Chapter 3
CAMILLE
E ither it was the storm, the company, or this was the best grilled cheese sandwich anyone had ever made.
“Pepper jack cheese was all they had,” the firefighter, who’d introduced himself as Scoop, said after swallowing the generous bite he’d taken. “I’m kind of glad it turned out that way.”
“I never thought to try it,” I admitted, chewing thoughtfully. “But now I might make grilled cheese sandwiches this way all the time.”
We were seated at the coffee table, on the floor.
He’d given me the side with the sofa so I could lean back against it.
He probably thought I was still recovering, and maybe I was.
Waking up to see that gorgeous face looking down at me had done wonders to sober me up. I sure felt less inebriated now.
“I didn’t even know cheese was in there,” I said. “I bought the bread and jelly, along with my favorite kind of coffee. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed food delivery is an option here.”
He shrugged. “It’s an option. I’ve never tried it, though. But with the storm, it’s probably for the best. There might be downed power lines. Or trees on the road.”
I paused with my tumbler full of water midway to my mouth. “If that’s the case, don’t you have to go?”
“That’s what this is for.” He patted the two-way radio on his hip. It was hanging at a weird angle because he was seated on the floor. “I’m expecting a call any second telling me to get my ass back down the mountain. But right now, I’m going to just enjoy this sandwich.”
As if to demonstrate, he took another generous bite. God, he was hot. I’d never seen a guy this good-looking. Not in real life. Maybe not even on TV. I couldn’t think of anyone.
But bigger than that was the way he made me feel when he looked at me. He looked at me like he saw something more. Not just a woman who drank too much and called the fire station by mistake. Not a stranded city girl playing mountain cabin for the weekend.
No, when he looked at me, it felt like he was seeing me. Every inch. Every layer. Every part I usually kept buried.
I shifted against the couch, letting the warmth of the grilled cheese and the weight of his attention settle over me like a blanket. “Thanks again for checking on me. I know it wasn’t a real emergency.”
His voice was gentle. “It could’ve been.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“You didn’t know that when you passed out.”
I smiled faintly. “Still, you didn’t have to come. But I’m glad you did.”
He met my eyes across the coffee table. “So am I.”
The air between us changed. It wasn’t subtle.
Not in the way his gaze dropped to my mouth.
Not in the way mine drifted down the strong line of his forearms, the veins and tendons and corded strength just beneath the surface.
Not in the way my stomach flipped, slow and low and hungry for something more than grilled cheese.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
I nodded.
“What made tonight the night you decided to try drinking?”
I exhaled through my nose, sitting back a little deeper against the couch. “You really want the full story?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
“I do,” I said before I could second-guess it. “I think I do.”
The storm rumbled again outside, a soft roll of thunder in the distance. I wrapped both hands around my water glass and stared into it.
“I grew up in Greensboro,” I said. “North Carolina. We were right in the middle of suburbia. Picture-perfect lawn in a gated community. We double-bolted our front door, even though the biggest threat on our street was a raccoon knocking over the trash cans.”
He leaned in slightly, listening.
“My parents…” I shook my head. “They were really strict. I mean really strict. Church twice a week. No sleepovers. No school dances. No dating. No social media until college, and even then, it had to be private.”
“Damn,” he murmured.
“Yeah. They always said it was for my safety. That there were predators around every corner. That the world was dangerous, and I needed to be vigilant. They didn’t let me walk to school, even though it was three blocks away. Didn’t let me ride a bike unless they were trailing me in the car.”
“Sounds exhausting,” he said.
“It was. And isolating. I had to lie just to hang out with a friend after school. And don’t even get me started on prom. I didn’t go. Not even senior year.”
“Because they wouldn’t let you?”
“Because they wouldn’t let me pick a dress.” I laughed, a little bitterly. “They vetoed everything. Said it was too tight, too short, too adult. Said I’d be asking for attention I didn’t know how to handle.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know they meant well. I really do. But by the time I moved out, I didn’t know how to be in the world. I didn’t know how to go to parties, how to flirt, how to date. I was afraid of everything.”
