Page 54 of Smoke Signals

The reply comes a minute later.

A photo appears on my screen. Alaska cross-legged on the rug, surrounded by blocks, Hartley's knee just in frame.

I start typing something back, then stop. I pull up his contact and hit call, already knowing how the first thirty seconds are going to go.

21

HARTLEY

Alaska has decided the living room rug is now a construction site, and every block she owns needs to exist in the same three square feet. Plastic towers lean dangerously close to collapse, a stuffed fox supervises from the couch, and she hums under her breath while she works, completely absorbed in stacking one uneven piece on top of another.

I sit cross-legged across from her, holding two blocks she shoved into my hands five minutes ago. The radiator clicks behind us, steady and familiar, and outside the window traffic rolls past in slow waves.

“You sure that’s safe?” I ask, eyeing the tower.

She nods with absolute confidence and adds another block anyway.

It collapses immediately.

She freezes, then looks at me like betrayal has occurred.

I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Hey, you tried. Now, next time try something different.”

She pushes the pile of blocks toward me, clearly informing me that if I’m going to talk, then I’m responsible for helping build.

I lift my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I see how it is. I talk, I build.”

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I glance at the screen.

Stellan.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and answer, leaning back against the couch. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, voice warm, familiar, and something in my shoulders loosens automatically. “You busy?”

I watch Alaska carefully place two blocks together. “As you saw I’m just supervising a major engineering project.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Sounds serious.”

“It’s high stakes.”

There’s a small pause and I realize I’ve started to look forward to his voice at the end of my day.

“How was your day?” I ask.

Another pause, longer this time.

“Good,” he says. “Different.”

I frown slightly. “Different how?”

He exhales slowly. “I went back today.”

The words take a second to fully hit me.

“Back,” I repeat.

“To work,” he says. “First day back at the firehouse.”