I left the man I loved eight years ago, without even saying goodbye.

But now I'm back and standing in his firehouse with a press badge.

Trying to pretend that my heart isn't beating through my chest.

My firefighter ex looks different.
Harder.
Quieter.
More scars than I remember…

But he still ordered my coffee with oat milk and one sugar before I even sat down.

He still remembered everything.

Now we’re assigned a case together to find a serial arsonist, while someone is actively trying to shut the firehouse down.

His captain assigned him as my liaison, and I watched his fingers tighten around his mug.

Say no, I thought…

Give it to someone else.

Tell them you can't.

But instead, he looked straight at me and growled,

"I'll do it."