Forget Me Not (Golden Falls Fire Book 4)

by Scarlett Andrews

  They laid together afterward for a long time. Sean’s fingers played with her hair. Annabelle ran her nails, kept short and practical though they were, across his chest in swirling motions. It felt so good, so natural, and Annabelle was afraid to speak in case she shattered the perfection of the moment.

  Samwise, however, had no such compunctions. He mewled from the doorway, having been ejected from his comfortable sleeping spot by their activity.

  “He’s hungry,” Sean said, chuckling. He looked down at Annabelle. “And so am I. Do you like sourdough pancakes?”

  “I love any kind of pancakes,” she said.

  “Good. If you make the coffee, I’ll get breakfast going.”

  “Deal. You must be used to sharing cooking tasks?”

  “Yep. The domestic firefighter in his primary habitat, the kitchen.”

  Annabelle laughed. “Do you guys make chili?”

  “Ha, no. That’s a myth. But Cody makes a mean moose stew.”

  “Alaskan firehouse style?”

  “Exactly.”

  Once out of bed, Sean tossed Annabelle a fire department uniform t-shirt. It was dark blue with white lettering, with his name on the front left and “Golden Falls Fire and Rescue” in big block letters across the back.

  “You look cute in that,” Sean said when Annabelle pulled it on. “You should keep it.”

  “Don’t you need it?”

  “Nah, that’s an old one.”

  It felt as if he’d asked her to wear his letterman’s jacket, which of course he never would have done back in high school.

  He put on a pair of sweatpants, also fire department issue.

  Don’t put on a shirt, Annabelle willed, wanting a chance to further admire his muscular upper body. He was such a hunk she could hardly stand it.

  He didn’t put on a shirt, and she smiled to herself.

  In the daylight, Sean’s house felt bigger. The combined living room-kitchen-dining area had a vaulted ceiling and exposed beams, and the tall glass windows gave a lovely view down a treed slope to the Nanook River. Although the back yard was covered in snow, Annabelle imagined in the summer it was thick with green grass.

  “This is a great place,” she said, looking out the window at the ice-bound river.

  “Thanks,” Sean said. “I got lucky. It was someone’s vacation home and got foreclosed, so I could afford it even on a firefighter’s salary.”

  “I can’t imagine ever needing more.” It was a proper middle-class home, larger than the one she’d grown up in, newer and far better maintained.

  “Me, neither,” he said.

  Annabelle turned to look at him, unable to help thinking about the contrast between a firefighter’s salary and that of a pro hockey player. She hoped Sean didn’t feel bad about his lost opportunity for a more lucrative career, but his face was as cheerful as his tone as he rummaged through his utensil drawer for a spatula. The simplest act of him opening a drawer caused a ripple in his shoulder muscles that reminded Annabelle of how it had felt to be under such strength in his bed just minutes ago. She had half a mind to take his hand and pull him back there, but she liked this scene of domesticity, too.

  “Do you cook for all your lady friends?” she asked, hoping the answer would be no.

  “I don’t usually wake up with a woman until months into a relationship,” he said.

  Good, she thought. It’s new for me, too.

  She joined him in the kitchen, and he pulled her against him for a kiss, caressing the back of her neck with one hand and finding the back hem of her t-shirt with the other. His fingertips tickled the sensitive skin beneath her buttocks. Such a lovely place to touch, she thought, and stepped closer, into his chest. She moved her hands to his firm ass and molded her hands to their well-muscled curvature.

  “Careful,” he said with a laugh, and she felt his cock stir to life through his sweatpants.

  “What if I don’t want to be?”

  “Then no pancakes for you.”

  That would be okay with me, she thought as they kissed deeply, if it meant I’d have you inside me again. And again, and again.

  But Samwise was having none of it. He meowed impatiently, and Sean pulled back.

  “Little rascal runs the place,” he said as he opened the pantry and proceeded to feed his cat.

  Annabelle didn’t even mind that Sean gave the cat priority just then because she liked cats and liked even more the sight of Sean caring for the small creature. It was so everyday perfect that it awakened a new thought: how awesome would it be for this to be her life, a life of Sean and bossy cats and preparing breakfast together while only half-dressed? It would be the start, perhaps, of what her grandparents had, the beginning of something she’d never take for granted. She was such a scientist, such a thinker, but feeling these moments were just as important. Just as vital, and too long ignored.

  “What’s up?” he asked, looking at her. “You look surprised.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she said. “I’m just . . . happy.”

  A broad smile crossed his face. “I’m happy, too. This feels really good, having you here.”

  The moment froze as they each looked at the other, taking in what was happening between them, until Sean cleared his throat.

  “So can we make this official?” he asked. “I mean it when I said I don’t usually do the morning-after thing with women until a lot further into a relationship, and I think it’s because . . .” He paused. “Well, I think we might have something here, and I hope you feel the same way. I think we should just go for it, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Annabelle said, and the words felt prophetic. As if she’d be saying them in the future while wearing a simple white bridal dress and standing at Sean’s side in front of an altar or in an alpine field of flowers.

