Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
The change in Alex was immediate and dramatic. His shoulders tensed, his smile disappeared, and I swear the temperature in our corner of the bar dropped lower than the outside temp.
“Oh, for the love of fucking Christ,” Alex muttered under his breath.
“Someone grab the popcorn,” Maddox murmured under his breath. “Shit’s about to get complicated.”
“By complicated, you mean Kincaid’s about to make my night a living hell with another ridiculous inspection to make sure Timber’s living up to his impossible standards,” Alex said, not bothering to lower his voice as Judd approached the bar.
I watched the fire chief work his way toward us, noting how his presence seemed to part crowds like the Red Sea. He was objectively attractive in a rugged, authority-figure way that probably made half the town weak in the knees, but something about the way he moved—purposeful and slightly aggressive—made me understand Alex’s hostility.
“Evening, Firebug,” Judd called, his deep voice carrying easily across the bar. “Hope you’re not burning anything down, with all of these poor innocent townsfolk trying to enjoy the holiday season.”
Alex inhaled sharply through his nose. “You know what? I actually expected you tonight, Kincaid. It’s been a whole week since your last inspection,” he shot back. “Figured you were due for another power trip.”
The tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I glanced at Maddox, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement.
“This happens often?” I whispered.
“About twice a month,” he replied. “They’ve been dancing around each other like angry cats since summer.”
Judd had reached the bar now and was making a show of examining the holiday decorations with his flashlight. “These lights properly secured? Electrical cords in good condition? You know what happens when bars get careless with their wiring.”
“The lights are fine. The cords are fine. Everything is fine,” Alex said through gritted teeth. “It was one time, Kincaid. And nothing fucking happened.”
The chief tilted his head at Alex and pretended to be confused. “I’m sorry, you didn’t just suggest lighting something on fire thanks to your carelessness was ‘nothing,’ did you?”
Alex closed his eyes. His jaw ticked. He took a breath before opening his eyes and plastering on a fake smile. “What can I do for you, Chief Kincaid? Would you like a holiday cocktail? It’s on me. I’d love to help you celebrate the season with a sedative.”
“Thanks for your kind offer, but I have to decline. I have a hot date tonight with my—”
“Great, have fun,” Alex snapped, cheeks crimson. “Good night.”
I watched, fascinated, as Alex moved away and began aggressively mixing cocktails. His movements were sharp and precise, but there was definitely more alcohol going into each drink than the recipes probably called for. When he set the first flight in front of me, the glasses were notably fuller than they should have been.
The fire chief watched him go, murmuring, “My book and a frozen pizza,” too softly for Alex to hear.
After a beat, his shoulders fell, and he turned to leave.
Maddox’s voice was low, his breath hot against my ear. “See what I mean? You could charge money for this shit.”
Before I could say anything, Alex returned, his voice overly bright. “Let’s start with the holiday cocktails! This first one is my take on a cranberry Moscow mule—cranberry juice, ginger beer, and vodka with fresh mint and lime.”
I took a sip and immediately felt the burn. Alex wasn’t kidding about these being stronger than they tasted. The cranberry masked most of the alcohol, but there was definitely a generous pour of vodka in there.
“Wow,” I managed, reaching for Maddox’s hand as the warmth spread through my chest. “That’s… potent.”
“Good thing we’re walking home,” Maddox said, already reaching for his own glass. His fingers lingered against mine when he took it, and I felt that familiar spark of electricity.
As we moved through the flight—a spiced pear whiskey sour that tasted like Christmas in a glass, followed by a pomegranate champagne cocktail that was dangerously easy to drink—I found myself relaxing in ways that had nothing to do with the alcohol. This felt natural, easy. Like something we’d done a hundred times before.
“You know,” I said, leaning closer to Maddox to supposedly check the camera angle, “this flannel smells like you.”
“That’s because it’s mine,” he replied, but his voice had gone rough around the edges.
“I know.” I let my fingers trail along the collar, ostensibly adjusting it for the camera. “I like wearing your clothes.”
His eyes darkened. “Yeah?”
“Makes me feel like I belong to someone,” I murmured.
With alcohol comfortably zinging through my system, the words slipped out before I could stop them, honest and raw and completely unfiltered. Maddox’s breath caught, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me right there in front of everyone.
Instead, he reached up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. “Good,” he said simply, and the single word settled in my chest.