Harris loved toy fire trucks to no end as a child, even when other kids gave them up for video games and baseball. He got stuck on them and wanted to be a firefighter ever since. But at his Station every guy is wired like that, so why a standing ovation in the break room when he shows up for work after his two days off shift? He isn't late. It isn't his birthday or his turn to cook. Sadly, a promotion isn't in the cards either.
"Guys, quit screwing with me." He stifles a yawn, because dreams woke him too early.
The applause only intensifies as he makes a beeline for the coffee machine and grabs his mug. It's red and glossy like the toy fire engines, of course. The first sip of the workingman's nectar infuses him with inspiration. "Glad I'm finally getting what I deserve every minute of every day," he says.
Claps die down, until the only one still applauding is Colin. There are few things a fully clothed man can do that are more awkward than being a clap-straggler. "Chief asked for you to come by his office right away," Colin grumbles to cover up his embarrassment.
It's shaping up to be one hell of a morning. Coffee burns Harris' lips as he stomps down the hall past the officers' cubbies to Villarreal's office. "Good morning, Chief."
"Morning."
"And... Lieutenant Jung?"
Jung barely acknowledges his greeting. His five-feet-nine frame stretches to the max to impress one of the two civvies in the room. The woman's heels give her an unfair advantage over Jung, which endears her to Harris before he even shifts his gaze upward from the stilettos. Then he... Well, he doesn't gasp exactly, it's more like his intake of air is a little sharp. "Ma'am, good morning."
What he itches to say is, 'hi there, stranger!' and grin like a moron.
This morning, the girl wears clothes over her thong—if she wears a thong today—and color has returned to her face. But the visitor is the girl from the burning hotel room, the one who spoke of angels and called for her mom. His fake girlfriend.
"Harris Sarkisian, Miss Leung." Chief Villarreal doesn't bother to introduce the girl's companion.
Unlike Miss Leung in her suede leggings, breathy red top and heels that Harris has already come to appreciate... Unlike her splendor, the omitted guy rocks a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a ball cap stuffed backward over a mop of curly hair. He's tattooed and tanned. Australian maybe?
This potentially Australian guy zips about Villarreal's office to film Miss Leung from every conceivable angle. He bumps into furniture every second, grins disarmingly and pushes it out of his way. The nervous tick in the corner of Chief Villarreal's right eye doesn't slow him down one bit. It must be nice to be free-spirited like that!
Miss Leung advances on Harris with a smile. Her lipstick glows red, but it doesn't look garish. Add the waft of her perfume, add the glitter of gems in her ears and at her wrists... it's rich in more ways than one. No jewelry circles her neck. Harris, who loves bling on women, is okay with that, since that neck is too beautiful for any distractions. The girl's hair is exactly the way Harris remembers it: a mass of red, shot through with natural raven-wing strands.
In short, Miss Leung is exactly how Harris unwittingly described her to his dad 48 hours ago: hard to beat.
"Ablaze," she says. "Please, call me Ablaze."
Two days after their strange meeting, her voice still holds power to stir calm, clean feelings in Harris's chest.
"Thank God!" he flirts on autopilot, enjoying the sensation of being lifted above the world with its sorrows. "I was cringing inside at the prospect of addressing you as Miss Leung. It sounds like my second-grade teacher."
YOU ARE READING
Ablaze
Mystery / Thriller||Love Triangle between a Firefighter, an Arsonist and an Heiress ♡|| Deeply wounded by his mother's betrayal, Harris, a Milwaukee firefighter, doesn't accept human failings, including his own. That's until he saves a redhead from a burning hotel...
