From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Eleven

My mom used to say that humans are good. Our natural inclination is to do the right thing. Show kindness. Express love. Be pure in thought.

Pure in thought . . .

I’m struggling with that one.

Sipping hot chocolate on the sofa in my loose-fitting jeans and pink hoodie, I set up my profile on a dating app. I need a distraction from a certain someone. As soon as that thought enters my mind, that certain someone opens the door. It’s been over a week since the grocery store incident.

“Hey,” I murmur without taking my gaze off my phone.

“Hey.” Fitz carries a bag of take-out food into the kitchen.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Training. Procedural review. We’ll be jumping again in no time.” He sets his sandwich and a pile of fries on a plate.

“How do your parents feel about your job?” I glance at him as he sits at the counter.

He inspects his sandwich before taking a bite and chewing it slowly. “It’s fair to say they’re probably indifferent.”

“I doubt that. I can’t imagine a mother feeling indifferent about her child jumping out of a plane just to trek to an out-of-control fire.”

He appraises me for a few silent seconds without offering a comment.

“Where do they live?”

“California.”

“Is that where you grew up?”

Fitz nods before taking a drink of water.

“Siblings?”

“You’re full of questions tonight.”

“Just making conversation.”

“I have a sister.”

“Older or younger?”

When he gives me another look, I return a tiny cringe. “Sorry. It’s a natural follow-up question.”

“Younger.”

I nod several times. There’s a line he doesn’t want me to cross. I can’t see it, but I feel it. But I also feel his patience with me. “Do you want to ask me anything?”

“Where’s Maren?”

That’s not what I meant. “She has a date. And Will’s working.”

“And you’re drinking hot chocolate and playing on your phone.” He pops a wad of fries into his mouth.

“I’m working on my profile for this dating app. What would you say are my best qualities?”

He stops midchew and lifts a brow at me.

“Fine. I’ll go first. If I were helping you with a dating profile, I’d say you’re adventurous, funny, and loyal.”

“Sounds like a profile for a dog,” he murmurs behind a brown paper napkin.

“News flash. Most women love dogs. If you could channel your inner canine, you’d be an immediate swipe right.”

He slides his plate aside and rests his arms on the counter. “You’re a good baker. You have straight teeth. And you’re inquisitive.”

I bite back my smile. “I see. Those are good things, right?” I type them into my profile. “Maybe I can add some hobbies that will be better clickbait. Like ... surfing. Diving. Fishing. Skateboarding. Stargazing. Concerts.” When I peer up at Fitz, he has a pleasant smile.

It’s not his normal expression around me, which makes it a little creepy yet still satisfying.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He rubs his hand over his mouth as if he can wipe the smile from his scruffy face.

I stand and mosey toward the sink with my mug. “That look isn’t nothing.”

“I didn’t know your hobbies, except for skateboarding.” He turns, resting his backside against the counter, hands on either side.

“Well, unlike me, you’re not that inquisitive.” I wash out the mug.

“Not true. I read two to three books a week.”

“Then you don’t care enough about people to ask about them.” I dry my mug and lift onto my toes to put it back in the cabinet. “Maybe you only like fictional people.”

“Not true.”

I laugh. “You’re killing me, Fitz. If that’s not true, the only explanation is that you don’t like me enough to ask me about myself. My family. My hobbies.” I tuck my fingers in the back pockets of my jeans and position myself a foot from him. “When Maren and Will speak unfavorably of you, I defend you. I’ve never visited them at work with cookies. I don’t bake their favorite brownies. I haven’t accompanied them to any parties. I’m your person, but you’re not mine. And that’s okay.”

Tiny wrinkles line his forehead.

I force a smile for him because I don’t want to make him feel bad. “Maren and Will are nice to—”

My words die, trapping my next breath in my chest because Fitz’s hand slides behind my head, and he kisses me. All thoughts dissolve into a mushy mess. Thinking isn’t an option. All I can do is feel. And I love the feel of his hand cradling my head and his lips moving against mine. This is a real kiss. It’s not hard like the first time he kissed me. It’s slower and deeper. I feel it everywhere.

Why? What? How? The questions fire in every direction, but they spin out of control, unanswered. I’m terrified of what comes next.

“I’m not drunk,” I murmur when he releases my lips.

That’s not entirely true. My blood alcohol level is under the legal limit, but I’m intoxicated. Drunk from that kiss.

“You’re generous. Distractingly mesmerizing. Quirky in a brilliant way. And ineffably beautiful.” Keeping his hand on the back of my head, he deposits one last kiss on my cheek, letting his lips linger until we hear a car door shut.

Maren.

He’s halfway up the stairs before I can breathe or formulate a thought with a prayer of materializing as actual words. When Maren opens the front door, I touch my fingers to my lips.

“Worst. Date. Ever.” She tosses her burnt orange tote bag onto the sofa before collapsing beside it and tugging at her black knit scarf like it’s strangling her.

I clear my throat, but it does little to clear my head. And my knees are embarrassingly shaky, just like my voice. “Um ... w-what happened?” There’s no way I’m not at least ten shades of red in the face, so I busy myself in the kitchen, making my lunch for tomorrow.

“He took me to the restaurant where his ex-girlfriend is the chef. And she comes out to see if we’re enjoying our dinner. Then, he goes on and on about me being a pilot, and when she seems unimpressed, he ignores me for the rest of dinner. So before dessert was served, I excused myself to use the ladies’ room and left.”

“Uh-huh.” I store my salad for tomorrow in the fridge.

“Jamie, did you hear a word I said?”

“Um ... yeah, of course. That’s a bummer. Sorry to hear it didn’t go well.” I rest my hip against the counter and cross my arms.

Maren studies me for a second. “Thanks. You okay?”

“Me?” My head jerks backward. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m just ...” I shrug. “It was a long day. I’m tired. I probably should have stuck to half a glass of wine instead of a full glass.” I lie, faking a yawn. “I’ll grab a quick shower and head to bed unless you need in the bathroom first.”

“It’s all yours.” She snags the remote. “I’m going to sulk for a bit. Maybe watch a love story, since I think they only exist in movies and books.”

“Ha! Probably.” I slide on my black boots and slip out the back door, pausing for a second. Then I grin and press my fingers to my lips all the way to the shed. On autopilot, I collect my clothes and return to the house. Maren’s watching What’s Your Number? and Fitz’s bedroom door is shut when I reach the top of the stairs. While I shower, I wonder if he’s asleep. Is he thinking of me and that kiss? Is he touching his lips the way I touched mine? Is he touching himself differently?

Are we going to get kicked out of the house?

What am I supposed to say when I see him again?

After my shower, I slip into my sweatpants and hoodie and wrap a towel around my head. I’ve never hurried from the bathroom to my shed as fast as I do tonight. Desperate, I start to text Melissa, but it’s late in Florida. And what would I say anyway? How do I explain something I don’t understand myself?

My heart races, chasing feelings that are sprinting out of control. I lock my shed door and remove the towel from my head. When I reach for my brush, there’s a note tucked beneath it on the dresser. It’s an envelope ripped in half—junk mail.

It’s just a kiss. X

“Just a kiss,” I whisper, tracing the letters with my finger.

Just a kiss at Gary’s party.

Just a kiss in the kitchen.

Will there be more? I hope so. An unavoidable grin steals across my lips.

You’re generous. Distractingly mesmerizing. Quirky in a brilliant way. And ineffably beautiful.

I’m in trouble.