Frankie couldn’t help it. She laughed with her.
“I’d say that card of yours brightened Frankie’s mood, Phoebe.”
Frankie’s spine stiffened at the sound of Roman’s voice. She spun and took a step back at the sight of Roman carrying Phoebe in his arms, her arms linked around his neck. It wasn’t, Frankie realized, the picture-perfect image of him looking relaxed and content with the little girl—it was everything the image represented. And the images that conjured in her mind despite her efforts to block them from forming.
“Right, why go for a guy like that?” Kendall whispered in her ear. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking.” She pointed at Phoebe. “You ready to go, kiddo?”
“Can I come back for the tour?” Phoebe asked Roman before he set her down.
“A private tour just for you and your friends,” Roman told her. “I’ll work out the details with your folks.”
“Mom! We’re gonna get to ride in the fire truck! And he’s going to show us how to do first aid and help people. Isn’t that cool?”
“That sounds very cool,” Kendall took Phoebe’s hand. “Thanks for the offer, Roman.”
“Happy to do it. Happy Thanksgiving,” he called after them as they walked off. “What?” He asked when he caught Frankie watching him. “What’s that look for?”
“What look?” she choked.
“That look.” He took a step forward. She stepped back, tripped over the hose and nearly toppled to the ground. Roman caught her around the waist, righted her and brought her in close. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to break my captain.”
“Your captain?” Why did she sound like Pete’s parrot, repeating everything he said? Her entire body tingled, especially the parts of her he was touching. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. She blinked up at him, unable to stop looking at him, resisted temptation to reach up, touch his cheek and prove he was real. Something uncoiled inside her, something she’d kept tied up and tied down for fear of letting it loose. She planted a hand on his chest, ignoring the beating of his heart, which seemed as unsteady as hers. “So not safe.”
“What’s not safe?” He didn’t seem in any hurry to release her, which meant it was up to her. To move away. Now. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She definitely needed to move far, far away from him. Immediately.
“Th-the hose,” she stammered. “I shouldn’t have left it out. I need to—”
“Am I early?” Ozzy’s voice called out.
Frankie yelped, finally pushing away from Roman, not wanting to think about the picture they’d made standing there, wrapped up in—wrapped around each other.
She pushed her hands into her hair as if straightening it, despite it being pristinely caught in her ponytail. The smile that stretched across Roman’s face made her face burn even hotter. Darn it! He knew exactly what she’d been thinking. What she never allowed herself to think about when it came to good-looking, determined, kind, captivating men like him.
Because men like Roman Salazar, no matter what promises they might make, never stayed.
* * *
ROMAN NOTED THAT the shift from Thanksgiving finery to Christmas zaniness seemed to happen in an instant. As if overnight, the pumpkins and leaf wreaths decorating the town were replaced with poinsettias, boughs of holly and pretend snow that glistened against the streaming sun. Frankie had decked the bare-leafed Japanese maple outside the station with an array of shimmering glass ornaments and tangles of tinsel. What she’d done on the inside of the station included a seven-foot fir covered in firefighter-themed ornaments she’d apparently been collecting since she was a kid.
There was no real overall theme to Frankie’s decorating, and Roman would bet the entire sight could very well give Santa a cavity, but he had to admit, the unrestrained celebration of the season brought definite holiday cheer to the station. She hadn’t missed a thing, right down to the spicy scent of gingerbread baking for the kids’ open house they were having at the station later today.
He had something else to be thankful for. The fire on Thanksgiving had broken the last of the tension between him and Frankie, but a new type had taken form. The type that left him wondering what would have happened if he’d kissed her when she’d been silently asking him to.
He hadn’t. And he shouldn’t—he couldn’t complicate an already complicated situation. He was her boss, and while the rules weren’t written in stone, it wasn’t good for anyone in a position of power to take even the slightest advantage of what he now believed was a mutual attraction.