Matt woke Natasha up the next morning with an erection, an orgasm, and then pancakes.

It was glorious.

Then he let her put him to work again.

They painted both studio apartments. The trim and baseboards still needed to be replaced, and the bathrooms gutted, but at first blush, the apartments looked halfway decent now.

She double-checked her measurements for the baseboards, then grabbed her power drill and put the last few cover plates on the electrical outlets.

“I like watching you work with tools,” Matt said as he handed her the last screw.

She buzzed the drill at him. “Yeah?”

“You’re fascinating to me.”

“I like whiskey, cookies, and power tools, Matt. I’m a complicated girl.”

“Competent girl, too,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

“With very competent help.” She sucked on his lower lip. “How can I thank you?” She meant it in a dirty way, but Matt’s next kiss was soft and gentle.

“Let me come back,” he murmured. “Let me get my hands dirty and be helpful. It feels good.” His eyes lit up. “And you feel good, too.”

“I’ll feel even better in the shower.”

They tumbled naked into her bed after the shower, and somewhere between orgasms, she lost track of time. So when her phone vibrated late in the afternoon with a text message from Sable, saying they were fifteen minutes away, she was not prepared.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, leaping into the air.

“What?”

“They’re dropping Emily off in fifteen minutes. How much does my hair look like I just had amazing sex?”

“Yeah, total give away.” He grinned at her as he pulled on his pants. “It’s fine. Ponytail that delightful mane, give me a kiss goodbye, and don’t worry about what they think. Where’s my shirt?”

She couldn’t find his t-shirt, so she tossed him his buttoned-down, then chased it to give him the world’s fastest kiss before she darted into the bathroom to find a hair elastic.

When she was done de-sexing her hair and face—god, that flush was both amazing and borderline obscene—she found him downstairs, shoving his feet into his boots.

“You could stay,” she said weakly. It was dinner time, and then Emily would be off to bed.

He shook his head. “This isn’t how I want to meet Emily’s dad. And I don’t want to make this more stressful than it needs to be for you.” He cupped her face and gave her one last kiss. The hundredth, maybe, over the last twenty-four hours.

And definitely the sweetest.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said. She meant it. “Drive safely, and text me when you get home.”

“Give Emily a secret kiss for me.”

“Will do.”

She sagged against the door after he left and waited for the next emotional wave with Emily’s arrival.

It didn’t take long. Less than a minute after Matt’s heavy, rumbling truck engine sounds disappeared, the quiet purr of David’s import SUV signalled their arrival in her driveway.

She took a quick glance around the entranceway. It looked old, but the bright orange paint was gorgeous. Her house was going to be stunning when she was done with it. She had every reason to be proud, so she squared her shoulders and opened the door.

David wasn’t getting further than the entrance, anyway. Her house, her rules. He could say goodbye to Emily right here.

Her chest seized tight as her ex got out of the car. Sable didn’t, but she waved from behind the passenger side window.

Tasha waved back as David opened the back door, and then Emily was sliding past his legs and racing toward her.

She dropped to her knees and let her tiny cannonball power right into her.

“Mommy!” Emily cried as Natasha buried her face in her daughter’s hair.

“Missed you, baby.”

“Me too.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes. We set up a Christmas tree!”

God, that hurt. Tasha pasted on a smile and glanced up at David, handsome and urban and so supremely good at faking interest in everything—from her to Christmas and, God forbid, maybe even their daughter. “A tree, eh? Fun!”

David shrugged. “My parents have an artificial one in the storage space. Sable thought it would be a good way to explain that we’ll go back there over the holidays.”

Ah. Tasha breathed again and flashed a quick smile toward the car. Good. Sable had the right idea, and it wasn’t just David playing at being Daddy Awesome.

“That’s smart.” She stood up and turned Emily around. “Say goodbye, baby. You’ll see your dad in just a couple of weeks, right?”

Emily gave David’s legs a tight squeeze, then disappeared inside and upstairs.

David handed over her bag. A favourite stuffie hung loosely out of the open zipper, and Tasha white-knuckled the doll and the backpack.

“So that was good?” she asked brightly.

“We think so.”

