Chapter 1

1

LIAM

W ell, that was…unpleasant. If necessary.

Trudging back through the huge gravel lot, I begin methodically stripping off all my firefighting gear. It's a ritual at this point – something I've done countless times.

I suppose it makes sense to do these exercises in the summer when it's already hot, which better simulates a real situation. But most of our actual fire calls are fairly short. Running through training exercises for a full day makes me feel like I've been baked straight through. Thank god this was the last session of the season.

Crow tosses me one water bottle, then another. He gets it. After days like this, we need one to rinse our face, neck, and hands. Then another to chug.

Once I'm somewhat presentable and feel like most of the grime has cleared from my eyes, I look over to see Damon's shoulders dropping as he stares at his phone. "What's wrong?" I ask.

His head shakes. "One of my clients is all bent out of shape that I couldn't fix her shed this week. I even told her why I was unavailable."

"What the hell is wrong with people?” I growl. “They don't want their houses to burn down, but Heaven forbid we take two weeks off to train every year to brush up on our skills to keep them safe."

The three of us chug water and chat for a few minutes, then get the all-clear from the trainers that we can leave.

Even though at least three other men already have checked, I walk slowly around the entire area. I always take one more look at any finished project – when I'm working on a roofing job, I use a magnet broom to pick up any stray nails. On a fire call, I look around for any possible stray sparks, forgotten pieces of equipment, or just…anything. If I've been on a job, I feel responsible for everything. No matter what.

My gaze snaps to movement out in the adjacent grass and wildflower field.

I hope it's not gawkers. Training is rough enough without being observed. A few years ago, a bunch of local women decided to have their "book club meeting" in the field so they could sip cocktails and watch us. The trainers put an end to that pretty quick.

Striding over, I see a young blonde woman hunkered down in the grass. She has a huge camera that appears to be zoomed in on the still-smoldering pile of ashes at the end of a concrete slab we use for testing different materials.

"Hey," I call out as I come closer.

She startles, lowering the camera. I stop mid-step, as if I'd just walked into a brick wall. Those eyes. Wide and blue and bright. Pretty, delicate face. High cheekbones. Full lips. Porcelain skin. Blonde hair tied up in a messy topknot with ends and bits sticking out all over the place.

She's breathtaking. Literally. Like, I swear I just forgot how to breathe.

"I'm sorry." She jumps to her feet, gathering her things together. "I didn't want to get in the way. But I needed to get footage of the smoke. It's so different when it's bigger like this."

Inhale. Exhale. Find something to say before she thinks you're an idiot. Oh, right. Smile .

I approach her cautiously, as if she was a baby deer. "You know, they always tell us at the beginning of our training to look out for inquisitive people lurking around fire sites and taking lots of photos. They tend to be arsonists."

She straightens up, flashing a brilliant smile that makes my heart sing. "I promise that I would never burn something that belongs to someone else."

My mouth opens and closes twice. "But…but… You burn your own things?"

Her head tips from side to side. "It's an art thing. I'm always extremely careful."

"Why do you need to shoot video of smoke?"

I watch, spellbound, as she snaps on the lens cap and slips her camera away. Those curves. Graceful and gentle. My eye traces along the round edge of her breast, then I notice the way her hip mirrors the curve perfectly.

"It's more the different colors of smoke," she explains. "And the different ways the smoke behaves. I need to study as much as I can to control the tone and density and look of it."

My eyebrows lift. "That still sounds a little… Pyromaniac-ish to me. Or at least, pyromaniac-adjacent."

Her laugh is adorable. "It's for art, not destruction."

"And where do you set these fires and create this smoke?" I manage to stop myself from folding my arms, not wanting to look too stern. It's suddenly earth-shatteringly important that this girl likes me. At the same time, it's vitally important that I ensure she's being safe.

"Don't worry – it's never indoors. I have a setup out in the back yard, or there's a big concrete garage that I use. And they're always very small and controlled."

"Have you ever had someone examine your setup to double-check?" I step even closer.

"Well…no. I mean, I don’t want to bother anyone about it." Her hand waves vaguely to where the last of the men are climbing into their trucks. "You guys are always so busy."

"Part of what we do is engage with the community, have discussions, double-check things for people. I'd be happy to take a look at your setup if you like."

Her eyes are huge. I could get lost in them for hours. "Oh! That's super nice of you. But I'm sure you have better things to do."

Better things to do than admire the most beautiful woman I've ever seen? Yeah, right. I pull out my card, which simply reads "Miller Roofing" above my email and phone number. "I'm Liam."

She takes my card, quickly reads it, and slips into her purse. "Opal."

Of course she would have an almost magical name. "Well, now that we're old friends," I wink, "you should feel free to text me anytime. If I'm not up on a roof, I'll get back to you right away and let you know when I can drop by to make sure you're being as safe as possible."

Uncertainty is written all over her lovely face. "Okay. Maybe. Well, thanks."

She turns to leave and my hand darts out to stop her, my finger lightly hooking her pinky. Just touching her soft skin sends a tremor through me.

"I really would love to help," I say as gently as possible. "If I ever ended up at a fire call for something I could have helped prevent…" My head shakes, and I feel my jaw tighten. "It would get under my skin and drive me crazy forever."

Opal laughs, slowly pulling her finger away. "Sure. Okay, I'll try to text you next week."

"Thank you."

She starts to walk away, giving me a glorious view of her heart-shaped ass, then stops short. "The VFFT logo on the trucks. What's that stand for?"

My chuckle makes her eyes light up, which feels like a great sign. "We pronounce it vift . It stands for Volunteer Firefighters of the Triangle – meaning the area of West Stoneburg, Cedarville, and Old Hemlock Valley."

"Got it. Thanks." My mind is swirling with questions as she heads for an old gray car parked at the side of the road.

How could I have such a spark with a woman after just speaking to her for a few minutes? What if her setup isn’t actually safe, and she burns her house down tomorrow? Is she actually going to text me? What am I going to do if she doesn't? How will I make sure I see her again?

Forcing myself to calm down, I walk toward my truck. There can’t be many beautiful blondes named Opal in a town this small. I'll have to have faith in the universe that I'll find her again.

The next time I see her, I'm going to be a lot smoother, and ask her out properly.

Because I already have a feeling about this gorgeous artsy arsonist. She's kindled something brand new inside me, and I need the fire to catch hold.