Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“You’re avoiding my point.”
“And you’re avoiding reality.”
“Which is?”
He leans in, voice rough, low, meant only for me.
“That getting closer to you is dangerous.”
My breath stutters. “For who?”
“For me.”
The world stops.
The snow. The float. The crew snickering behind the engine. All of it disappears.
“You think I’m dangerous?” I whisper.
“I know you are.”
“How?”
He doesn’t hesitate. Not even a second. “Because I can feel you, Lucy.” His voice is low enough to make my stomach drop. “Every time you walk into a room. Every time you argue with me. Every time you smile. I feel it.”
My knees nearly buckle.
“And I don’t want to feel anything I can’t control,” he finishes quietly.
I swallow hard. “And this? You can’t control this?”
His eyes darken to something heat-heavy and undeniable.
“No,” he admits. “Not even a little.”
I exhale, shaking with something I don’t want to name. “Then maybe,” I whisper, “you shouldn’t try.”
He stares at me and the tension stretches tight enough to snap.
Then he steps back—one step, two—like distance is the only thing keeping him sane.
“We fix the float tomorrow,” he says roughly. “If we can stand each other that long.”
“We can,” I shoot back.
“We’ll see.”
He turns, calling over his shoulder, “Crew, get back to work.”
They scatter again. I stand there in the snow, heart hammering, skin flushed, thoughts spinning, staring after him like he’s the fire and I’m the idiot leaning too close.
He doesn’t look back. But I know—I know—he felt it too.
Because that wasn’t a float argument.
That was a warning.
A promise.
A spark.
And I’m starting to think the real danger in Devil’s Peak…isn’t fire at all.
It’s him.
And the way he looks at me like we are seconds from burning.
Chapter Five
Ash
The firehouse smells like it always does—coffee, diesel, stale donuts, and the kind of lingering smoke that never quite washes out of turnout gear. It’s familiar. Predictable. Mine.
Holly sits on the steps with her stuffed reindeer tucked under her arm, humming something cheerful while she draws in my old shift notebook. She’s been doing that a lot lately—making the place her own. I don’t stop her. Hell, I like seeing the firehouse through her eyes. Softer. Brighter. She’s only been with me for a month and already having her with me feels like home. I don’t know how long her momma will be deployed, but I know I’ll be sad the day I have to send her home.
“Uncle Ash,” she says, swinging her feet. “Can we make cookies tonight?”
“Maybe,” I answer. “Depends on how work goes.”
She groans dramatically. “Work ALWAYS goes.”
Before I can respond, footsteps echo down the hall. Light. Purposeful. Too familiar. Then a voice—hers.
“Hi! I’m dropping off the donation box for your holiday drive!”
I swear I feel my pulse leap like it’s trying to knock out of my throat.
Lucy Snow walks into the bay holding a crate of books like she’s stepping onto a damn parade float. Scarf wrapped around her neck, hair curled around her shoulders, cheeks pink from the cold. She looks like she was designed in a lab to test my self-control.
Holly gasps, drops her reindeer, and launches toward her. “LUCY!”
Lucy laughs, bending down just in time to catch her. “Hi, sweet girl! I missed you!”
I freeze. Missed her? Holly clings to Lucy like she’s her long-lost aunt. Lucy hugs her back without hesitation, warm and confident and natural. My chest tightens in a way I’m not prepared for.
Lucy pulls back, brushing hair from Holly’s face. “Look at you. Are you helping keep the firehouse in line?”
Holly nods vigorously. “Always. They need help.”
Lucy grins and glances up at me. “I can see that.”
I cross my arms. “Didn't expect you today.”
“Clearly.” She gestures at the donation box. “Brought books. A whole crate.”
I eye the box. “That’s… a lot.”
“I’m a librarian, Ash. This is foreplay.”
I choke.
She blinks. “Prep work. I meant prep work.”
Holly giggles like she knows exactly what Lucy didn’t mean, and Lucy’s face goes a shade pinker.
“Anyway,” Lucy continues, clearing her throat, “I thought the kids in town might like some holiday books at the firehouse. For events. Or waiting rooms. Or emergency cuddles.”
Holly gasps again. “Emergency cuddles!”
I rub a hand over my jaw, fighting a smile. “You spoil her.”
“Impossible,” Lucy says, tightening her hold around Holly.
Holly beams up at her. “Are you staying?”
Lucy hesitates. “Well… I don’t want to interrupt anything.”
Before I can answer, Holly tugs her toward the room. “We can read! You can read me the snow princess book!”
Lucy looks over her shoulder at me. “If that’s okay?”
It shouldn’t be. It’s not part of any plan. Not safe. Not smart. But the thought of telling her no feels wrong in a way that hits deep.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s fine.”
Holly drags her like an excited puppy. Lucy lets herself be pulled, laughing as they go. I stand there for a second, breathing harder than anyone reading a picture book deserves. Then I follow. Holly piles onto the bed with Lucy, placing the snow princess book between them like it’s a treasure. Lucy sits cross-legged, the soft glow from the overhead bulbs illuminating her hair, her smile, the kind of warmth she carries like a second skin. I take the chair in the corner.