Good lord, learn to think for yourself. “Great. Okay, well, I’ll see you at Christmas. You’ll email an exact date and time? We’re not picky. Meredith is heading to Ottawa before the holidays, so it’ll just be the two of us.” In fact, she probably wouldn’t decorate for the holidays. Maybe it was good that Emily would get that at her dad’s. “Are you thinking of coming up for Christmas Eve? I…” She took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t want to make this an annual thing, but if you wanted to have her for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day this year, I wouldn’t mind. And next year we could split the days?”

“Sure.” He frowned, like there must be a catch.

“You’ve got the tree set up,” she said softly. “And I’m not going to have one this year.”

He gave her an uncomfortable look. “Did you want…to join us?”

Ha. No. She laughed out loud. “I’m fine. Really. No. Thanks.” She cut herself off. “But I appreciate the invitation.”

“Since you invited us for Thanksgiving…”

She’d only invited him, but sure, whatever. Inclusivity. “I’ll have other plans for the time that you have Emily.” She hoped Matt could get away. Now that she’d re-ignited her long-dormant libido, she already missed him.

David glanced past her. “How’s the house?”

“Great.”

“Emily says you don’t have much furniture.”

“Not yet. We’re going shopping this week.”

“She has— Does she have everything she needs?”

Tasha tried and failed not to scowl. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Good.”

“Okay, bye.”

He reached out and stopped her from closing the door. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

The question took her by such surprise that she burst out laughing. He looked genuinely confused by her reaction, which only made her laugh more. “Yeah,” she finally said with a sigh. “I’m…fine. Truly. I just… This is kind of stressful for me. I’m not sure what to expect, and we haven’t talked a lot, so…”

He nodded. “Got it. Well, we really did have a good night with her.”

“Good.”

They exchanged slightly-less-awkward nods, and she added a genuinely pleasant, “See you at Christmas,” before closing the door.

Upstairs, she found Emily checking to make sure her pink room was exactly as she left it.

“Are you hungry, baby?”

“A little,” Emily said, hugging her dolls.

They ate quickly, then Emily just wanted to go back upstairs. They read a few stories, but Emily kept interrupting to put her dolls to bed, and finally Tasha took the hint.

“I think it’s bedtime for you, too. Let’s go brush your teeth.”

Once Emily was asleep, Tasha thought about dragging herself to the apartments to do some work, but the call of her own bed was too strong. She plodded down the hall and turned on her light.

Her eyes immediately tracked to a flash of white just under her bed.

Matt’s t-shirt.

She picked it up and brought it to her face, breathing in the scent of him. She took off her clothes and slid the shirt over her body.

She grabbed her phone and crawled into bed, happy for an early bedtime herself, just as Matt texted her.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage. She was painting again tomorrow. Just her, because as nice as the help was, she couldn’t ask him to help her that much.

Oh, she wanted him to come over at night, all right. But was that too much, too soon? The last thing she wanted was to cling to him and cross a line into taking advantage of his kindness. She took a deep breath and sent him a smiling emoticon instead of a real response.

Taking things slow was a new kind of dangerous. She dreamt of him all night, and when she woke up, restlessness jangled at her nerves.

She channeled it into her house.

Instead of art, she plastered the walls with lists for the Big Dream Plan, drawings, and clippings. She wrote and re-wrote the to-do lists, trying hard to stick to a logical sequence of events. First the bones of the apartments had to be made amazing. Then she could furnish them. But the rational side of her brain couldn’t stop her heart from imagining what they’d look like when she was finished—or her fingers from searching the used buy-and-sell sites for deals.

And that was how she ended up buying a couch a few days later.

It started with a crazy deal on some hairpin coffee table legs. They were free, as long as they were picked up immediately. The person who was looking to get rid of their stuff was moving the next day. Everything had to go. So Tasha buckled Emily into her seat and off they went.

When they arrived, it was just in time to witness a disagreement over a red velvet sofa from the safety of her car. Tasha was only there for the metal coffee table legs, which presumably the moving owners had always intended to do something with, but never quite got there. Her win.

But this other person was haggling over a couch.

“The price is firm,” the owner said, frustrated enough that Tasha heard it from the curb and through her open window.

The other guy left.

She hopped out of her Jeep. “Hey,” she said, holding up her hand. “I’m here for the coffee table legs. But how much do you want for the sofa?”

“Two hundred bucks.”

It was fair, but it was more than she had in her purse. She opened her wallet and pulled out all her cash. “I have a hundred and sixty. I could go and get more.”

