The Spark Between Us by Stacy Travis

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sarah

I couldn’t sleep.There was no way.

Just knowing that a fire was blazing and people were risking their lives to put it out chilled me to the bone. But knowing that Braden was one of those people had my heart pounding like I’d thrown down six cups of coffee.

At ten, I took Bella for a walk around the neighborhood. Even though the fire was thirty miles away, the winds had shifted, and the smell of smoke served as a constant reminder of where Braden was.

She seemed aware that something wasn’t right. She kept turning her head to look at me—or to look for him.

“I know, girl. I wish he was here too.”

As we walked along, I noticed a fine layer of ash on all the cars. My one hope was that the wind behaved the way everyone hoped it would. If it shifted and blew back in the direction where the mountains had already burned, the crew had a good chance of containing it.

If it shifted the other way, however, it could wipe out miles of forest overnight. I didn’t want to think about the realities of firefighting—the heat, the smoke, the danger . . .

But I couldn’t think about anything else.

I knew that Braden had gone out on calls on many of the nights he’d been on shift at the station. The difference was that I hadn’t known about the potential danger until the next day when he’d tell me about his night. No matter how perilous he made it sound, I already knew his stories ended well because he’d come back to tell them.

Tonight, I had no such assurances.

When Bella and I had walked the same few blocks at least five times, she started pulling me back toward the house. I realized we’d been walking for over an hour.

At least the movement dissipated some of my stress, but once we got back, I needed another outlet. Incessantly checking the news for updates about the fire would get me nowhere fast.

So I turned to the only thing that had a fighting chance of calming my nerves—The Great British Bakeoff. I’d already seen every episode, but it didn’t matter. Watching the contestants create their showstoppers would allow me to get lost for at least a little while, and as long as I could watch other people bake things, I figured I might as well join them.

While Bella curled up on her bed in the next room, I took out all the baking ingredients I had, along with all the bowls and measuring utensils I’d need. Positioning everything on the counter facing the giant TV, I turned on the show and got to work.

Within forty-five minutes, Paul Hollywood was critiquing a gingerbread British pub, complete with a sticky toffee floor, and I had two cakes and a batch of cookies in the oven.

I checked the time again. I hadn’t worried about Braden for a whole five minutes.

* * *

It wasstrange that the smokey smell from outside was now inside. It was also strange that I could smell it amid the overwhelming scent of baked goods.

Then there was the matter of fingers pressing into the side of my face. Oh right, I was leaning on my hand, with my elbow on the counter.

But what about the fingers caressing the other side of my face? Whose were those?

“Damsel . . . Hey, sleepy.”

My eyes shot open. Why had they been closed? And why did I think I heard Braden’s voice?

Then I felt it again, his hand on my face, and I clasped it in both hands and turned around to face him. “Oh my god, it’s you. I’m so glad you’re okay.” He looked . . . exhausted. With soot outlining the shape of the mask he’d worn and lines creasing his skin from sweat and exertion.

He smiled. “I knew you’d be worried. I’d normally shower at the station, but . . .”

“Thank you for coming back. And not showering so you could come back sooner.”

I threw my arms around him and held him tight.

“Have you been in here all night?” His voice sounded raspy and tired. The TV still squawked with a Bakeoff contestant explaining why she’d used chopped cherries in her traybake. I grabbed the remote and turned it off.

“Stress baking,” I said, dazed.

“I’d say so.” Braden took in the six different platefuls of cookies, the frosted two-layer cake, a tray of blueberry muffins, and a no-yeast bread loaf and smiled, leaning his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry I worried you. It’s my job, but I told you I’m always careful.”

“I know. Thank you for being careful. And thank you for coming back.” I kissed him deeply, lovingly, almost like I could pour everything I felt about him into a kiss. And what I felt was…love.

He scooped me up in his arms and carried me up the stairs, nuzzling my neck as he walked. “I still need that shower, and I’m bringing you with me. And then we’re both going to get some sleep.”

Cradled in his arms, I had no doubt about my feelings.

I love him.

I couldn’t tell him—it broke every rule we had—but at least I could be honest with myself. And tomorrow, I’d do everything in my power to make those feelings go away. They didn’t fit into our scenario. We were a good time, living in the present. We weren’t forever. If I told myself that enough times, I’d have no choice but to accept it.

But for now, I could wrap myself in his warmth, grateful he’d come back alive.

“There was no way I wasn’t coming back here to you.” He turned on the shower and tipped his forehead against mine. “You’re what kept me going while I was out there tonight. The thought of feeling you wrapped around me like this.”

The heat in his eyes was almost feral. Fighting fires—facing the nearness of death—brought out a hunger in him I hadn’t seen before. Pure physical need.

And here I was having feelings.

I’d broken my own rules. I needed to get a grip on my head and shore up my heart before it was broken too.