  19

  Cooking breakfast for—with—Annabelle was all kinds of fun. While Sean made the pancakes and a pan of bacon, she brewed a pot of coffee, and as they moved around the kitchen, they touched every time they were close enough. Hands brushing, a soft nudge of hips.

  When the coffee was going, he said, “Now sit and watch the magic.”

  She giggled and sat on a counter stool in his too-big t-shirt.

  He poured dollops of batter onto a hot cast iron griddle and brought out local butter and some berry syrup he’d picked up at the farmer’s market held downtown in the summer.

  Thinking of summer made him remember high school graduation, and then he thought of something else. “Say, did you go to our ten-year high school reunion?”

  I better not have missed another opportunity to reunite with Annabelle.

  “No,” she said, making him feel better. “I think I was on a trip to the Himalayas.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “I wish we both would have gone. Then I wouldn’t have had to wait two more years to run into you again.”

  “Why didn’t you go?”

  Sean shrugged, plating the first batch of pancakes and starting another. “I guess I’ve lost touch with most people and didn’t want to explain everything about why I’m not playing for the NHL. They all expected me to go pro. I expected to. And I don’t like the pitying looks I get when people find out about the injury . . . as if the life I have now is somehow less.”

  She set down her coffee mug. “You’re not disappointed about what happened?”

  “A little bit. But I’m past it. And after what I’ve seen in the real world . . . sometimes that shit is a whole lot worse than a knee injury. At least I have a knee. At least I can walk. I’m still on the rink as a coach. I’m grateful for my life, my job, everything I have.”

  The only thing that had been missing, Sean thought, was the right woman.

  Then Annabelle had come along.

  “I wish you’d gone pro only because it was something I knew you really wanted, so I’d be sad for you if you were sad for yourself,” Annabelle said. “But I think what you do now is so much more important. I mean, you save lives! You
saved my life.”

  “I was just doing my job, but I’m glad I was the one on call.” He winked at her. “Breakfast is ready.”

  They ate together, with Annabelle expressing great appreciation for the sourdough pancakes. Sean wished they could spend the whole day together, but he knew she had work to do, plus a broken-down car to deal with. After breakfast and doing the dishes together, they got dressed. Sean called her a tow truck; he had Chris Flattery’s number in his contacts, knowing his acquaintance was the most reliable in town.

  As Sean drove her to her apartment, he kept one hand on her knee as they chatted, and he had a vision of them on a road trip together in the summertime, open road and classic rock and his sweetheart by his side. And he thought this might be the start of something very special.

  Annabelle felt like a new person. Like a new woman. All her life, she’d wondered what the big deal about sex was; for her, it had sometimes been good, but it had never been great.

  Now, she understood.

  Sex with Sean had been very, very great.

  She sat in the passenger seat of his truck as he drove her home and looked out the window at the burgeoning almost-spring morning and marveled at how different she felt. Her anxiety about Sean was gone entirely. Could he really fall for her? Yes, he could and had. Would he find her adequate in bed? Judging from their mutual insatiability, both the night before and that morning, she knew the answer to that was also yes.

  The whole world felt different. It was as if Annabelle had a new soundtrack playing in her mind and in her heart, one that was light and springy and full of hope. She was part of a couple now—they’d made it official—and for the first time in her life, it felt real. Not tentative or half-hearted or merely for the sake of convenience.

  There would be hand-holding. There would be dates. There would be loud laughter and deep conversation and genuine affection.

  There might even be love.

  Glancing over at Sean as he drove, with his hand resting on her knee, Annabelle felt sure there would be . . . might already be . . . love.

  “What’s your day like?” he asked as they neared her apartment.

  “I’m going to shower and head right to the lab,” she said. “I’m finishing up the analysis of that final data set from Denali, which should put me at about two hundred pages. Then another fifty pages to wrap it all up, and I’m done.”

  “I can’t imagine writing a dissertation that long,” Sean said. “I have a hard enough time writing a two-page incident report. Do you have time for lunch? Or dinner?”

  “I wish I did,” she said. “But I probably don’t. I set certain writing goals I have to meet every week, and I’m a little bit behind where I want to be. I mean, I could, but—”

  “No, no,” Sean said. “Don’t give it a moment’s thought. How about you give me a call once you hit your goal for the week, and we’ll go out and celebrate.”

  “That sounds great!” she said. “Now I have an incentive to buckle down!”

  Still, when he pulled to a stop in front of Annabelle’s apartment and kissed her, the surge of passion she felt far exceeded her sense of discipline, especially when Sean unzipped her coat and tucked his hands inside, his fingertips finding their way to her skin and bringing her alive again in all the best ways.

  As their kiss continued and deepened, a fervor of fresh desire overtook Annabelle.

  She pulled out of the kiss and rested her forehead against his. “Want to come in?” she whispered.

  “You know I do.” He kissed her lips, stroked her cheek, smiled. “But I’m not going to. You’ve got a dissertation to write, and in the meantime, I’ll make sure your alternator repair gets going.”

