Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Hollis cuts in, her tone light. “I’d lend you Mike, but we’ll be out of town that weekend.”
I laugh, appreciating her willingness to pimp out her husband.
“You could always just ask Linc to go with you,” Ellie suggests, wearing that gleam of mischief I know all too well.
“Absolutely not.”
An entire weekend at a vineyard with Linc Masters would only end in disaster—and probably his funeral.
“Besides, he wouldn’t agree to it anyway,” I mumble.
“Sure, he would,” Penny counters. “He played along the first time, didn’t he?”
I wave away her logic. “That was different. He was caught off guard and didn’t have time to say no. This time he would, and no doubt he’d get immense joy out of it.”
Just the thought of putting myself in that position is enough to make my stomach revolt. I’d be like Goldilocks without an escape plan—marching up the path and knocking on the bears’ front door, fully aware they’re starving and I’m the main course.
I frown at the metaphor…great. The bastard has me playing right into the nickname now.
Ellie leans across the counter, careful with the curve of her belly. “The way I see it, you’ve got two options. You can walk into that wedding solo, head held high like the strong, gorgeous woman you are…or you can ask Linc to fake it one more time. Put up with him for the weekend and get through it. Which one can you live with more?”
I run through both options.
Walking into that wedding alone would be like stepping straight into a lion’s den without a weapon—an open invitation for the whispers I’ve spent years outrunning. Looks of pity would be passed around like party favors, confirming every quiet suspicion that I can’t keep a man…or worse, that I’m still pining for Finch.
The alternative isn’t much prettier…
Linc and I are gasoline and fire—volatile and combustible, always one spark away from burning the whole world down. But I can’t ignore the way he handled it last time, how effortlessly he stepped into the role. As painful as it is to admit, he’s probably the only man alive who could pull this off well enough to convince them all.
My gaze flicks between my friends, their amused looks making it clear they already know my decision.
I drop my head onto the counter with a groan, defeat heavy. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this.”
Firefighting isn’t just a job; it’s a brotherhood, a second home where you spend more hours with your crew than anyone else. In a small town like Passion Falls, that sense of family runs even deeper.
The station is always buzzing with a mix of sweat, adrenaline, and camaraderie. Right now, that balance leans heavily on the latter as I sit at the kitchen table, listening to our two newest recruits bicker over what they will be cooking for tonight’s dinner.
“You can’t just reheat chili and call it a meal,” Cole snaps, frustration laced in every word.
“Why the hell not?” Danny fires back. “It’s efficient use of resources.”
His logic earns a grunt from me and a chuckle from Mick at my side.
Arguments like this come with the territory. When you live with each other day in and day out it’s bound to happen. But it never lasts long because when that bell rings, and we suit up, every man here would lay it all on the line for the other.
We fight together. We survive together.
I’m just about to step in and settle the argument when the chief pokes his head into the kitchen.
“Masters, you’ve got a visitor.”
My brows draw tight, confusion threading through me as I push to my feet. “Who is it?”
He shrugs, lips curving into a grin. “Don’t know. But she’s one hell of a looker.”
That piques my interest even further, and apparently, Danny’s too.
“I wanna see,” he pipes up, already moving for the door.
I catch his shirt, yanking him back. “Stay put, Rookie. And pull out that steak,” I order. “We’re having it for dinner.”
Cole grins in triumph as I get the final word.
Perks of being lieutenant.
I leave the kitchen, anticipation building in each step down the hall, but nothing prepares me for who’s waiting when I round the corner.
Shock locks me in place, chest tightening at the woman who’s haunted my every thought from the moment we were kids.
“Harlow.” Her name scrapes past my throat, low and raw.
She gives a small, almost nervous wave. “Hey…”
Even on a Tuesday morning, she’s a sight to behold. Her jeans fit like a second skin, flaunting long, toned legs, while a black blazer hangs open over a snug tank top, cinching her waist and skimming curves I’ve spent years trying not to notice. The braid over her shoulder is meant to look professional, but all I can think about is unraveling it to wrap around my fist.
“Sorry to drop in on you at work like this.” Her voice yanks me out of the thought. “But I really need to talk to you. Got a minute?”