Page 21 of Striking the Match (Redwood Bay Fire #3)

“Right, um,” he says. “Okay, then. Off we go.”

He wraps his arm around me, and this time I’m prepared when I get to my feet to put as little weight as possible on the left one.

Cautiously, I limp over the unsteady ground with him by my side.

It’s annoying, but it’s by no means the worst pain I’ve ever experienced.

As if to remind me, my shoulder starts to throb as well.

Luckily, I always carry some regular anti-inflammatory meds with me that will help take the edge off once we get settled.

We’re fortunate that it doesn’t take long to find a large, unaffected tree to make camp under where the ground is mostly dry.

The rain has totally stopped now. Teddy makes me sit and eat a protein bar while he pulls out an ice pack that he snaps and squeezes to activate.

After he’s forced it into a stretched sock so the coldness doesn’t burn my hand, he gets me to press it to my injured ankle.

Then he ventures out to quickly find as much firewood he can before we completely lose the light.

It’s mesmerizing watching him collect branches and twigs, testing them to find the driest ones.

After that, he uses a tote bag from his backpack to sweep up as many leaves and pine needles he can for tinder.

“It’s a good thing a lot of these trees are oaks,” he says as he starts constructing the base of the campfire. “Hardwood burns longer than softwood.”

I hum, having been unaware of such a fact. I know he’s trained in survival techniques, but it’s still extremely attractive to see in action.

Bryan was right with his accusation the other night.

I do see it as my responsibility to look after everyone in my life.

If I was going to earn a stupid salary for throwing a ball around, it seemed the least I could do.

Besides, it makes me feel good when I see other people’s happiness, and I think being the oldest child in the family, it’s just something in my genes.

Sure, on the Seahawks I had my teammates, our coach, the physical therapists, and everyone else around me who all worked together to ensure the very best for the players and the team as a whole. And when I busted my shoulder, my family were there fussing over me for every step of my recovery.

But I’ve never experienced a guy doing this for me, let alone a guy I’m seriously falling for.

He refuses to let me lift a finger as he works meticulously to get the fire built.

It’s amazing how well prepared he is for emergencies and just how many things he’s got tucked away in his reasonably sized backpack.

He produces a waterproof tin, striking a match to ignite the flame, watching as the fire catches on the tinder and kindling, the comforting glow growing to keep us company.

He then organizes our little campsite so it’s neat and tidy for us to brave out the night. If I wasn’t injured or worrying faintly about attracting wildlife, it would actually be fun. Romantic, even. As night continues to fall, the stars come out. It’s peaceful. Beautiful.

Teddy assures me that as long as we’re vigilant about keeping all our food and the wrappers in his airtight box, we shouldn’t attract any unwanted attention from the local inhabitants.

He hasn’t sat down once since we found this spot, barely pausing to shove a protein bar in his mouth while he works.

Thankfully, our clothes have had time to dry off a fair bit from the earlier rain, helped now by the warmth of the fire.

But as the light fades, the temperature drops, and a sudden shiver ripples through me, making him pause.

“Do you have any other layers?” he asks in concern. I’m already opening up my own backpack, though. I might not be as accomplished a boy scout as he is, but I’m not useless, either.

“Yeah. But I’ve just got the one hoodie this time,” I say apologetically. However, my hope that he wouldn’t have forgotten something like that is proven right immediately as he retrieves his own.

Except…it’s not technically his.

It’s mine.

My Seahawks hoodie that I gave him the other evening that looks so fucking sexy on him as he pulls it over his head. Seeing him in my clothes makes me want to growl with pride. I don’t care if it’s basic, like a dog peeing on a tree. As far as my primal brain is concerned, that marks him as mine.

Any other guys can fuck off. This gorgeous man is taken.

I discard the now lukewarm ice pack. “Teddy,” I say firmly, catching his attention and stopping him from looking anxiously around our little space. “You’ve done enough. Everything’s great.”

“But…” he says, unsure.

“Come here,” I tell him, reaching my hand out.

He looks at it, his confidence suddenly slipping, which is almost funny to me. It’s okay, though. I’ll show him he’s got nothing to worry about.

I beckon him with my fingers, and he cautiously approaches until he’s close enough for me to slip my hand against his and pull him down to the ground beside me. I wrap one arm around his shoulders and place my other hand on his chest.

“Thank you for taking care of us,” I murmur.

He seems unsure of what to do with his own hands for a second. But then he shifts so one slips against my lower back and the other covers mine where it’s resting over his heart.

“Just doing my job,” he says, but the twitch of his lips suggests he does so to deliberately get a rise out of me.

It works.

“Is that so, Mr. Firefighter?” He nods and I hum. “But who takes care of you? Is that my job now?”

“Maybe,” he whispers.

“Definitely,” I confirm, before leaning in and pressing my mouth softly against his.