Page 17

I quirk my lips to the side trying to fight the smile threatening my lips as I notice the flush in her cheeks, one that could be from the hot water or the adrenaline from the situation. Either way, I’m all of a sudden thankful I was paired with Anderson for these inspections tonight.

I’m about to open my mouth to say something— anything —but Rumi beats me to it.

“I was making cookies,” she blurts out before her eyes dart to the floor, her pink cheeks turning pure crimson as if I caught her doing something that definitely was not making cookies.

“I went to, um, take a shower, but I guess I, um, forgot to—” She pauses, staring at her bare feet on the dark hardwood, and I can’t help but look too, noticing the light pink polish on her toes.

“Set a timer?” I finish for her, hoping she looks back up at me.

“Yeah,” she answers sheepishly.

She stands at the edge of her living room, me in her kitchen, and I feel this unexplainable pull, like I need to be closer to her.

I take a step toward her. “Well, what are friends for?” I try to keep my voice light, just like I did last night. Anything to keep her comfortable with me.

Finally, she looks back at me, and her smile is small, but it’s there, and I take that as a win.

“This is not how I pictured running into you again,” she admits, and I’m embarrassed about how hard it is to forget the fact that this woman is naked in front of me, the only thing between us is that little white towel.

A fact I think she remembers that moment because her eyes widen, and she quickly adds, “I’ll be right back. ”

I hold in a chuckle as she runs into one of the connecting rooms and shuts the door behind her, giving me a moment to collect myself. I lean back on the kitchen counter, my head falling back against the cabinets as I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

The aftermath of the last ten minutes—and the whiplash that ensued—running through my head.

What the fuck just happened?

And how the fuck I’m going to get the image of Rumi wet and naked in a towel out of my head.

I peel my hands away from my face just as I hear footsteps coming in through the entryway, and I recognize the sound of work boots. “Looks like we won’t be needing this,” I hear Anderson say, no doubt holding the fire extinguisher we keep in the truck.

Resisting the urge to let out a groan, I answer, “Nope. No need,” with an exhale, pushing myself off the counter.

“So what happened?” Anderson asks, setting the fire extinguisher on the ground next to the refrigerator.

I nod toward the stove. “Forgot to set a timer.”

Anderson looks around the kitchen, and my brow furrows in confusion.

“Well, what was in there?” Anderson asks.

I point toward the patio door, and Anderson follows with his gaze. He walks over to the door, peeking through the screen door.

“Please don’t tell me you’re trying to see if the cookies she burnt are still edible,” I say, and it comes out more as a growl.

“No harm in checking,” he replies, his dopey grin on his face as he opens the screen door.

“I’m going to do a quick walk around the duplex to check for clear pathways for emergency access and make sure they have safe placement of any propane tanks,” he adds, and it reminds me that he isn’t a complete moron.

“I’ll do the inside,” I mutter, as he closes the screen door behind him, giving me a salute as he heads out to walk the perimeter of the backyard.

I left my clipboard on the lawn out front, but I know the checklist for the inspection like the back of my hand. Now that our little detour is over with, we can get back to what we’re actually here for.

And that doesn’t include fixating on whose house this is or how it’s like I thought of her enough times today to conjure up a scenario where I run into her—again.

I already know the fire alarm works just fine, and there are two clear exits—one of which I completely destroyed—at both the front and back of the house. There’s no upstairs, so as long as she has at least one fire extinguisher, she should be good.

And that’s when it hits me.

Where is her daughter?

She doesn’t seem like the type to put cookies in an unattended oven and take a shower with a baby in the house. I look around the living room, evidence of Evee all over the place. Her toys, books, and stuffed animals decorate the space, making the space feel that much more homey.

I’m not left to wonder alone for long when the door to what I assume is a bedroom opens, revealing Rumi, no longer wet and naked—much to my relief.

And disappointment.

“Where’s Evee?” I ask at the same time she says, “So what are you doing here?”

We both let out a laugh, ignoring the awkwardness of our third coincidental meeting in the last two days—fourth if you count last year—and I gesture for her to go first.

Her wet hair is brushed, tucked behind her ears, and she has on a light green crew neck with matching sweatpants, her feet still barefoot.

“What are you doing here?” she asks again before adding, “not that I’m not happy you were here to help with the smoke—and witness my pure, unadulterated embarrassment—but it’s not every day a firefighter breaks down your front door after you burn some cookies.”

“We were in the neighborhood for an inspection,” I answer, and she nods, watching me carefully as I continue.

“We were about to knock on your door when we heard the alarm, and then when we did, there was no answer.” I look toward the front door, now realizing it was a slight overreaction to the situation, but it was instinct when I heard her scream.

My hand goes to the back of my neck, and I feel a warmth to my skin. “I’ll fix it.”

Her eyes move from mine to my neck and back up to my eyes, her lips curving. “I might take you up on that,” she says.

I clear my throat, coughing into my fist. “Where’s Evee?”

“Oh, um, she’s with Ava at swim classes.”

“You started her young then, huh?” With my EMT training, water safety, especially with infants, is something I’m familiar with, and I like that Rumi does all she can to keep her daughter safe.

Rumi nods. “It was a way for me to get rid of some of the worries I had as a new mom about not being able to protect her from everything.” Her eyes look almost gray in the dim light coming from her kitchen, the sun now almost set.

She shakes her head. “It sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not stupid,” I tell her. I want to say more, but she lets out a humorless laugh before I can.

“Ava offered to take her after I worked an open to close shift today. Tonight was supposed to be a night for me to…relax.” That blush is back in her cheeks.

“You burn cookies to relax?”

This time she laughs for real. “Thanks for rubbing it in. At least it brought my new friend to my door, or should I say through ?”

The smile on my face blooms before I even realize it, and I bark out a laugh. I take a step closer to her. “You think fire safety is a joke?” I tease— flirt? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I don’t want to stop.

Rumi takes a small step toward me, only a few more steps separating us where we stand in her living room.

“The same way you think burnt cookies are,” she teases back, crossing her arms over her chest. Last night, she crossed her arms to put distance between us.

Tonight, the way she sticks out her hip, cocking her head, she’s giving me attitude.

And I fucking love it.

I take another step in her direction, and she does the same.

“First thing you need to know about me, friend ,” the word makes my lips tingle in a not-so-nice way, “I take cookies very seriously.” I have no idea what the fuck I’m saying—I don’t even like cookies, or any sweets for that matter—but it makes her take that final step between us, bringing her bare feet only inches from my work boots, and I think I’d say absolutely anything in that moment as long as she stays right here.

“As do I,” she replies, her voice taking on a more playful tone, one I wouldn’t mind coaxing out of her more as our friendship grows.

I have to tilt my head down to see her the same way she has to tilt hers up to meet my gaze, the top of her head coming to my chest. I fist my hands at my side, resisting the urge to see if the material of her crewneck is as soft as it looks, to see if the skin beneath it is even softer.

This is the closest I’ve been to her since the night of her crash, and it is everything I didn’t know I needed.

Her hair smells like vanilla, but there’s a hint of smoke—and I don’t want to admit how weirdly perfect the scent is on her.

Up until tonight, the smell of smoke made my heart rate speed to the point it felt like I was having a heart attack, but right here? Right now?

Mixed with the scent of her ?

It’s like a glimpse of who I was before the fire, before Bennett died, before the only peace I could find was on the lake.

And maybe that’s why the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Then it looks like I owe you some cookies.”