Page 17 of Venus

I’m halfway through a turkey sandwich and the fourth quarter of a Falcons game when the call comes through.

I freeze.

Briarview.

That’s Venus’ apartment complex. If this town wasn’t so small, I don’t think I’d recognize the name. But it’s hers, so I do. The last bite of my sandwich turns to ash in my mouth as I stand, grab my gear, and head down to the engine, already roaring and ready to go.

I sneak a call to Venus on my cellphone, but she doesn’t answer, and I feel my hands begin to grow sweaty with panic.

Trevor shouts from the bay, “Let me guess. That’s the building with the Nurse Hottie you keep pretending you don’t still think about? Don’t sweat it man, this building’s fire alarms are shit. It’s probably just a false.”

Suddenly, I’m not sure I remember her apartment number correctly. Is she in Unit 23B? Or is it 32B? Or is it not even in building B at all? I can’t think straight, an uncomfortable worry racing through my veins.

Leroy rumbles down the road ten minutes later, sirens quiet this time, just lights spinning red across windows and windshields. The call doesn’t sound urgent, but my pulse doesn’t seem to care. It’s beating like we’ve pulled a child out of a burning hallway.

When we pull up to the apartment complex, there’s no smoke. No crowd. Just one old woman standing on the sidewalk in slippers, clutching a cat like a purse.

I hop out first and approach the leasing office rep who flagged us down. “Which unit?”

“Top floor. 23B. Neighbor called in a loud alarm.”

“Anyone inside?”

“Don’t know. No one’s answering.”

I nod. Try not to run.

I hit the stairwell with Jackson and Trevor behind me. The hallway reeks of cheap air freshener and laundry soap. The alarm’s going off, high-pitched and shrill, like a metal scream jammed into my brain. We bang on the door.

“Fire department! Anyone inside?”

Nothing .

Another knock, louder this time. Trevor checks the door.

“It’s locked.”

I’m already stepping back. “Forcing entry.”

“Maybe we should—”

I ignore the protest and don’t even care about the likelihood of getting written up for forcing entry without permission, but I don’t care.

One solid kick. Then two. The door bursts open with a crack that echoes down the hall.

And then, she’s there, standing in the middle of her kitchen. Barefoot. Hair piled on her head in a messy bun. Stubborn mascara that didn’t come off in the shower under her eyes.

She’s wearing a t-shirt that I instantly recognize as one I’ve been searching for in my apartment for three days.

She’s holding a frying pan in one hand and a towel in the other, and she’s got headphones blaring over her ears. Her smoke alarm is screaming overhead.

And she has the nerve to look at me like I’m the emergency.

“What the hell, Carter?” she yells over the beeping, setting down the pan and pulling the headphones off her head. “Are you kicking down my door now?”

My heart stumbles and restarts. “You weren’t answering. ”

“Because I was fanning smoke out the window!” she snaps. “I burned a grilled cheese!”

Jackson enters behind me, confused. “So… not a fire?”

“No,” she says, dramatically wiping her forehead. “Just a tragic culinary misstep. I was trying to do something normal for once. Bad idea, apparently.”

Trevor peeks in. “Smells like regret.”

“Smells like cheddar,” Jackson mutters.

I’m still staring at her. Still winded. “You’re okay?”

She freezes at the tone of my voice.

The sarcasm slips. The fight goes out of her shoulders. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m fine.”

The alarm keeps shrieking.

I step forward, climb onto a chair, and disable it with a practiced flick of the wrist. Silence crashes into the apartment like a wave.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

“Next time, answer the damn door ,” I say, trying to sound like I’m not still shaking.

She folds her arms. “Didn’t expect the entire station to show up.”

Trevor grins. “Well, someone panicked. Practically leapt out of the truck and tackled your neighbor like a linebacker on the way up the stairs.”

I shoot him a look. “Get back downstairs. Secure the perimeter. ”

“There’s no perimeter,” Jackson protests.

“Make one.”

Trevor gives me a mocking look and salutes me. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

They leave, smirking.

I’m alone with her now. And now that the adrenaline’s fading, something else starts creeping in.

I look around her apartment. It’s small, clean, but cluttered in a human way, like there’s signs of a busy life that takes refuge here after a long day.

A soft throw blanket sits half-tangled on the couch.

A pair of clean scrubs hanging on a Command hook on the bedroom door.

A dog-eared paperback on the counter, pages wavy and discolored from a coffee stain.

“You know, if you wanted to see me that bad, you could have just said so. Kicking down my door was a little dramatic.”

“I tried calling. You didn’t answer. I thought you were in danger.”

“I was. Burnt cheese is a three-alarm emergency, clearly.” She looks toward the door and scowls slightly. “You’re paying for the repair.”

I step closer, ignoring her. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay? I’m sorry about your door, but there was an alarm and no answer. I was just doing my job.”

She gives me a half-smile. “I know. Thank you, Carter. But I’m fine. Really. My music was too loud, I just didn’t hear the alarm. ”

I look at her for a long time, memorizing every strand of that curly blonde hair piled high on her head. Remembering how soft her skin feels under my fingertips.

Remembering that pain in my stomach every time we say goodbye after a night together.

Right now, standing here in her apartment with the false fire and the real tension between us, I realize something I wasn’t exactly sure of before, but I’m definitely sure of now.

I love her.

Not just that sickly-sweet puppy love that usually creeps up between two friends, but strong, confident love. The kind of love that makes you dread the goodbyes but count down the seconds to the hellos. The kind of love where I look at her and the first word that comes to mind is: home .

I love her.

“You okay?” I ask again, just to check.

She looks at me for a long second. “Yeah. Fine.”

I nod to the charred remains of her sandwich. “Grilled cheese is DOA though. I’ll pass on the message to the next of kin.”

“Isn’t it pathetic that I’m quickly approaching thirty and can’t cook a grilled cheese without summoning the entire fire department?”

I shrug and give her a chuckle. “You might be terrible at grilled cheese, but I’m decent at pasta. I’ll show you tonight. For dinner. ”

“You just kicked down my door and now you want to play house?” she teases. Then, she gives me a smug expression. “Well, I guess I’ll be needing somewhere to stay while my door gets repaired.”

I give her a smile back. “I’ll make a reservation for you at the Westwood Bed & Breakfast.” I look around. “What about Callie?”

“She’s conveniently out of town for the next two days for her little brother’s college graduation. So we’ll just need one bed, please.”

“Alright, but you’ll have to share the space with the owner. I hear he’s smokin’ hot.”

She flicks the kitchen towel at me, making a snapping sound to ward me out the door.

“ Bye, Carter !”