Chapter Text
Carina arrived at the bookstore early the next morning, earlier than she meant to, though she refused to admit she was hoping for something. Hope was dangerous. Hope had teeth. Hope betrayed. But her body had woken her before her alarm, a restless twist beneath her ribs that would not let her drift back into quiet.
She chose a different outfit that day without fully understanding why. The dark navy long-sleeve top she picked clung softly to her arms and collarbones. She paired it with slate-gray jeans and a cream scarf that fell in elegant folds around her neck. The cardigan she layered over it was lighter than usual, a soft coffee-brown that she rarely wore outside of her apartment.
She looked… softer. Still hidden, but softer.
She tried not to think about why.
The city smelled faintly of rain as she walked. That scent usually soothed her. Today, it only sharpened her nerves, making the anticipation building in her chest feel heavier. When she reached the bookstore, she unlocked the door with fingers that trembled just slightly.
She pushed inside.
The quiet welcomed her instantly, settling around her like familiar arms. She turned on the lights, straightened a few displays, wiped the counter, and checked the new shipment stacked near the front of the store. She moved with the practiced rhythm of routine.
Routine meant comfort.
Routine meant control.
Routine meant the world would not shift beneath her feet.
But today she could not settle into it.
Maya. Her name throbbed in Carina’s mind like the echo of a song she had not allowed herself to love. She tried to block it out, but the memory of the blonde’s smile kept unspooling warmth in her chest that she could not stop.
Don’t think about her. You can’t let her close.
But thinking about her felt inevitable, like trying to hold back the tide.
When Isla arrived, she barely had time to set her thermos on the counter before she paused and narrowed her eyes at Carina.
“You look… glowy today,” Isla announced dramatically.
Carina blinked. “I look the same.”
“You do not,” Isla insisted, crossing her arms. “Your hair is doing the thing where it is extra shiny and all model-like. Your outfit is cute. You look like you might, I don’t know… care about being seen.”
Carina’s stomach tightened hard.
“I always get dressed,” she said quickly.
“Yes, but today you look like you got dressed,” Isla replied, emphasizing the words with wide gestures. “Like you thought about it. On purpose.”
Carina turned sharply away. “I have work to do.”
Isla grinned knowingly but dropped the subject.
Carina tried to lose herself in shelving the new arrivals. She sorted the cooking books, aligned the poetry anthologies, and adjusted the lighting along the front table so each spine caught the soft glow in a way that made the covers feel warm and inviting.
She was deep in thought when the bell above the door chimed.
Carina looked up instinctively.
Her entire body froze.
Maya stood in the doorway.
But not like before.
Not in jeans and a sweater. Not casual or soft or familiar.
She wore a dark navy uniform that fit her like it had been stitched by someone who understood her body perfectly. Her hair was pulled back into a sharp tail that showed off the fine lines of her jaw. Her boots hit the floor with a solid weight that spoke of strength. The Seattle badge sewn against her chest.
Carina’s breath caught in her throat.
A firefighter. Maya was a firefighter.
Before the thought fully formed, something else hit her harder.
The scent.
It was faint but unmistakable.
Smoke.
It clung to Maya’s jacket, to her hair, to her skin. Not the sweet smoke of candles. Not the soft scent of woodsmoke drifting from chimneys in winter.
The harsh, metallic, chemical-laced smoke that lived inside burning buildings.
Her body reacted instantly.
Her chest tightened so fast she gasped. Her vision blurred at the edges. Her throat constricted. Her hands trembled as heat rippled up her neck.
Not again. Not now. Please not now.
Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Her fingers curled against her stomach, grasping for the fabric of her shirt as if it could anchor her.
The scent grew stronger as Maya approached, smiling in that bright, easy way that had unraveled her only the day before.
“Carina,” Maya said warmly. “Hey.”
Carina staggered backward, bumping into the edge of the table. Her breath thinned. Her skin prickled with sweat. Everything inside her recoiled, the world collapsing into a tunnel.
Maya’s smile faltered instantly.
“Whoa. Hey, are you okay?” Maya stepped forward.
Too close.
Too much.
Carina flinched violently.
“Don’t,” she gasped, voice barely more than a whisper. “Per favore… no.”
Maya halted, confusion clouding her expression. “I won’t touch you. I promise. I just—are you hurt? Did something happen?”
Carina shook her head rapidly. Her curls brushed against her cheeks, damp from panic. She pressed the heel of her hand against her sternum. “Non è… non è colpa tua”, she whispered. “It is not your fault.”
But her voice was weak. Fractured.
Maya softened slightly, eyes wide with concern. “Okay. Tell me what you need.”
Carina couldn’t speak. The scent of smoke kept clawing at her senses, dragging her backward through time, pulling her into memories she could not fight off fast enough.
The fire.
The heat.
Her lungs are spasming.
Her skin is burning.
Hands lifting her limp body.
Her heart stopping.
Carina’s entire body trembled. Tears threatened to spill.
She stumbled away from Maya, grabbing the counter for stability. “Please go.”
The words came out thin and broken.
Maya blinked in surprise. “Carina, I just want to help.”
“You can’t,” Carina whispered. “Go. Please.”
A heartbeat of silence stretched painfully between them.
Maya’s expression hardened, not with cruelty, but with defensive confusion. “Are you serious right now? I walk in and you… what? Panic at the sight of me? Did I do something wrong?”
