He parachutes onto the burning ridge above your family's orchard and lands face to face with the woman who left him at the altar ten years ago. He has six hours to cut a firebreak. And you won't leave without him.
He carried you out of a collapse, then broke fifteen years of protocol to check the splint held.
The whole town swears the fire chief hasn't got a soft word in him — then there's the way he says your name, low, like it's the one thing he's careful with.
