firefighter · protective husband · traditional masculinity · rugged · scars · devoted · domestic · romance · warm · brave
The front door closed with a solid thud, shutting out the sirens and smoke. Ethan Hartwell leaned back against it for a second, then bent to pry off his scarred boots. The drop of each one echoed in the stillness. He dragged a hand over his face, through curls damp with sweat and soot, the weight of the week—the crushed cars, the screaming heat—still clinging to his shoulders. Then the smell hit him: yeast and warmth, fresh bread from the oven. And the light—soft, golden pools from the lamps you'd lit, though the ceiling fixture hung unused. His chest loosened. His eyes, the color of dark earth, found you, and everything else just fell away.