By the time we make it to the seventh floor, we’re all a little winded. But, with almost seventy pounds of gear on our backs, it’s to be expected. The smoke filtering down the stairwell isn’t helping much either. Hunkering down behind the door, Ian tests it to see how hot it is. “Lucky for us,” he speaks into his dispatch receiver. “The fire hasn’t reached this side of the floor, yet.”

With that piece of information, we open the door and find an empty floor before us. Everyone was fortunate enough to evacuate before we arrived. Making our way toward the flames, we try to clear the area of any debris. It’s nearly impossible in an office space, but we still do our best. Through the window, we see the hook and ladder crew readying themselves to enter the building. The bucket is extended all the way to the north windows. All we need to do now is to wait for the command from them for their plan of action.

Through my two-way receiver, I hear Gallagher’s words. “What’s it look like, Andrews?”

“Small, no need to crash through.” After assessing the scene, I let Gallagher know the hook and ladder crew can stand by. “There’s a hose out in the stairwell. That’ll be enough.”

“Let’s put this out,” I command to the rest of my small crew.

Since there were no civilians on the floor when we entered, our job is somewhat simple. Douse the somewhat large, yet still contained fire, mull through the debris, make sure there are no hot spots, and then retreat back to the ground floor. Ian and Gonzalez retrieve the hose and pull it to where it’s needed and within minutes, the blaze is extinguished. We watch the bucket descend from the side of the building.

When all of that is done, and the fire is out, we turn over the burnt rubble and search the rest of the floor just to be certain that everything is put out. “Looks like it was the kitchenette,” I announce, holding up a melted hotplate. “As usual,” I add as an afterthought, shaking my head at the pointlessness of some fires.

Shaking their heads, the other guys agree with me at the stupidity of it all. Things could have been so much worse. Thank God it wasn’t a small home. The place would have been in flames before anyone would have even realized what was going on.

That thought brings me back to Gracie.

Every fire. Every scent of smoke. Every parent frantically calling out for their child.

All those things bring me back to Gracie.

And knowing she’d been within my reach just days ago—fuck, she’d even been in my arms—brings everything full circle.

Descending the stairs, my desire to find her is rejuvenated. Even if she’s still with that asshole, I need to find her. I’d like to say it would be only to thank her for inspiring me to become a firefighter, but then I’d be lying.

The need to see her again is like the flames I just fought.

Ravenous.

“Hey, man, you in there somewhere?” Ian nudges me, prodding me along our descent back to the rig.

Shaking my head and thoughts of Gracie away, I move along. Mindlessly, I help load the gear back onto the truck and stare aimlessly out the window as we drive back to the station.

After jumping out of the truck to help keep pedestrians out of the way, I watch as the engine operator backs it into the garage. When the door clicks closed, I find myself staring up at the station in awe.

“Excuse me,” a soft, sweet voice calls out from my side. With my helmet still on, I have to turn around fully in order to see who is speaking to me, my peripheral vision cut off by my helmet.

“Can I help you?” I ask. As I lift my helmet off my head and wipe the soot from my face, I still can’t see who’s standing before me.

Tucking my helmet under my arm, my eyes start at the ground and travel up the pair of legs before me. Covered in a flowing pale, yellow skirt, they’re smooth and lean—a definite sight for sore eyes after a fire. The sun is shining between the two buildings behind her, casting her face in the shadows.

“I’m looking for David,” she says meekly. “I . . . um . . . we met the other night,” she stammers. Shaking her head wildly, she tries to correct herself. “No wait . . . not like that . . . we met at Smoke.” As she turns her head to the side, burying her face in her hands, I catch sight of her reddened cheeks.

“What are you trying to say?” My question is met with a blank stare. In my own nervousness, I run my hand through my hair. When my fingertips meet the fabric of my hood, I realize why she hasn’t recognized me yet.

“Nothing, forget it. Sorry for bothering you.” Her words are rushed as she turns to walk away from me.

“Gracie,” I call to her when she’s no more than two steps away from me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her get away that easily. Pulling the hood from my head, I watch as realization draws her face into a shocked expression.

“David?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand.

My lips curl into a smile as I nod at her. Before I can say yes, she covers her face again, pulling away from me. “You must think I’m some kind of blubbering idiot.”

Chuckling lightly, I shake my head. “Not really. I mean you sounded a little more like a groupie looking for a firefighter you met the other night, but I’ll let that slide.”

Smacking me playfully on the arm, we both freeze at the contact. Even through the layers of my gear, I can feel her touch. Odd how all that material protects me from the hottest fires, but the heat of her small hand penetrates it like nothing else.

With a quickness that stings more than a little, she pulls her hand away. “Wait a second.” My brows pull together into a playful gaze. “How did you know I worked here?” Amusement colors my words as her cheeks stain in pink.

“Your station number.” She tips her head to the side of the building that boasts our house information. “It was on your shirt,” she admits shyly, her eyes roaming over my chest.

Swiping a hand across my soot covered face, I’m momentarily concerned with what I must look like. But then Ian’s voice breaks me out of my worries.

“Get a move on, Andrews.” He pokes his head out from the garage doors. “This meal sure as hell isn’t going to cook itself.”

“Andrews?” Her voice is laced with disbelief.

I nod, swallowing back the slew of questions I want to ask her.

“No . . . I mean . . . you can’t. . . . That’s crazy.” Her cheeks turn pink again at her random stammering of disbelief. “When I saw you the other night . . . I mean I thought it was you. But even now . . . I still can’t believe it.” She steadies herself, smiling up at me, seemingly ecstatic with the highly unlikely, but extremely welcomed, chance reunion.

“Let’s go!” Ian yells out again. “Cap ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

Torn between where I want to be and where I have to go, I literally feel like I’m being pulled in both directions. “Yes, definitely crazy,” I agree as a mixture of happiness and relief bloom in my chest. “Gracie, I have to go. Please tell me I can call you later. Maybe even see you? I’m on for the next two days, but I would love to catch up.”

Stunned, she doesn’t respond right away. Like a fish gasping for air, she opens and closes her mouth a few times, searching for the right words to say.

“Andrews!” Gallagher yells out, impatience and annoyance equally layering his tone. “Get your ass in here, now!”

“You got a pen in there?” I ask hopefully, tipping my head to the bag slung over her shoulder while my captain’s curses grow louder from behind.

Gracie fumbles through her bag and pulls out a pen and a scrap of paper. “Perfect. Now, I’d give you my number here, but I wouldn’t want to put you through the torture of one of the other guys picking up,” I explain. Her hands are shaking and she still hasn’t said anything. Though her cheeks have been shaded in pink pretty much the entire time she’s been standing in front of me, now she looks almost as if she’s seen a ghost.