He wasn’t sure he understood the significance of kissing her on Ashley’s birthday, but she was right about one thing—he needed to go. He stepped outside and turned back … just as she shut the door.

Smart girl.

Welcoming the cold wet air slapping him in the face, Aidan jogged down the stairs and to his truck.

As he started the engine, he looked up and saw Lily at the window, watching him. But then she must have hit the light because the room went dark.

And he drove off, telling himself it was for the best.

Chapter 12

On the days where there were no morning calls, Aidan and his fire crew had a routine. First they trained, hard. This was usually a four-mile run in full gear. After that they cleaned the station and their gear.

Their captain was new this year and still working on earning the guys’ respect. He was five foot six in shoes and a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet, and was not so affectionately referred to as Captain Tyrant.

For a few days the fire calls had been few and far between, thanks in part to some heavy rainfall leaving everything so wet nothing could catch fire.

Which meant Captain Tyrant was on the loose. This morning he’d made them run five miles in full gear and then decided that they’d go straight into washing the rigs before hitting the showers.

Not a popular call. Hot and sticky from the workout, everyone immediately began to bitch.

But the captain’s jaw was set, which meant there’d be no changing his mind.

So they went to work cleaning. Well, everyone except for Mitch, who’d gone to the shower without hearing the captain’s decree.

When the captain heard the shower running he muttered something about “that cocky son of a bitch” and stormed off to the showers, yelling through the glass doors for Mitch to “get your ass out here and help clean the station right this very minute unless you want to run another five miles in full gear and then clean the place by yourself!”

Mitch, who was six foot four and, at two hundred and twenty pounds, quite an imposing figure, strode out wearing nothing but his fire boots.

Well, and a few soapsuds.

He ambled over to the big bay windows, grabbed a squeegee, and went to work scrubbing the glass, his twig and berries swinging in the wind.

The entire crew doubled over, dying of laughter. Everyone, that is, except for the captain, who was looking apoplectic. “What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed.

“Cleaning like you ordered. Sir,” Mitch added politely, scrubbing with a whole new level of vigor.

The bay windows stretched from ceiling to floor and faced a restaurant across the street. The restaurant was busy with the breakfast crowd, lots of people going in and out.

And there stood Mitch in all his glory, washing the windows.