He shook his head. “That’s fine. I just want it gone.”

And this was why she always carried bungee cords and rope in her trunk.

He helped her get it up on top of her car and battened down. She grabbed the coffee table legs she’d come for, as well as an ornate birdcage and an oversized clock, and told the man he’d made her week.

Then she had the very real dilemma of how to get the couch off her car and into her house when they arrived back. Technically she did have multiple options. She could call Meredith, or post on the buy-and-sell boards for two burly guys.

But she only needed one guy, really, and she was pretty sure he’d be happy to help. Ask him. Don’t be afraid. She had to psych herself up for it before she texted him a picture of the top of her car.

He called her back immediately. “You got a couch.”

“I did.”

“I like couches. I can be there in an hour.”

He made it in forty-five minutes, and he brought food with him. Sandwich fixings, nothing fancy, but Emily was happy to see him and very proud to help him assemble sandwiches for dinner after they got the couch into place facing the wall of Big Ideas.

As they “cooked”, Natasha set up their picnic blanket with water bottles, napkins, and a bowl of pretzels.

At some point, she’d like to take Matt on a real date. Dress-up clothes, fine china. Even just a table would be an improvement.

Maybe they should have gone to the pub, not that she could afford to eat out regularly.

She went back into the kitchen just in time to see Emily grab her phone off the table.

“Whatcha doing, baby?” Emily had discovered games and apps, which was useful sometimes, but also dangerous.

Tonight, though, she wanted music. “Mommy, play the Havana song.” It was her favourite lately. It made their hips wiggle, Emily liked to say.

They didn’t usually have an audience for that, though.

Natasha put it on, tapping the mini Bluetooth speaker on the shelf so the sound filled the kitchen.

Emily twirled around for Matt. “I’m a dance-y-pantsy.”

He laughed. “So you are.”

“I like dancing. So does Mommy.”

Natasha’s face heated up as Matt caught her eye. “I know.”

He’d already seen how much she liked to dance when he caught her dancing to the same song at the bar.

“I need Polly!” Emily sprinted from the room.

Matt gave Tasha a dirty grin and closed the gap between them.

Her breath froze in her chest as he set his hands on her hips, moving her to the music. “I like to dance, too,” he murmured, his breath warm and intoxicating.

Instantly, she felt herself go all hot and limber. A roll of the hip under his touch, a step of her foot, and they were dancing, their bodies in contact from chest to thigh.

He moved like liquid grace, effortlessly turning a grind in her kitchen into something hotter than any club night she’d ever had. When the trumpet solo started, he spun her around, tugging her ass against his pelvis.

But the bounce of little feet bounding down the stairs ended that before it really got a chance to begin, and Tasha buried herself in the fridge, looking for something—anything—to cool her face down.

Emily danced with Polly twice, then they sat down in the no-longer-bare living room and ate their sandwiches. When they finished, Matt hung around for Emily’s bedtime, but then he said an early goodnight.

“I have to go,” he grumbled into her hair. “I have a day shift tomorrow.”

She ignored the tug of frustrated desire deep inside her. “Of course.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“I have no doubt. Who could resist basic sandwiches and interrupted kitchen dancing?”

“Not me,” he whispered, hauling her against him again. “Not me.”

Matt slept like shit, but that wasn’t anything new. He’d wished he could have slept with Natasha, because that single night with her had been the best sleep he’d had in six months, but he wasn’t going to ask for that while Emily was in the house.

So he pounded out a run at dawn, then got to the station early. The shift started just fine. They headed up to Tobermory at the tip of the peninsula to cover that area while another bus did a long transport to Toronto.

All good.

Right up until it wasn’t.

They got a call about a woman with breathing difficulties. No history of asthma, but a recent respiratory infection, and the call was being placed by the patient’s daughter, who had come for a visit and found her mother struggling.

Lights on, siren on, and they got to the house, a bungalow on the edge of town, really quickly. The last report was that the patient was still talking, but just in case that changed, they put the bags on the gurney and rolled it inside.

The woman was in her late fifties, maybe early sixties, and had two younger women with her. Mother and daughters, probably.

They introduced themselves, one of the daughters talking over the other. Matt took the history while Will did the vitals.

The quieter daughter handed over a nebulizer. “We got this thing at the hospital two days ago, but her colour is still not good, and she sounds terrible.”