“You don’t seem afraid now,” he said softly.
“I’m still figuring it out. Still behind, I guess.” I lifted one shoulder. “Trying things in baby steps. One weekend away. One margarita. One failed pizza order.”
He smiled at that, and the tightness in his expression eased.
“I never even had a real first kiss,” I blurted, then grimaced. “Okay, not true. I did. But it was weird and awkward and involved braces and a game of truth or dare in the church basement. I don’t count it.”
He laughed, and it made my chest ache with how good it sounded.
“I’m serious,” I said. “I just… I missed everything. The milestones. The normal stuff. I was always the responsible one, the cautious one, the girl who did everything by the book. I didn’t get to be reckless or curious or wild.”
“And you think taking a sip of margarita and calling the fire station counts as wild?”
“I mean, it’s a start.”
We both laughed again, but the heat between us was different now. Quieter. Thicker.
I watched him as he set his empty plate aside and leaned back on his palms. God, he was so damn broad. Muscles straining the sleeves of his T-shirt, fire gear jacket still slung over the arm of the chair nearby. His hair was damp from the rain, and his jaw had the faintest scruff.
He looked like temptation incarnate.
I should’ve been nervous. Or embarrassed. Or at least slightly more restrained.
But I wasn’t. Maybe it was the storm. Maybe it was the margarita. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me.
“I’m still figuring it out,” I said again, quieter now. “Still trying to understand what I want.”
He watched me closely. “What do you want tonight?”
The question landed with a heavy thud in my chest. My pulse tripped. My breath caught.
He hadn’t moved, but I could feel him across the space. Like gravity. Like tension wrapped in velvet.
I reached slowly for the margarita glass I’d abandoned earlier, lifting it to my lips and taking the tiniest sip left at the bottom. Then I looked him straight in the eye.
“I’ve never had sex before.”
His eyes widened. He blinked once, then again.
I held the glass tighter. “I’m a virgin.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Swallowed.
“Not because I wanted to wait until marriage or anything like that. Not for religious reasons. Just…because I never had the chance. Never had the freedom. Never had someone who made me feel like it was okay to want that.”
He swallowed again. “Camille…”
“I know it’s probably a terrible idea,” I said quickly, voice rushing now. “You’re probably thinking I’m going to regret this or that I’m too tipsy or too emotional or that I don’t even know what I’m asking for. But I do. I really do.”
I hesitated a long moment, giving him space to respond. He didn’t say a word. I couldn’t even read his expression. So I took a deep breath and continued.
I set the glass down. “I’m not asking you to date me. Or fall for me. Or make it romantic if that’s not what you want. I just…” I leaned forward, heartbeat roaring in my ears. “I just want you. Tonight. If you want that too.”
Silence stretched between us, pulsing. His jaw flexed. His hands curled into fists on his thighs. And then?—
Crackle . His two-way radio flared to life at his hip.
“Station One, come in. Repeat—Station One, do you copy? Downed line reported near Mile Marker Seven. We’ve got branches across the road and potential live wires. Respond immediately if available.”
He cursed under his breath, yanking the radio up.
“This is Station One, copy that,” he said, all business now. “I’m on the ridge. Ten minutes out.”
“Copy. Use caution. Dispatch out.”
The radio went dead. He stood, fast and tense. All the softness in his face had been replaced by urgency.
“I have to go.”
I nodded, trying not to let disappointment show. Of course, he had to go. He was a firefighter. Someone could be hurt. This wasn’t about me.
But when he paused at the door, hand on the frame, he turned back to me. “This isn’t over.”
My breath caught.
“You’re not just a call I responded to tonight, Camille.”
He said it like a promise.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the rain like a dream I wasn’t ready to wake up from.