“I’m sorry if I led you on. If it helps, I led myself on, too. I hope we’re still friends.” All that was left to do was walk away gracefully, when in her heart of hearts she didn’t want to walk away at all. She started with one step, a baby step, and then another. “I also hope that the rest of your shift goes well,” she managed.

“Thank you. That’s…friendly of you.”

Was he was mocking her? “Well,” she said primly, backing to the door. “Just because we’re not going to…”

“Mix business and pleasure,” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes.” Because obviously he was not looking for a deep or meaningful relationship, or he’d have said so. “It doesn’t mean that we can’t get along.”

“I think,” he said slowly, in a tone she couldn’t quite place, “that we’re not going to have a problem in that department.”

No. No, they weren’t.

She nodded, and managed to turn and leave, but in the hallway, alone, she leaned back against a wall and let out a long breath. There. That hadn’t been hard or awkward.

Ah, hell. It’d been plenty of both.

But she’d done the right thing. Now she wouldn’t fall for him and mourn him after she left. Yep, definitely the right thing.

Damn it. Why couldn’t she have gotten all self-protective after she’d gotten to see him naked? Brooke turned around to look at the closed kitchen door, nearly going back in, but she restrained herself.

The right thing.

6

SEVERAL SHIFTS LATER, Brooke was sitting outside the fire station on a rare break, laptop open, flipping through a national job database to see where she might go after the house sold and this job ended in a few weeks.

The warm sun beat down on her, the waves across the street providing the perfect white noise. It should have been incredibly peaceful. Instead, she was thinking about Zach. About the kissing. About her opening her mouth and saying that she wasn’t going to mix pleasure and business.

She’d meant it, but she really regretted saying it.

Cristina came outside. She wore her blue uniform trousers, a pair of kick-ass boots and a tiny white tank top, which emphasized a figure that a Playboy model would envy. Chomping into a red apple, she glanced at Brooke. “Are you actually relaxing, New Hire?”

“Brooke. My name’s Brooke.” This was now a three-week-old refrain between the two of them.

Hard to believe she’d been in California for so long already, but it was a fact. And as she always did, Cristina shrugged. “Hey, I called Number Four Skid Mark, so consider yourself lucky.”