the rescue
588 Words
Damian didn’t hesitate. He pulled Justine into a tight hug, his work shirt smelling like roasted coffee beans—a sharp, grounding contrast to the acrid scent of smoke clinging to her hair.
"Stay here," he said, his voice firm but calm. "I’m going to talk to the chief."
"Damian, wait—you can't go in there!" she cried, but he was already jogging toward the perimeter line.
Justine stood shivering on the curb, the cool night air biting at her legs beneath her gown. She watched Damian gesture wildly toward their floor, his face etched with worry. A firefighter held up a gloved hand, shaking his head. The neighbors' murmurs felt like a dull roar in her ears—Did you hear? A candle. In this day and age? She ignored them, her eyes locked on the front entrance.
Ten minutes felt like ten hours. Finally, the heavy glass doors swung open.
Damian emerged, but he wasn't alone. He was walking alongside a firefighter who was carrying a heavy, soot-stained thermal blanket bundled in his arms.
"Jeremiah!" Justine shrieked, darting forward.
The bundle shifted. A low, indignant yowl echoed from inside the fabric. As Justine reached them, a soot-covered ginger head popped out, his golden eyes wide and pupils blown huge with terror.
"He was wedged behind the bathroom vanity," the firefighter said, handing the vibrating bundle over to Justine. "Smart cat. He got low and stayed away from the smoke, but he’s pretty shaken up."
Justine buried her face in the cat’s dusty fur, sobbing with relief. Jeremiah gave a half-hearted hiss at the smell of the fire extinguisher powder on her gown, but he didn't try to run. He just dug his claws into her shoulder and buried his face in her neck.
"Thank you," Damian breathed, shaking the firefighter's hand. "Seriously, thank you."
The official nodded. "You’re lucky the lady reacted fast with that extinguisher, or we'd be looking at a total loss. Give it another hour for the smoke to clear, then you can go back in and assess the damage. But nobody sleeps there tonight—the air is toxic."
As the fire crew began rolling up hoses, the crowd started to disperse, the "show" finally over. Damian led Justine toward his car, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.
"I'm so sorry, Damian," she whispered, her voice cracking as she looked down at her ruined gown and the soot on her hands. "The dinner, the dress... the whole night is a disaster."
Damian stopped by the passenger door and turned her to face him. He reached out, gently wiping a streak of black ash from her cheek with his thumb.
"Justine, look at me," he said softly. "The apartment can be cleaned. The curtains can be replaced. You’re safe, and the tiny arsonist is safe." He glanced at Jeremiah, who was currently trying to lick soot off his own paw.
"That’s the only 'romantic' ending I actually care about tonight."
He opened the door for her. "Come on. We’re going to my place. I think I have some leftover takeout, and definitely a better place for you to sleep than a sidewalk."
Justine climbed in, the adrenaline finally fading into a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. "Does this mean the spaghetti bolognese is cursed?"
Damian laughed, starting the engine. "Maybe. But I think we’ve had enough heat for one night. Let's stick to sandwiches."
- Writer
