“What the hell did Sophie do to your father?”

Harrison turned at the sound of Oscar’s voice. The older man strode across the wildfire training grounds. It was impossible—and ill-advised—to set fire to actual trees, so most of their training included mock scenarios played out over this huge expanse of land attached to the Department of Natural Resources offices.

Oscar halted when he reached Harrison, who was holding a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. He also had Bubbles strapped to his chest, which was, of course, what Oscar zeroed in on first.

“Never mind. The real question is, what the hell did Sophie do to you?”

Harrison felt none of the irritation he expected from such of a question. Strange though it seemed, he was starting to feel more uncomfortable without the puppy than he did with her. He supposed that was the inevitable outcome of spending almost twenty-four hours a day with someone. You grew attached.

He glanced over to where Sophie had seated herself on a folding chair near the edge of the field and smiled.

You grew very attached.

One week of this woman living under his roof and he’d come to depend on her in ways that were both alluring and terrifying. Yes, she’d dragged him to a dodgeball practice or two. And, yes, he’d sat through the infamous beer choir, which turned out to be a group of about twenty drunk millennials discussing craft brews and signing show tunes.

The promised social whirlwind hadn’t been nearly as unpleasant as he’d feared, especially since it had the benefit of distracting him from Sophie’s constant proximity—a proximity she refused to consider anything but work related.

While we’re together under this roof, she’d said, consider me officially on the clock. As was the case with Bubbles, he wasn’t allowed to pet her during training hours, had to treat her more like a coworker than a friend.

Which, as it turned out, was a thing he was weirdly okay with. The agony of not having her naked and underneath him was offset by the simple joy he felt when she stood humming in the kitchen as she made coffee. Or how she littered the bathroom sink with lotions and potions he’d rather not examine too closely. Her presence in that house was so natural, so comfortable, it made his chest grow tight to think that he’d somehow lived for so many decades without her in it.

Or that he might somehow have to do it again.

“Go ahead,” he said to Oscar, forcing himself to focus on the man standing in front of him. Sophie might only be on loan to him, but Oscar was the sort of fixture that never left. “Light something on fire. Anything on fire.”