Page 4 of Let it Sizzle (Playing with Fire #3)

Serena

I knew this was a bad idea the moment Byron said “BBQ” and “firehouse” in the same breath. And I wanted to forget about it. Being around people isn’t my thing. But my brother gave me that look—equal parts big-brother guilt trip and I-know-best authority—and so, here I am.

Standing in a corner of a fire station yard, wearing the only sundress that still fits me without pinching at the sides, gripping a plastic cup of lemonade like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

The fabric clings in places I wish it didn’t. My chest, my hips, the slight swell of my stomach that I always try to camouflage. It dips a little too low, sways a little too much, and despite the high temperature, I already regret not grabbing that oversized cardigan from the car.

Everyone here is talking like they belong. Laughing too loud over burgers and beers, shouting playful insults across the lawn, tossing frisbees. It’s easy for them, I guess. Easy to fit into this world where you grew up with a last name that carried either pride or nothing all instead of shame.

But me?

I hover near the table like I’m part of the decorations—something set down and forgotten.

I keep refilling the lemonade I don’t like, fussing with the napkins, straightening the serving spoons like that’s why I came.

Like I’m not standing here praying no one asks me a single question about where I’ve been or why it took me so long to come back.

Because the truth is, I don’t know how to belong anywhere.

I didn’t belong in that house growing up.

Not with a father whose anger filled the rooms like smoke.

Not with the kind of silence that made you flinch if a chair scraped too loud against the floor.

Even when Byron was there—even when Samira curled up next to me at night—I always felt like I was holding my breath, waiting to disappear.

And then I left.

Thought the city would fix it. Thought if I just got far enough away, built something for myself, made a name with my drawings and quiet little books, that I could finally feel grounded. But even there… I was too much. Too quiet. Too soft. Too curvy. Too careful.

I was always shrinking. Making space for other people. For men who smiled nice and chipped away at me until I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

So now I’m here.

Back in Silvertown Hollow, where the air smells like charcoal, and I still feel like a stranger in my own skin. I’m older, yes. Wiser, maybe. But I still don’t know how to be seen without flinching. I still don’t know how to take up space without apology.

And when I glance toward the crowd—toward Levi—

That ache blooms in my chest all over again.

Because the only time I ever felt like I truly belonged was the night he carried me out of hell and told me I was safe. I’ve never stopped thinking about him.

And I don’t know what scares me more—how much I remember that feeling… or how badly I want it again.

I glance around casually, not because I’m looking, but... okay, maybe I am.

My heart stumbles so hard I almost drop my cup. He’s walking toward me.

Not just passing through, not making his rounds. Walking directly toward me.

Slow and sure like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like there’s no hesitation in those muscular legs or the way his gaze locks on mine and doesn’t budge.

He hasn’t even said a word yet, and I’m already overheating.

I straighten a little, tug the sides of my dress like that’ll somehow hide the fact that my entire body just went warm and tingly at the sight of him.

God, get a grip, Serena.

You’re not fifteen anymore. You’re not hiding behind your sketchbook hoping he’ll look your way.

He stops a few feet in front of me, and just like that, the noise around us fades.

The laughter, the clink of tongs on aluminum trays, even Byron’s unmistakable bark of a voice—all of it slips into the background like it knows this moment doesn’t belong to anyone else.

Only me and him.

“Serena.” My name sounds different coming from him. Reverent. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue, waiting for permission to be spoken out loud.

I swallow, suddenly aware of everything—how my dress clings in the breeze, how my thighs are pressed together because my body apparently didn’t get the memo that we’re supposed to play it cool.

“Levi.” I manage to say it without my voice cracking. Barely.

He lifts one brow. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

I blink. “I’ve been standing in the same spot for twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m impressed you’ve managed to make it look like you’re invisible.”

My lips twitch before I can stop them. Damn him. “Some of us don’t have the benefit of being six-foot-something with shoulders that block the sun.”

“Is that what you think of when you see me?” His smile is lazy, but his eyes—God, his eyes—burn straight through my dress like they already know what’s under it. “My shoulders?”