Carina’s stomach dropped.
She tried to speak, but her throat closed.
Maya shook her head, stung. “You could at least tell me what the hell I did.”
“You did nothing,” Carina forced out, voice trembling. “Maya, please, just go.”
Something wounded flickered across Maya’s face. She stepped back slowly, her jaw tightening. “Right. Got it.”
She turned toward the door, grabbing the handle with a sharp motion.
The bell chimed softly as she stepped out into the street without looking back.
The moment the door closed, Carina collapsed to the floor behind the counter, clutching her chest with both hands as she struggled to breathe. She curled inward, forehead pressed to her knees, tears spilling freely.
Isla rushed over immediately.
“Oh God, Carina, honey, what happened?” Isla knelt beside her.
Carina shook her head, breath coming in rapid, broken pulls. “Smoke. She smelled… like smoke.”
Isla’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh shit.”
Carina buried her face in her hands. Shame crashed over her, suffocating and merciless.
“I hurt her,” she whispered. “Dio mio… I hurt her. I knew it would happen.”
Isla rubbed her back carefully, mindful not to touch bare skin. “She didn’t know. You didn’t know she was a firefighter.”
Carina squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want her to think… I don’t want her to think she is the reason.”
Isla exhaled softly. “You froze. Anyone would. It was a trauma trigger.”
Carina shook her head again, tears slipping onto her jeans. “Non capirà. She will not understand.”
“Then you explain,” Isla said quietly.
“I can’t,” Carina whispered. “I can’t tell anyone.”
Not yet. Not her. Not the woman who made her feel alive for the first time in years. Not the woman she had already begun to want.
She stayed on the floor until her breathing steadied, though her body felt wrung out, exhausted from the storm she could not control.
And all the while, Maya’s confused, wounded expression haunted her.
Maya walked quickly down the street, her jaw clenched, her pulse racing with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something else she could not name.
She didn’t understand what had just happened.
One minute, Carina had looked at her with those soft, dark eyes she could not stop thinking about, and the next, she was recoiling like Maya was some kind of danger.
She stopped walking when she reached the corner, planting her hands on her hips.
“What the hell?” she muttered aloud.
She replayed the moment in her mind, trying to make sense of it.
Carina had been shaking.
Her breathing is shallow.
Her eyes were wide with fear.
Not fear of Maya.
Fear of something else entirely.
But Maya didn’t know about the fire.
She didn’t know about the scars.
She didn’t know about the nightmares Carina lived with.
She didn’t know anything because Carina hadn’t let her in.
Still, the sting lingered.
“Go. Please.”
Maya scrubbed a hand across her face, exhaling sharply.
“Okay,” she murmured to no one. “Fine. If that’s what she wants.”
But the truth sat uncomfortably beneath her ribs.
It didn’t feel like what Carina wanted. It felt like what she feared.
And Maya felt something else underneath that sting.
Worry.
Real worry.
She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked toward the station, trying to shake the image of Carina trembling like a leaf.
She couldn’t.
Back in the bookstore, Carina stayed behind the counter long after she had calmed down, staring blankly at the register. She felt hollow. Fragile. Like a piece of glass that had been cracked down the middle without fully shattering.
Isla brought her a cup of tea and set it beside her gently. “You want to go home? I can close alone.”
Carina shook her head. “If I go home, I will think too much.”
Isla touched her arm lightly. “Then stay here. I’ve got you.”
Carina nodded gratefully.
For the rest of the day, she worked quietly, her movements slower, her smiles smaller, her mind drifting toward the same thought over and over again.
Maya hates me.
She whispered the Italian words under her breath without meaning to.
“L’ho spaventata. I scared her.”
She whispered another truth, barely audible.
“Mi piaceva…” (I liked her…)
The admission broke her chest open.
She realized then how much she wanted Maya to walk through that door again.
And how certain she was that she wouldn’t.
Not after today.
Not after this.
In another part of the city, Maya sat on the locker room bench, staring at the floor while Andy leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
“Okay,” Andy said firmly. “Explain it to me again.”
Maya ran both hands through her hair. “I don’t know. I walked in, and she just… freaked out. Like freaked out freaked out.”
Andy’s brows shot up. “You mean a panic attack?”
“I guess. She looked terrified. She told me to go.”
Andy winced sympathetically. “Did you ask if she needed help?”
“I tried,” Maya said, voice tight. “She wouldn’t let me near her.”
Andy slid closer and sat beside her. “Okay. Let’s consider something for a second.”
“What?”
“You smell like smoke. And soot. And ash. You literally ran drills this morning in a burning structure.”
Maya blinked.
“So maybe,” Andy continued gently, “she wasn’t reacting to you. She was reacting to the smell. Or the uniform. Or something else entirely.”
Maya exhaled slowly. The explanation hit her like a gentle push. Something inside her chest eased just enough to breathe again.
Andy nudged her shoulder. “Now stop sulking and go fix it.”
Maya groaned. “How am I supposed to fix it? She pretty much shoved me out the door with her mind.”
Andy shrugged. “Show up again. Without the uniform. Without the smoke. And apologize.”
Maya sighed loudly. “Yeah. Okay.”
But there was something else beneath all of it.
Concern.
More intense than she wanted to admit.
She stood slowly and grabbed her jacket.
Andy smirked. “Go get your girl.”
Maya rolled her eyes.
But she didn’t deny it.