“Absolutely,” he said, standing up and offering me a hand. “Let’s get you a shower and some breakfast, and then we’ll figure out what to do after that.”
An hour later, I emerged from a steamy shower to find that Blake had left a well-worn flannel shirt, sweats, and a pair of wool socks for me on his bed. He’d taken my soot-stained clothes and tossed them in the wash, and when I emerged from the bedroom, I’d found him singing along to Christmas carols as he flipped pancakes and tended to the bacon that was under the broiler.
“How about a nice, hot cup of coffee?” he asked, as he passed me a steaming mug and gestured to the cream and sugar sitting on the counter.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I said, as I added cream and sugar before taking a sip. “But thank you.”
“No problem at all,” he said, as he hummed along with Johnny Mathis. “I’d hate to see you spending the day alone. Speaking of which, if you’re up for it, you’re welcome to accompany me to my parents’ for a Christmas Day celebration the likes of which has never been seen.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude…” I said, trailing off as I imagined the way my own family would deal with having a stranger suddenly thrust into the family gathering. I shuddered to think of how my mother would give someone the cold shoulder, and couldn’t imagine how I’d cope with that after everything that had happened today.
“Nonsense, my family would welcome the opportunity,” he said, flipping several pancakes onto a plate before pulling the bacon out of the oven and transferring it to a waiting paper towel. “But I have to warn you that they’re all a little crazy.”
“In what way?” I asked hesitantly. Blake set the plate down in front of me and motioned to the butter and syrup.
“Eat up, there’s plenty more where these came from,” he urged, as I returned to the stove. “My family is crazy in the way that people who teach for a living are crazy, so you’ll probably do all right with them.”
“So, you think teachers are crazy?” I laughed, as I spread a thick layer of butter on the top pancake and then doused the stack in maple syrup. I snuck a quick peek at him as he stood at the stove, and couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his back and arms rippled as he moved. I felt the familiar twinge of desire that had dogged me ever since our first meeting, and quickly looked away before it turned into something more urgent.
“No, just my family of teachers,” he said, as he pulled the pan off the stove and made a show of flipping each pancake into the air and catching in the pan. The last one landed on top of the first and I burst out laughing. Blake shrugged as he slid the spatula under both and flipped the messy stack into the trash can. He grinned at me as he said, “Let’s try that again, shall we?”
By the time he’d finished making all the pancakes, I felt like I was going to burst. He sat down and dug into a stack as I watched him eat. He told me about the party at the station the night before, and regaled me with imitations of the various firefighters and community members. Some of them I recognized, but most were strangers to me. What was obvious was that he had a great love for his job and his community, and it made him even more attractive.
He’d showered, but he hadn’t yet shaved, and the stubble on his face gave him a slightly wild and dangerous appearance. I tried not to stare at him, but when he looked up at me and held my gaze as he drank from the mug that said “World’s #1 Dad,” I felt like I’d been caught. I quickly averted my eyes and stared down into the mug I still held in my hands.
“Want more coffee?” he asked, as he leaned back and reached for the pot. I nodded, and he refilled my cup and topped off his own. “So, you think you might want to join me?”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” I said, as I looked up into his warm brown eyes.
“Don’t be silly; it’s really not a bother,” he smiled, as he reached out and brushed something from the sleeve of my shirt. “Besides, my father will love being able to try and stump the historian, and my mother always makes way more food than we can eat. You’d be doing us all a favor, really.”
“Well, if it’s a favor,” I laughed. “How can I turn that down? I mean, beggars without houses can’t really be choosers, now can they?”
Blake leaned back in his chair and let out a long, loud laugh, which made me laugh harder. He leaned forward and started to say something, but couldn’t get it out before he started laughing again.
“Lady, you’re hilarious,” he said, when he finally regained the ability to speak. “Now, let me see if your clothes are dry and then we can get ready to go.”
“Oh God, I don’t have anything decent to wear to Christmas dinner!” I cried, as he walked to the laundry room to retrieve my clothes.
“Eh, don’t stress, my family does not dress up,” he said. “In fact, if my mother can’t blackmail my father into putting on a pair of jeans, he’ll most likely be wearing sweats and his favorite Notre Dame sweatshirt.”
“Oh, okay,” I nodded, as I took the warm clothing from him, feeling a jolt of electricity pass through me as our hands touched. I quickly headed back to the spare bedroom to change. I could hear Blake in the next room and wondered what he’d do if he knew how much I wanted to touch him.
“Emily, you ready?” Blake said, as he tapped on the door.
“Almost!” I called, as I pulled on my shirt and jeans. I fluffed my hair and wondered if I should pull it up or leave it down as I lamented the fact that I had no makeup, or anything else. The tears welled up as the magnitude of what had happened hit me, and I sunk down on the bed with my head in my hands.
“Emily? Are you okay?” Blake called. When I didn’t respond, he carefully cracked open the door and stuck his head into the room. I was doubled over, holding back the sobs that threatened to pull me under. He sat down next to me and put his arms around me without saying a word. I turned and buried my face in his chest as the wave of grief knocked me over, and I began to cry harder than I’d ever cried before.
Blake tightened his arms around me and rocked me gently as I cried. He began to hum as he rubbed my back and stroked my head, and soon, my gut-wrenching sobs began to subside. The smell of his clean but musky cologne made me want to bury my face in his neck and inhale deeply, so I tipped my head and did just that. I heard Blake inhale sharply.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, as I lifted my face and looked up at him. Our eyes locked and I held my breath as I waited for what would happen next.
Blake leaned down and brushed his lips across mine. It was a soft kiss, one that was testing the waters to see where to go next, and it made every nerve in my body spring to life. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck as he kissed me again. This time the kiss was harder, and I responded with an urgency that let him know he was headed in the right direction.
He leaned back on the bed and pulled me onto his chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. I melted into his arms as our kiss intensified. He traced my upper lip with the tip of his tongue, eliciting a soft moan from the back of my throat. I reached down and tugged on the hem of his shirt, and he held me against his body as he sat up enough to let me pull it up. Frantically, we stripped each other’s clothes off, searching for the bare skin that lay beneath them.
Blake groaned as I straddled him before bending to run my tongue up the side of his neck. I pushed away the doubt that nipped at the outer edges of my mind as I reached down and guided him between my legs. He gave me a questioning look that I silenced with one swift downward motion. He groaned as I began rocking back and forth, his hands sliding over my naked skin as I covered his lips with mine.