Page 8 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter (Fox Ridge: Fire Station #1)

I wake before my alarm, awareness seeping in gradually—the warmth of another body pressed against mine, the subtle scent of vanilla, the soft, even breathing of someone deep in sleep. For a moment, I'm not sure where I am, and then it all rushes back.

Rebecca.

She's curled against my side, one arm draped across my chest, her face nestled in the crook of my neck. Her curls tickle my chin, a wild tangle from sleep and last night's activities. The memory of those sends a rush of warmth through me.

It's been so long since I've woken up with someone.

Now here she is, warm and real and breathing softly against my skin.

I should be panicking. Overthinking. Planning our careful exit strategy before Mia comes home from my mother's later this morning. Instead, I feel oddly calm, as if some piece that's been missing has finally clicked into place.

Rebecca stirs, her breathing changing rhythm as she transitions from sleep to wakefulness. She makes a small, contented sound and burrows closer before her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she seems confused, and then recognition dawns in her gaze.

"Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," I reply, reaching up to brush a curl from her face. "Sleep okay?"

She nods, stretching slightly against me like a contented cat. "Better than okay. What time is it?"

"Almost six."

"Mmm. Early." She makes no move to get up, instead tucking herself more securely against my side. "Your bed is comfortable."

"It has its moments," I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "Coffee?"

"Please," she says, finally sitting up, holding the sheet to her chest in a gesture that seems oddly modest after the intimacy we shared last night. "Mind if I borrow your shower?"

"Be my guest." I lean over to press a kiss to her bare shoulder before standing. "Towels are in the cabinet beside the sink. Use whatever you need."

I pull on a pair of sweatpants and head to the kitchen, hyperaware of the domesticity of this moment.

The coffee maker gurgles to life as I measure grounds with practiced movements.

The house is quiet in the way it only is when Mia isn't home—no cartoons playing softly in the background, no little voice asking questions or humming made-up songs.

I miss her with a familiar ache, even as part of me is grateful for this private morning with Rebecca.

By the time the shower turns off, I've set out mugs, milk, sugar, and the box of muffins my mother sent home with me earlier this week. Nothing fancy, but it's more than my usual rushed breakfast of coffee and whatever I can grab on the way out the door.

Rebecca appears in the kitchen doorway wearing one of my t-shirts, which hangs to mid-thigh on her frame, and her jeans from last night. Her hair is damp, her face free of makeup, and something in my chest tightens at the sight of her. She looks younger this way, softer around the edges.

"That smells amazing," she says, padding barefoot across the kitchen floor. "I'm useless without coffee."

"Firefighter's lifeblood," I reply, pouring her a mug and sliding it across the counter. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Just a splash of milk, please."

I add it for her, then pour my own—black, no sugar. She takes a long sip, closing her eyes in appreciation, and I find myself watching the line of her throat as she swallows.

"Much better," she sighs, opening her eyes to catch me staring. "What?"

"Nothing," I say, though that's far from the truth. "Just... this is nice."

Her expression softens. "It is, isn't it? Weirdly normal for something so..." She trails off, searching for the right word.

"Complicated?" I offer.

"I was going to say unexpected. But complicated works too." She takes another sip of coffee. "Mia comes home today?"

"Around nine. My mom's bringing her after breakfast." I lean against the counter, studying her expression. "You're welcome to stay, but I understand if—"

"I should probably go before then," she interrupts gently. "Not because I want to, but because..."

"Because it's complicated," I finish for her.

She nods, setting her mug down. "Samuel, about last night—"

"No regrets," I say quickly, perhaps too quickly.

Her eyes widen slightly. "None. Not a single one. That's not what I was going to say."

Relief washes through me. "What were you going to say, then?"

She steps closer, close enough that I can smell the scent of my shampoo in her hair. "That I don't want it to be just last night. That I know this is complicated—you're Mia's father, I'm her teacher, there are boundaries we've already crossed. But I want to figure it out. If you do too."

The directness of her words catches me off guard. I've spent so long being careful, measuring my actions against what's best for Mia, that I've forgotten how to simply want something for myself.

"I do," I admit, reaching out to take her hand. "I want to figure it out too."

Her smile is like sunrise breaking over the horizon—gradual, then all at once brilliant. She twines her fingers with mine, the simple connection grounding me in the moment.

"So what does that look like?" she asks, her practical teacher's mind already seeking structure. "I mean, logistically speaking."

I guide her to the small kitchen table, pulling out a chair for her before taking my own. "Honestly? I'm not sure. I haven't done this in... a while."

"Me neither," she admits. "And never with someone who has a child."

The mention of Mia brings the complexity of our situation into sharper focus. "She comes first," I say simply. "Whatever we do, however we handle this, Mia's well-being has to be the priority."

Rebecca nods without hesitation. "Of course. She's a wonderful little girl, and I would never want to do anything that might hurt her."

"She likes you already," I tell her, remembering how Mia talks about Ms. Brown at dinner, recounting the day's activities with animated gestures. "The blue star is practically a family member now."

