Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“I should have,” I say quietly.
Her breath catches. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I like it on you.”
The porch goes still.
She studies me like she’s measuring whether I’m about to retreat again.
I don’t.
“Lacee’s asleep,” she says softly.
“Good.”
“She asked if I’d braid her hair tomorrow.”
“She trusts you.”
Tessa nods once. “I trust her too.”
I swallow. The word trust does something inside my chest that feels fragile.
“She hasn’t laughed like that in a while,” I say.
“She’s a ten-year-old girl,” Tessa replies gently. “She’s allowed to laugh.”
“She didn’t for too long,” I say.
Not after I lost everything. Lacee grew up in a very sad house for a long time.
She steps closer, resting her hip against the railing. Close enough that her shoulder brushes mine.
“You don’t have to keep bracing all the time,” she says.
I exhale slowly. “That’s not how it works.”
“How does it work?”
“You survive.”
“That’s not the same as living.”
Her voice isn’t accusing. Just steady.
I look out over the dark tree line. “Nine years ago, I walked into a house fire thinking it was another call. Another structure. Another night. I walked out with everyone except her. She died during her friend’s wedding shower–a beam collapsed and trapped her. Lacee was at home with a babysitter. We…we managed to save eight of Lauren’s closest friends, but Lauren…it was too late.”
The words sit heavy in the air. Tessa doesn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t know she was inside until—” My throat tightens. “Until I saw her car.”
Tessa’s hand finds mine.
“I couldn’t get to her,” I say quietly. “I’ve been in worse fires. I’ve taken bigger risks. But that night… I hesitated. For half a second. And half a second was too long. The beam fell and if I’d only been a second sooner–”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
Her tone sharpens just enough to pull my eyes to hers. “You went in,” she says. “You tried.”
“I failed.”
“You survived.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Her fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“Do you know what I see?” she asks.
I shake my head once.
“I see a man who has carried the weight of a building on his back for almost a decade, raised a little girl alone, and never once asked anyone to help him hold it.”
My jaw clenches. “That’s my job.”
“No,” she says softly. “That’s your fear.”
The word lands hard. I pull my hand from hers, running it through my hair. “You don’t get it.”
“Then help me.” I turn toward her fully now.
“What do you want me to say, Tessa?”
“The truth.”
“I just told you.”
“No,” she says, stepping closer again. “You told me what happened. Not what it did to you.”
My chest tightens.
“It hollowed me out,” I admit. “Happy felt like betrayal. Wanting anything felt like disrespect. Every time Lacee laughed, I felt guilty because her mother wasn’t there to hear it.”
Tessa’s eyes soften.
“You think loving again means forgetting,” she says.
“It feels like replacing.”
“Love isn’t a slot machine, Sawyer.” Her voice is firm now. “It’s not limited supply.”
“I made vows.”
“And you kept them.”
“I’m still keeping them.”
She steps closer until her hands rest against my chest. I freeze.
“You loved her,” she says quietly. “That doesn’t disappear because you’re capable of loving again.”
My heart pounds against her palms. “You don’t understand what that kind of loss does to a man.”
“Then show me.”
Her eyes hold mine without flinching. I grip her wrists gently, not pushing her away.
“You have a whole life ahead of you,” I say roughly. “You think you want a widowed firefighter with grief carved into his bones?”
“I don’t want perfect,” she says. “I want real.”
“You want easy.”
She huffs softly. “You’re the least easy man I’ve ever met.”
A reluctant breath of something almost like laughter escapes me.
“You have no idea how hard I’ve tried not to want you,” I admit.
She leans in closer, her forehead almost brushing mine.
“Say it,” she whispers.
“Say what?”
“That you don’t want me.”
Silence. I don’t look away. “I can’t.”
The air thickens. Her fingers curl into my shirt.
“Then why are we pretending?” she asks.
“Because once I say it out loud,” I murmur, “I can’t take it back.”
Her breath warms my jaw.
“Good.”
I exhale slowly.
“You brought light back to my ashes,” I say quietly.
The words feel like stepping off a cliff. Her eyes widen.
“I didn’t even realize how dark it was in here until you walked in,” I continue. “You and your stupid cookie recipes and your laugh and the way you braid Lacee’s hair like it matters.” My voice roughens. “I was existing,” I say. “And you made it feel like living again.”
Tessa’s hand slides up to my cheek.
“You’re not dishonoring her,” she whispers. “You’re honoring the life you still have.”
My throat tightens.
“That scares the hell out of me.”
“Why?”
“Because if I lose this,” I say, my hand sliding to her waist, “I don’t know if I survive it twice.”
Her fingers trace the line of my jaw.
“You don’t get guarantees,” she says softly. “Neither do I.”
My grip tightens.
“If I cross this line with you,” I continue, “it’s not temporary. It’s not a summer thing. It’s not something I walk away from.”