. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then I hit ignore.
The call goes to voicemail. A minute later, a notification pops up: New Voicemail.
I should delete it. I should just delete it without listening, the way I deleted the text. But some masochistic part of me wants to know. Wants to hear what they have to say. Wants to face it head-on instead of pretending it doesn't exist.
I press play.
The voice that comes through is cold and controlled—professional, even, in the way people are professional when they're delivering threats they expect to be taken seriously.
"Come home, or we'll bring you."
That's it. No greeting, no identification, no pleasantries. Just six words that are meant to strike fear into my heart.
I roll my eyes.
Come home. As if that place was ever home. As if home is a mansion full of people who see me as property rather than person. As if I'd willingly return to a life of being auctioned off to the highest bidder, my value measured in business deals and breeding potential.
I delete the voicemail with a firm press of my thumb.
The past isn't going to control my unfolding present. Not anymore. Not ever again.
I start the car, pulling out of the firehouse parking lot into the quiet streets.
The night is cold and clear, stars visible even through the ambient light of town.
My lips still tingle from Elias's kisses.
My skin still holds the warmth of his embrace.
My heart still carries the laughter of an evening spent with people who wanted nothing from me except my company.
Let them come, if they want. Let them try to drag me back to that gilded cage. I'm not the same Omega who ran scared in the night. I have people now. I have Alphas who see me as something worth protecting. I have a taste of what life could be like—real life, chosen life, free life.
And I'm not giving that up without a fight.
I think about Tank in his cabin, teaching me to build fires and sharing his scars. I think about Julian in his office, fighting battles I don't fully understand. I think about Elias in his apron, kissing me in a fire truck like we were the only two people in the world.
Three Alphas. Three different worlds. Three men who looked at a runaway Omega with a bounty on her head and saw something worth keeping. Something worth protecting.
Fake or not... it's becoming a better chance than what I left behind.