Heat of the Heart: A Firefighter's Love Story

Keep telling myself

He took a step closer. "Ready to go?" he asked

I nod. "Yeah, I'm ready."

He offered me his arm. I hesitated for a second before slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the solid warmth of his body next to mine.

We walked to his car. I stole a few glances at him, still trying to understand why he affected me so much.

When we reached his car, he opened the passenger door for me, and I slid inside. The car smelled like him, a subtle mix of fresh soap and something earthy. As he got into the driver's seat, I looked at him again.

He caught my eyes and smiled a small smile. "Nervous?" he asked with slight amusement.

I laughed softly. "A little," I admitted, though I knew in his eyes he could see right through me.

He reached over and gently squeezed my hand. "Don't worry. It's just dinner. No pressure."

Just dinner. I dwelled on the words in my head, attempting to accept them, but there was no denying this felt like something more.

We pulled up to a small restaurant. It was cozy, the kind of place where you could actually talk and not just eat.

He led the way inside, and as soon as we were seated, the waiter came over to take our exchange started off light, with Emerson asking me about my day, about what I did for work.

But then, in a quiet moment, he asked, "So, what are you afraid of?"

I freeze my fork almost to my mouth. His question was easy, but the way he asked it, felt like he was pulling back the layers of my defenses.

I swallowed my spit. "I don't know," I lied, looking at the plate in front of me. "I guess...I'm afraid of getting hurt."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and when I looked up, he was studying me, his expression softer than before. "I won't hurt you," he said quietly with a sincere voice.

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly. Trust just wasn't something that came easily to me I've been hurt in ways I didn't like to think about. Could I let someone?

He reached across the table and I felt his fingers brush mine. "You don't have to let me in all at once," he said softly. "But I'll be here, whenever you're ready."

We finished dinner, and the drive back to my apartment was quiet but comfortable. As we pulled up at my house, he turned off the engine and turned to me, his expression serious but soft.

"I had a really good time tonight," he said.

"Me too," I replied my voice soft.

He opened my door and walked me to my front door.

For a moment we just look at each other. Then, he leaned in slowly. I felt his lips brush against mine softly at first, and when I didn't pull away, the kiss deepened.

It wasn't rushed or demanding. It was gentle and careful as if savoring the moment. Then he finally pulled back.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

"Goodnight," I whispered back.

As I walked up to my house, I could still feel the warmth of his kiss lingering on my lips, the soft click of the door closing behind me breaking the silence.

I leaned against the door for a moment, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

But then, as quickly as the warmth came, the old fears began to creep back in. I couldn't stop the flood of memories of the times I had been hurt, of the people who had promised to be there and then disappeared when things got hard. My family had always been the biggest source of that pain. I thought about my parents, their words and actions cut deeper than any wound. They had always expected so much, and I had never been enough. Every mistake I made was a reminder of how I had failed them, how I wasn't the perfect daughter they wanted.

What if he saw that brokenness in me and decided I wasn't worth the effort? What if I was too much to handle, too damaged to be loved?

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away. No, I told myself. *He's not like that.* I replayed the evening in my mind, the way he had smiled at me, the way his hand had gently held mine. He had been patient, and kind, giving me space even as he showed me he was there. He wasn't like the others. He wasn't like my family.

I pulled out my phone, hesitating for a moment before sending a quick text.

"Thank you for tonight. I had a great time."

I set the phone aside and leaned back, closing my eyes again.

The phone buzzed, and I picked it up, smiling as I read his reply.

"I had a great time too. Can't wait to see you again."

As I set the phone down and curled up on the couch the TV was playing in the background hummus softly.

The next morning, a soft knock at my door pulled me out of sleep, before I heard his voice through the door.

"You up?" he asked, his tone light but unmistakably concerned.

I threw on a robe and padded over to open the door. He was, standing there with a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other, looking just as put together as he had the night before. My heart skipped a beat again looking at him, but I managed a sleepy smile.

"Morning," I said as I rubbed my eyes.

"Morning," he replied as he took a step inside and closed the door behind him. "Brought you breakfast."

I glanced at the clock and groaned. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." He set the bag and coffee on the kitchen counter, then turned to look at me, his expression softening. "Did you sleep okay?"

I nodded, though the truth was I'd tossed and turned a little my ribs still throbbing. "Yeah, I did. You?"

"Not bad," he said, but his eyes wavered on me for a moment before he looked at my unopened bag of antibiotics before he spoke again. "Hey, have you been taking your medication?" his face was slightly serious.

The question took me back, and I felt my stomach twist. I glanced away, "I... might have forgotten."

His brows furrow as he walks the small distance between us, and his voice comes out gentle but firm. "You're supposed to take it every day. So you get better."

"I know," I said, feeling guilt hit me in the stomach. "It just slipped my mind."

He sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand in clear frustration before looking at me again. "You can't keep forgetting, alright? That's not something you should mess around with."

I winced, I hated how disappointed he sounded and looked ."I didn't mean to.".

He took a step closer and his eyes softened again as he reached out to gently hold my face. "I know, but I care about you. I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

His words of concern hit me harder anticipated. No one had fussed over me like this in a long time if ever. My family had always been too busy abusing me or criticizing me for my flaws to care about my well-being.

"I'll do better," I promised, my voice barely above a whisper.

He searched my eyes for a moment before leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. "Good. I'll remind you if you need it."

I laughed lightly. "You don't have to do that."

"Too late," he teased, giving me a half-smile. "I'm already invested now."

I smiled back. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he said, pulling me into a gentle hug. I rested my head against his chest inhaling his familiar scent

As we stood there, his arms around me, I realized that maybe letting someone in didn't have to be as scary as I'd always thought. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone in this as I keep telling myself.