Chapter 1

I like to fall asleep in the bath.

It's sort of my one and only vice - I don't smoke, I rarely rarely drink, and I've never enjoyed the flavour of coffee. My mother is a doctor, so I was warned about the perils of drugs from a young age, and I guess it stuck - so my vice? Falling asleep in the bath.

Waking up in the bath - not so great. The water's cold, you feel a bit silly, and if you've sunk under the water, you wake up spluttering and panicked.

But there's something about drifting off, surrounded by steaming water, relaxed, every part of your body tingling, that feeling being warmly, safely held by the water ... I never thought of it as a dangerous habit...

... until the night my apartment caught on fire.

Ever since her own divorce, my mother has been obsessed with finding me a man. I must hold some kind of world record for unsuccessful first dates - it's like the first thing that she asks everyone she meets is whether they're single, or have an appropriately-aged son who is.

I'd ask her to stop, but I know exactly where that would lead. I guess I should be lucky that she's not like her parents, and actually sets me up with non-Asian men. I guess after her marriage to the perfect-on-paper Asian man failed, she realised that there were more important things to look for. (although considering some of the guys I've been out with, I sometimes feel like her only requirement is "a pulse.")

It's mom's fault that I go on so many dates, but it's definitely my fault that they're unsuccessful. I don't know if there's a gene that gives you the ability to talk to the other sex, but if it exists, I was definitely born without it. No joke, I've told a man before that "I like trees", and that "the sky is nice." It'd be funny, if it weren't so desperately sad.

Part of it's the all-girl school I grew up in, part of it's my reputation as the geeky Asian chick, but yeah, mostly it's just that I don't have that part of the brain that lets you talk to people who have penises.

So when you consider how many guys I've been out with, I guess it's not all that surprising that the fireman who woke me up by chopping his way through my bathroom door was an ex.

Maybe "ex" is a strong term for someone you've only been on one date with, but when I saw him standing there, looking annoyingly great in his uniform, I wasn't exactly in the mood to split hairs.

"Brian!" I cried, trying futilely to cover my naked body up, acutely aware that he'd seen it all before.

"Lucy!?" he responded, before remembering the, y'know, fire, and crossing the room to scoop me up.

"Put me down!" I cried, irritated that even through the huge rubber gloves that he wore, his touch had the power to excite me. "What are you doing here!?"

He didn't say anything as he carried me through my lounge-room, and my eyes answered the questions for me.

I don't normally remember much in the first few minutes after I've woken up, but I remember everything from that evening in detail. The flames, devouring the tiny kitchen attached to my tiny lounge room. The popping sound of books caught on fire, the smoke pouring out of my TV. The feeling of overwhelming heat on every inch of my exposed skin, and the reassuring strength that Brian gave, simply by holding me.

I've no idea how my mother had found Brian, all those months ago, but we'd been about half an hour into the date when I was surprised to find that I was enjoying myself.

One of my typical dates can be mapped by the feeling in the room - it'll normally go nervous, awkward, bemused, and then bored. And then bored, and then bored. I think my record is a full eight minutes after meeting the guy before saying something that turns him off for good, and after that it becomes the world's least interesting waiting game.

So far only one guy has made an excuse to leave before the main meal's even arrived, and I have to admit, I was a little bit grateful to him for saving me from forty more minutes of awkward conversation. If only more men could be that honest ... although perhaps its for the best that they're not.

Brian and I had been standing in line at the restaurant I liked to take my dates ... they serve a great grilled fish, and I learned a long time ago that if I'm not having fun, I may as well be eating something that I like. I'd been thinking about how interesting we must look together - I'm short and slim, and he's over six foot. I was quite casually dressed, and he'd obviously gone to a bit more effort - at first I'd assumed he'd come straight from work, but when he mentioned he was a fireman, I realised the shirt and tie were for my benefit.

I was about to open my mouth and say something frightfully insightful like "What kind of fireman?" or "Have you ever had fish?" when I noticed he was smiling.

"What?"

"I was just thinking..."

"What??" I pressed, worried that I'd already managed a faux pas without even opening my mouth.

"Never mind."

If he hadn't still had half a grin on his face, I would have dropped it, but now I was dying to know.

"Fine," he said after another minute of badgering. "I was just thinking we must look ... well, I was wondering if anyone was assuming you were a mail-order bride."

I bristled at first, but his laugh was contagious, and I couldn't help but join in. The rest of the evening was like that - he'd make a borderline-offensive remark, and I'd find myself laughing along without even meaning to. I was so busy trying to work him out that I forgot to be awkward, and by the time the meal came along, I was so relaxed that I even made a joke or two of my own.

When the meal was over, he offered to give me a lift home, and my long-delayed embarrassing moment finally arrived.

"In your firetruck?" I asked, and immediately went bright red.

His laugh seemed to go on and on as I sat there silently, wishing that I'd been born with my mother's wit, or my father's ability to charm everyone he encountered. Finally he stopped, wiped a figurative tear away, and explained that no, he only drove that when he was on the way to a fire.

I'd wanted to go home and shoot myself, but when his (surprisingly small) car stopped outside my house, he'd leaned in for a kiss, and all other thoughts had fled my mind.

The entire evening I'd been aware of an electricity between us, but Brian had remained a perfect gentleman, and so I'd assumed it was one-sided. Perhaps he'd just been waiting until we could actually do something about it to make that initial move, because when he kissed me it became blatantly obvious that the connection was two-sided.

He kissed me, and all thoughts of going to bed alone that night disappeared.

Impossible though it may sound, my old apartment was smaller than my new one, and as soon as we opened the door we were falling over things.

"Sorry," I mumbled, but he just laughed once more and silenced me with a kiss. He'd picked me up in one smooth, elegant motion, causing a new awareness of his muscles and the difference between our sizes. He impressed me with his grace - a man with his frame shouldn't be able to move around my clutter so nimbly, I thought, and he managed to correctly guess which door led to my bedroom, nicely avoiding the awkwardness that would have resulted from a closet full of badly-packed knick-knacks falling onto us.