Chapter 6
SIX
KENDRICK
I wake up warm.
That’s the first thing I notice — the kind of warmth that sinks under your skin and settles deep. For a second, half-asleep, it feels like she might still be here. Her laugh, her breath on my neck, her hand sliding down my chest…
But when I open my eyes, the space beside me is empty.
A faint imprint dents the cushion. One of my blankets is pulled halfway to the floor. Her hair tie sits abandoned on the coffee table like a little ribbon of evidence.
I let out a slow breath through my nose.
Of course she left.
She’s not mine. We barely know each other. And whatever last night was — heat, impulse, something that hit harder than it should’ve — it doesn’t mean she’s obligated to stick around until sunrise.
Still…
I rub a hand over my face, annoyed at the sting of disappointment tightening in my chest.
I should be relieved. It’s easier when things are simple, clean, cut off before they get complicated. She’s here for photos, not permanence. I’m here for my job, my Gran, my life that doesn’t leave room for people drifting in and out like passing weather.
I swing my legs off the couch, stretch the knot out of my shoulders, and start to clean up — blankets, pillows, a few articles of clothing we didn’t exactly remove gently. When I find her earring near the armrest, something in me goes still.
Small. Silver. Simple.
The kind of thing she’d put on without thinking.
I curl my fingers around it for a second before setting it safely on the counter.
No note. No text.
I tell myself I don’t care.
The fire station is already moving when I get in — gear checks, chatter, radio static. Justin is leaning over the whiteboard, marking times for the weekend volunteer drill. He looks up when he hears me, eyebrows raised.
“You look like hell,” he says cheerfully.
I grunt. “Morning to you too.”
“Long night?”
I ignore that.
He marks another line on the board. “There’s been chatter about your… friend.”
I turn. “What friend?”
“You know, the tree climber.” He tries to keep a straight face and fails. “Word gets around.”
“Of course it does,” I mutter.
Justin claps me on the shoulder. “Relax. She brought muffins. That buys goodwill for at least a week.”
“She apologized,” I say.
“For climbing into a tree or for making you climb out of your shell?”
I give him a look. He laughs, unbothered.
“You like her,” he says in a tone that isn’t teasing — it’s observational.
“I don’t know her,” I answer.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t like her.”
I exhale hard, shaking my head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” he agrees. “But you’re not the kind of guy who walks around with someone stuck in his head unless they’ve gotten under your skin.”
He moves away to greet another firefighter before I can respond. Probably for the best.
I go over my gear, checking straps, tightening a hose clamp, trying to settle myself into the rhythm of the shift. It works for a while — the familiarity, the focus — until the radio crackles again.
“Unit heads be advised — hikers lost near Pinecrest. EMS and Fire to respond.”
Justin looks at me. “You up for it?”
“Always.”
I grab my pack and head for the truck.
The search doesn’t take long. A family of four, shaken but okay, standing near a bend in the trail where the father slipped and twisted his ankle. While the EMTs wrap it, I kneel beside the youngest — a girl maybe seven years old — who’s still crying quietly.
“Hey, you’re safe now,” I tell her gently. “We’re gonna make sure everyone gets home.”
She doesn’t answer, just curls into her mother.
I scan the treeline, making sure there’s no other sign of distress.
And that’s when I see her.
Emma.
She’s farther up the trail, crouched beside another kid — a boy, maybe ten — who looks scared but unharmed. She’s talking to him softly, letting him show her a photo on his phone, her expression warm and steady.
No camera in her hand. No frantic scrambling for the perfect shot.
Just presence. Just instinct. Just kindness.
Something shifts low in my chest — not sharp this time, not complicated. Just… certain.
I walk toward them, boots crunching lightly, and she looks up when she hears me.
Her eyes widen.
She straightens slowly, brushing dirt from her gloves. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“I work here,” I say dryly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I know.
I also know she left without waking me, without a word, and yet standing here now — cheeks flushed, hair wind-tousled, eyes soft in a way she can’t hide — none of that matters as much as I thought it would.
“You okay?” she asks, voice quieter now.
“I should be asking you that,” I say.
Her breath catches — just faintly. “I’m fine.”
But the way she looks at me… it’s not fine. It’s familiar, like last night is still echoing somewhere between us.
The kid beside her waves a little. “She helped me find my parents.”
Emma smiles at him, then gestures vaguely at the clearing. “I wasn’t even supposed to be on this trail. I was following the light and—”
“Of course you were.”
She huffs. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Her mouth curves. “That’s rude.”
“You’re rude.”
“That’s not an argument.”
“Never said it was.”
For a moment, the world feels very still, the kind of stillness that isn’t cold or empty — it’s the space before something shifts.
Justin calls my name from behind, and the moment breaks. Emma steps back, brushing her gloves again.
“You should go,” she says gently.
“Yeah,” I answer. “See you around?”
A long beat.
“Probably,” she says, though her voice makes it sound like a question she doesn’t want to answer yet.
I nod once and turn back toward the team.
But even as I walk away, I feel it — the pull of her behind me. A steady, insistent tug beneath my ribs.
I don’t do temporary well. I told her that.
The problem is, I think she’s starting to figure out I meant it.