Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“I’m not rewriting anything.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He exhales slowly. “I’m trying not to drag you against this wall.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
His fingers flex against my waist. “Sadie,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, “you keep daring me.”
“I’m not daring you.”
“You show up in my town. You kiss me on a baseball field. You look at me like you remember every inch of me. That’s a dare.”
The darkness vibrates between us. My chest brushes his when I breathe.
“Maybe I do remember,” I whisper.
His hand stills. “Then stop acting surprised when I do too.”
My mind races. “You were the one who let me go.”
“You wanted out.”
“I wanted more.”
“You wanted the world.”
“I wanted you to fight for me.”
The words hang between us, raw and exposed. His grip softens.
“I was eighteen,” he says quietly. “I thought loving you meant not holding you back.”
“And I thought leaving meant you didn’t want me enough.”
Silence. Heavy. His forehead rests against mine in the dark.
“That’s not what it meant,” he says.
“Then what did it mean?”
“It meant I was scared I’d lose you either way.”
My throat tightens.
The air inside the closet feels thinner. His thumb brushes absentmindedly against my side, slow and grounding.
“I hated watching you leave,” he continues. “But I hated the idea of being the reason you stayed more.”
Emotion claws up my chest.
“You could’ve asked,” I whisper.
“I didn’t want to cage you.”
“I wasn’t asking for a cage.”
He exhales shakily. “You don’t get to rewrite that either.”
The door rattles suddenly from the outside. We both freeze.
A muffled voice. “Hello? Is someone in there?”
We don’t answer. Not yet. His hand is still on my waist. My fingers are still curled in his shirt. The moment stretches, fragile and electric.
“Levi,” I whisper, “if you keep touching me like that—”
“Like what?”
“Like you mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
The confession vibrates through me. Footsteps shuffle outside. The doorknob jiggles again.
“Hold on!” someone calls.
Levi leans closer.
“So don’t test me with other men,” he murmurs.
“I can talk to whoever I want.”
“Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re available.”
My heart slams. “And what am I?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Mine.”
The word detonates inside me.
Before I can respond, the door swings open.
Blinding fluorescent light floods the closet.
Levi jerks back half an inch.
We’re still close enough that anyone with eyes can see what was happening.
Standing in the doorway:
Mrs. Dottie.
Mrs. Henderson.
Mrs. Crenshaw.
And my father.
The fire chief.
All four of them stare.
Levi’s hand drops from my waist. My face burns.
Mrs. Dottie fans herself dramatically. “Well.”
Mrs. Henderson gasps. “I told you.”
My father’s eyes narrow.
“Explain,” he says calmly.
Levi steps forward immediately, shoulders squared.
“Door jammed,” he says evenly. “We were checking inventory.”
Mrs. Crenshaw sniffs. “Inventory looks very close these days.”
I cross my arms, trying to appear composed.
“We were stuck,” I say.
Mrs. Dottie beams. “Oh, honey, we could tell.”
Levi’s jaw tightens.
My father studies us both for a long moment.
“You two look flushed,” he says flatly.
“It’s hot in there,” Levi replies.
Mrs. Henderson clutches her pearls. “It looked hot in there.”
Heat crawls up my neck.
My father sighs.
“Get back to work,” he orders.
Levi nods once. “Yes, Chief.”
The church ladies exchange delighted looks. The gossip will spread before sunset. Levi steps aside so I can exit the closet first.
As I brush past him, our hands graze and he leans in just enough for me to hear. “Careful, Hotshot.”
“Why?”
“Next time,” he murmurs, voice low and sure, “I won’t stop at ‘mine.’”
My stomach flips. “Next time,” I shoot back softly, “don’t lock the door.”
He smirks. “Wasn’t me.”
Mrs. Dottie claps her hands excitedly behind us. “Oh, this is better than the raffle!”
I walk back toward the main hall, heart pounding, cheeks flushed, entire body humming with everything we didn’t finish in that closet.
Fake dating was supposed to be simple.
But the way he said I don’t share?
The way he said mine?
That wasn’t performance.
And when the door closes again someday—because I know it will—I’m not sure either of us will be walking out pretending we’re still playing by the rules.
Chapter 8
Levi
The church ladies insist the Spring Gala needs “elegance.”
Which is how I end up in the firehouse rec room the following Thursday night, staring at Sadie Marshall in a fitted black dress while Mrs. Dottie Henderson claps like we’re auditioning for a mountain version of Dancing with the Stars.
“Posture, Lieutenant!” Mrs. Dottie barks. “This is a waltz, not a rescue extraction.”
“I know how to lead,” I mutter.
Sadie’s mouth curves. “Debatable.”
The firehouse crew has vacated under the guise of “equipment checks,” which means they’re probably eavesdropping from the apparatus bay.
Mrs. Dottie cues up a dramatic instrumental version of something that sounds suspiciously like a 90s love ballad.
“Hand at her waist,” she instructs.
I step forward. Sadie doesn’t retreat. My palm settles at her hip. Heat spreads instantly.
She inhales sharply. Covers it with a bright, “Ready, Lieutenant?”
“Always.”
Her fingers lace into mine. Her other hand slides up to my shoulder. It feels too natural. Too familiar.