No, I think. Not even close.

I think of the scar on his bicep, the one shaped like a crescent moon that only shows when his sleeves ride up too high in the summer.

I think of the veins on his forearms, thick and roped, the kind that press against his skin when he grips something—when he’s holding a hose or hoisting someone over his shoulder or wrapping his hand around a coffee mug like it’s built too small for him.

And God help me, I think about his hands.

Rough, sure hands. The kind that could pin me down without even trying, but would probably hold me like I’m breakable. Like I’m something soft he’s afraid to damage.

So no. I don’t think about his shoulders.

I think about all of him.

The parts no one notices. The parts I never stopped seeing, even after I left.

But I would never say that. Not out loud. Because Levi Mercer is the kind of man women dream about. The kind you pass on the street and spend the rest of your day making up stories about. The kind of man who makes you forget your own name when he smiles at you like that.

And me?

I’m just the girl who survived. The one who never quite figured out how to stand up straight after years of learning how to shrink. And the kind of woman men like Levi don’t go after.

“Errr, no,” I say, voice barely steady, grateful he can’t read the very R-rated slideshow playing in my head. “Your shoulders aren’t even in my top five.”

Oh crap how stupid of me to say that. Clearly I wasn’t thinking.

That grin spreads across his face like slow honey, and God help me, it hits me low in the stomach.

“Top five, huh?” he asks, stepping just a little closer. “Dare I ask what else made the cut?”

I take a long sip of lemonade to keep from blurting out your hands, your thighs, your biceps, your everything, and try to play it off with a shrug. “I have a strict no-comment policy.”

“Shame.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “I would’ve loved to know what else you’ve been noticing.”

My cheeks flame. “I don’t make a habit of ogling firefighters.”

He lifts a brow. “But I’m not just any firefighter, am I?”

He gives me a sexy wink. He’s flirting? Levi Mercer is full-on, no-holds-barred flirting with me. And I’m one breath away from combusting. I can feel the heat in my cheeks rising.

“You always blush like this when you flirt, or is it just me?” he murmurs.

I blink. “I’m not flirting.”

He gives me a look that makes my knees feel untrustworthy. “Wishful thinking, then.”

I try to laugh. It comes out too soft. Too unsure. Because the truth is, I don’t know how to flirt with a man like Levi. I don’t know how to be the kind of woman who gets looked at like this—like I’m something worth unwrapping slow.

“I’m not really your type,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

His brows knit slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I glance toward where Byron’s laughing with Samira near the grill. My heart pounds in my throat. “It means you could have anyone.”

Levi leans in, just enough that his voice curls around my ears like smoke. “I don’t want anyone.”

That’s when Samira returns, tugging on my hand. “You said we could leave once I finished eating.”

I nod, my mouth dry. “Yeah. Okay.”

Levi glances at her, then back at me. “Before you go…”

Samira glances at me and Levi.

“I’ll tell Byron you’re ready to go.” I nod glad that she’s leaving us alone once again.

He hesitates just a beat, then steps closer again—this time, his voice lower, his gaze unwavering.

“Have dinner with me.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Me. You. Tomorrow night. Just us.”

I blink, trying to make sense of what’s happening. “Like… a date?”

His smile curves, slow and sure. “Yeah, Serena. Like a date.”

Everything inside me flutters and freezes all at once.

“I don’t know..”

“Don’t overthink this, Serena.”

How do I answer to that? Because I do want to overthink this.

I manage a quiet, “Okay.”

And just like that, Levi and I are going on a date. The guy that I’ve crushed on for most of life is taking me out. Maybe he feels sorry for me…maybe. Stop Serena. Leave the negative talk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” I gulp.

He nods back at me.

But as I walk towards Samira, my heart rattling in my chest, the doubts creep back in. Maybe he’s being nice. Maybe he’s just playing protector like always. Maybe I’m reading into something that’s only in my head.

Because Levi Mercer doesn’t go for girls like me.

Does he?