I try to not to let my eyes linger on Bash for too long or give too much away. But it’s hard. Especially when he’s wearing something that looks like a uniform right now. Navy-blue cargo pants hug his thighs in a way that I should not be openly admiring. Above a utilitarian black belt, strapped around his narrow waist, a matching navy T-shirt stretches across his broad chest. A crest printed with BC Fire Service sits over his heart.