  “Are you sure?” She bit her lower lip and smiled to see how the simple gesture turned him on. “We could shower together. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “It would be very nice,” he said, and she could tell from his tone he was considering it. Come on, Sean, she thought. I could soap you. You could soap me . . . you could make sure I’m squeaky clean everywhere . . . “But I don’t want to get in the way of your studying, so I’ll take a rain check on that.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “It is.”

  “Thank you for taking my car in, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sean said. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to have it dropped off with Gage Coleman over at Four Brothers Auto Repair. He’s a retired firefighter and good people, and the shop gives a discount to first responders and their families. Usually same day service, too. They’ve been servicing my vehicles since I moved to town.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Annabelle said, feeling a little thrill at the idea of being considered family of a first responder. “And if you have the shop call me, I can give my payment information over the phone.”

  “Will do.” Sean zipped her coat back up and gave her one last kiss. “Now off you go to dissertate.”

  As Annabelle approached the door of her apartment, she had a strange sense of foreboding, like maybe she shouldn’t go inside. She didn’t consider herself an intuitive person and often wished she were, but then again if that were the case, she probably wouldn’t have fallen into the crevasse.

  Which meant she probably wouldn’t have crossed paths with Sean again and probably wouldn’t have just had the best sex of her life.

  No, she was a scientist, and intuition wasn’t part of the equation. Ignoring it, she pushed open the door and gasped to find Derrick—Derrick!—sitting on her couch, working on his laptop. Her coffee-table items had been shoved onto the floor as he’d claimed the working space for his books and notebooks. He gave her a raised-eyebrows look.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Waiting for you,” he said. As if it were a regular occurrence.

  Um, excuse me?

  Needing a moment to collect her thoughts, Annabelle kicked off her boots and took off her jacket and scarf, hanging them in her hallway closet. She usually didn’t hang them right away, usually just tossed them on her entry bench, but her heart was pounding and she wanted to give it time to settle. Derrick’s coat and scarf were already hung there, and his shoes were set neatly on her boot tray. Her phone was in her coat pocket, and as she got it out, she saw Derrick had called and texted her numerous times after he’d left the bar. Her phone had been on silent, and she was relieved it had been or her night with Sean might not have even happened.

  Sean, she thought wistfully. Can we go back in time and still be in your bed making love?

  Now her entire night with Sean would be tainted by Derrick’s unwelcome presence in her apartment. The air in the room was stuffy and stale with the smell of old coffee. She crossed in front of Derrick, conscious of his eyes on her, and cracked open her kitchen window a few inches to circulate some cold fresh air. All the shades were drawn, and she went from window to window and opened them. As the light flooded into her living room, fury built inside her, and she took increasingly deep breaths. She needed to be calm so that she could decide what to do about Derrick.

  Breathe, Annabelle. Breathe.

  It wasn’t enough.

  She went into the second bedroom which served as her office, intending to gather her thoughts and decide how to deal with him. She noticed her computer screen was on; Annabelle rolled her eyes at herself and turned off the computer. She was usually diligent about powering down her office when she left, conscious as she was as a graduate student of every dollar. Or had Derrick been on her computer, perhaps looking for salacious messages between her and Sean? No, he wouldn’t do that . . . would he?

  She grabbed a thumb drive and several glaciology books she would need that day and came back out into the living room, stopping to set them on the kitchen counter. She could feel Derrick’s eyes on her the whole time.

  Finally, she stood before him, her hands on her hips. “Explain why you’re in my apartment, Derrick.”

  “Last night’s clothes,” he said wit
h a smirk. “Explain that. Do I even need to ask who you were with?”

  She was glad she hadn’t worn Sean’s T-shirt home, which had crossed her mind to do. “It’s absolutely not your business, and how did you get in? I never gave you a key.”

  “Oh, but you leave one under the umbrella stand.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I came here straight from the bar.”

  “So you’ve been here all night.” She didn’t recognize the emotions swirling through her body. This was bad, she knew. An ex-boyfriend breaking into your apartment and waiting for you to come home from your date with your new man could not be perceived as anything but alarming.

  Derrick’s eyes were bloodshot; he looked like he hadn’t slept and his hair was pulled in a multitude of directions like he’d been gripping it in frustration. Was he having a mental breakdown? “I feel like I should call the police.”

  With that, Derrick jumped up from the couch.

  “Don’t freak out! I just came over because I need your help,” he said. His pale eyes were wide, urgent. “We’re supposed to be a team, helping each other out. I’ve been working all night, every night, trying to pull my thesis together and make the data turn out the way it needs to. And now you disappear, and humiliate me, and cause me emotional distress. I can’t even concentrate on my work!”

  “Emotional distress?” She struggled to keep up with the accusations being flung at her. “Derrick, we never had the kind of relationship you just described. We’re not a team. We’re colleagues. Individuals working in the same department who slept together occasionally but weren’t even willing to make it an official relationship. And my thesis has a totally different conclusion than yours, as you’ve criticized many times, so I don’t know why you even want my help.”

  “Everybody’s laughing at me,” he said, his tone changing from frustration to anger. “Watching you fling yourself at that mouth-breathing moron who never even went to college, choosing him over me.”