Rebecca laughs softly. "That's good to hear. But liking me as her teacher and accepting me as..." She pauses, seemingly unsure how to define her potential role.

"As someone important to her dad," I supply. "That's different, I know."

"We'd need to be careful," Rebecca says. "Take it slow, especially around her."

"Agreed." I take a sip of my coffee, considering our options. "Maybe we start with some time together when she's not around. Get to know each other better before introducing any changes to her routine."

"I'd like that," Rebecca says. She hesitates, then adds, "I have this little cabin booked for the weekend after next.

Up by the lake. Nothing fancy, just a place to decompress after the first month of school.

" Her cheeks color slightly. "You could join me, if you wanted.

If you could arrange someone to watch Mia. "

The invitation sends a rush of warmth through me. "Mom would be happy to take her for a weekend. She's always asking for more grandma time."

"So that's a yes?" Rebecca's eyes hold a hopeful gleam.

"That's a definite yes," I reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, drinking our coffee and sharing occasional glances that carry echoes of last night's intimacy. It strikes me how easily she fits into my kitchen, into my morning routine, as if she belongs here.

"Tell me something," I say suddenly. "Something you want. For the future, I mean."

She tilts her head, considering the question with the same thoughtfulness she seems to apply to everything.

"I want roots," she says finally. "Somewhere to belong, to build a life that matters.

I've moved around so much for my career—always chasing the next opportunity, the next challenge. But now..."

"Now?" I prompt when she trails off.

"Now I want to stay put. Build connections that last. Maybe even have a family someday." Her eyes meet mine briefly before dropping to her coffee mug. "What about you? What do you want?"

The question catches me off guard. I've spent so long focusing on what Mia needs, on keeping our little family of two afloat, that my own wants have become secondary, almost forgotten.

"I want Mia to grow up happy and secure," I start with the obvious. "But beyond that... I guess I want someone to share it with. The good days and the hard ones. Someone who understands that being a dad is always going to be part of who I am, but not all of who I am."

Rebecca nods, her expression soft. "I think those things are compatible. Your wants and mine."

"I think they are too," I agree, feeling a cautious hope unfurling in my chest.

She glances at the clock on the microwave and sighs. "I should probably head home soon. School prep waits for no teacher, and I need to change before work."

"I'll drive you," I offer, already anticipating the emptiness that will settle in when she leaves.

"You don't have to. I can call a rideshare."

"I want to," I insist gently. "Besides, it gives me a few more minutes with you."

Her smile is worth any inconvenience. "In that case, I accept."

We finish our coffee and the muffins—blueberry, my mother's specialty—talking easily about her plans for the school day and my upcoming shift schedule. As she gathers her things, I find myself already calculating when we might see each other again, already missing her though she hasn't yet left.

She disappears briefly into the bathroom and returns with her hair pulled back, face freshened. The sight of her in my t-shirt stirs something possessive in me—a desire to see her like this more often, comfortable and at ease in my space.

"Keep it," I say when she begins to apologize for borrowing the shirt. "It looks better on you anyway."

Her cheeks flush, but she nods, gathering her sweater and purse. As we head to the door, I help her slip her sweater on, an unnecessarily chivalrous gesture that gives me an excuse to brush my hands over her shoulders, to stand close enough to catch the lingering scent of my soap on her skin.

At the truck, I open the passenger door for her, another small courtesy that feels right, feels important somehow. The morning is cool, the sky clear with the promise of a beautiful day ahead. As we drive through the quiet streets of Fox Ridge, Rebecca's hand finds mine on the console between us.

"I had a thought," she says, her voice casual though her fingers tighten around mine. "About Mia."

"Oh?" I glance at her, curious.

"The school has a family pizza night next Friday. All the kindergarten families are invited—games, pizza, that sort of thing. It might be a good opportunity for her to see us together in a setting that makes sense. No pressure, just... normalizing us being in the same space."

The thoughtfulness of the suggestion touches me. It's exactly the kind of careful approach Mia needs—nothing abrupt or confusing, just a gradual shift in how she sees the adults in her life.

"That's perfect," I tell her. "She loves pizza almost as much as she loves playing games."

"It's settled then," Rebecca says, satisfaction in her tone. "Our first official outing as... whatever we are."

"Whatever we are," I echo, liking the openness of the phrase, the room it leaves for growth.

We pull up in front of her apartment building all too soon. I park but leave the engine running, aware of the time ticking away before we both need to be at our respective jobs.

"Thank you," she says, turning to face me. "For last night. For this morning. For... wanting to figure it out."

"Thank you for being worth figuring it out for," I reply, meaning every word.

She leans across the console to kiss me, a soft, sweet press of lips that carries the promise of more to come. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright with something that looks a lot like happiness.

"I'll see you at pickup today?" she asks, her hand on the door handle.

"I'll be there," I promise. "Have a good day, Ms. Brown."

She laughs at the formality, a sound I'm quickly becoming addicted to. "You too, Mr. Lewis."

I watch her walk to her building, turning once to wave before disappearing inside. Sometimes the best plans are the ones you never make.