“Okay, we can help you use this.” Will showed them how, having to interrupt the talkative daughter a few times to get the instruction clear. But even after administering the drugs, he didn’t like the numbers. “Sat’s not coming up, let’s give her some oxygen,” he said to Matt.

They hooked her up with a nasal cannula, then Will stepped aside to call in to dispatch and find out which Emerg could take her.

Matt crouched down in front of the patient. “Do you have a bag to bring with you? A pair of pyjamas, your health card, some toiletries?”

“I…don’t need to go…to the hospital.” She inhaled painfully through her nose. Even the extra hit of oxygen wasn’t helping her colour.

“And you said you haven’t ever had asthma before?” He glanced at her daughters as she shook her head.

The chatty one agreed with her, but Matt noticed the other daughter bit her lip.

“Any history of colds getting into her chest, trouble breathing?”

Shrugs. He didn’t know what the weird dynamic was here, but it was possible they didn’t have time to sort that out.

He turned back to the patient. “Okay, so right now it might feel like you’re just having a bit of trouble breathing. And maybe that’s been going on for a few days, so it feels like a temporary normal. But this increased difficulty is actually pretty dangerous.”

Fred Carleton flashed through his mind, and his chest tightened up.

“Really dangerous,” he amended. “Honestly, it’s a no-brainer. You need to be admitted for the night, get proper care.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Her face tightened up. “They didn’t do anything for my flu, did they?”

He took a deep breath. “Right. I hear that was frustrating. Hopefully this will be different.”

“Hopefully.” The bossy daughter snorted, and Matt wondered how much she was contributing to her mother’s negative thoughts about the hospital.

“No,” her mother wheezed.

“Just help her with the medication,” the daughter said. “It’s not getting in her lungs.”

Yeah, because her lungs weren’t working. What the fuck did she think they could do with their gear? They weren’t a walking hospital, and she could stop breathing at any moment. Heat crawled up his neck. “Honestly, I don’t want her life or your blame on my hands.”

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far.

Over the patient’s head, he saw Will give him a sharp look.

God. Fucking. Damn. It.

He forced a smile onto his face and shoved down the intense and unexpected panic in his chest. Not now. This isn’t about you. “Let me re-phrase,” he heard himself say. He heard the tremor in his voice, too. “Is there anything I can do that will make that transfer easier?”

The woman started to shake her head, but before she could answer, she started coughing again. Shallow, weak, unproductive. Her lips turned blue, and Matt didn’t need to take another pulse-ox to know it was too low.

Will stepped in, gesturing for Matt to ready the stretcher. “There are risks to staying home,” his partner said. “We want to make sure you’re clear on that, and we want to help you get more treatment at the hospital than you did last time. How does that sound?”

It sounded fucking professional, unlike the bullshit he’d spit out a minute earlier.

Quietly, one of the daughters crouched down next to her mother and whispered something.

The woman closed her eyes.

Maybe she didn’t want to think about the risks. Or maybe she was tired of them. Who knew what else was going on in her life, her head. Matt had lost sight of those possibilities—and a myriad of other unseen factors he usually understood.

He glanced at Will, who shrugged. Yeah, they weren’t going anywhere, but they couldn’t force her to transfer to the hospital, either.

And if they were lucky, she wouldn’t die today.

Another flash of Fred through his mind, another tight pinch in his chest.

Finally, she consented to transport, and they headed off, with the daughters following behind in their own vehicle. Will gave him the keys, the message clear. Matt had failed on patient communication today, and there’d be some follow up on that sooner than later.

He white-knuckled the wheel the entire way to the hospital.

This time, Owen wouldn’t be sending him a text message as a friend. And Matt knew that he’d probably burned his chances to have that conversation off the record.

“I was there, remember?”

Yeah. Now he remembered. Every joke, every casual aside. An endless parade of opportunities missed where he could have been more of a professional and less cocky, and maybe saved Fred Carleton’s life.

But that guilt had been shoved aside because the days that had followed had yawned wide with their own horror. Fear about Sean’s injuries, confusion about his recovery. And then when he was flown home, the agonizingly slow recovery. Anger. Frustration.

It had consumed his family.

And in the midst of all of that, Matt had forgotten about Fred—and that made him doubly an asshole all over again.