Better stick to what I know. Equipment maintenance. Things that don’t require examining why a woman with paint in her hair makes me want to be a better man.
Michelle’s coffee tastes bitter this morning. Perfect match for my mood.
I’m sitting in Twin Waves Brewing, trying to review Santa notes Dean gave me and failing to concentrate because all I can think about is how Mads’ mouth tasted of peppermint and possibility last night. How she looked at me as if I were worth keeping.
Then some guy walks in as if he owns the place, and every instinct I’ve got immediately goes to high alert.
“Hi, Michelle,” he says, voice carrying that particular brand of city superiority that sets my teeth on edge. “I’m looking for Mads.”
My coffee suddenly tastes of ash. This has to be Spencer. The ex-boyfriend who convinced her she was too much. Who made her think her sunshine personality was something to apologize for.
“I have no idea where she is.” Michelle’s tone’s gone arctic. Interesting. Apparently Spencer made an impression during his time here, and not a good one.
“She wasn’t at the boutique?” Penelope Waters asks. “I saw her there this morning.”
“Nope. Just some high school kid.” He flashes a smile that probably works on most people but lands flat in this room. “I’m hoping to surprise her.”
Yeah, I bet you are.
“She’s probably on her lunch break.” Penelope turns and squints at the boutique across the street. She turns back to Spencer, a big smile on her face. “There she is now, getting out ofher car. I do hope the two of you work it out again.” Her voice is syrupy sweet.
I watch him leave through the window, then drain my coffee and follow. Not because I’m territorial or possessive or anything. Just because a good firefighter checks for potential hazards.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I position myself across the street from Hensley’s Beach Shack, pretending to inspect Christmas decorations while really watching this jerk walk into Mads’ life as if he has any right to be there.
Through the boutique window, I can see her face when she realizes who it is. The way her smile falters. How she takes a step back, creating distance.
Smart girl.
But then Spencer starts talking, hands moving in that animated way people use when they’re trying to convince someone of something. And I watch her posture change. See her defenses wavering.
He’s offering her something. Something familiar and safe and uncomplicated.
Something I can’t provide.
Look at the facts: Spencer’s successful, polished, probably makes good money at whatever he does in his expensive suit. He knows her history, her family, her fears. He offers predictability.
I offer what? Christmas chaos and a grumpy firefighter who’s terrified of disappointing people? A guy who clams up when things get emotional and has never successfully maintained a relationship longer than six months?
She deserves better than my emotional walls and professional deflection. She deserves someone who can give her the easy love Spencer probably promised. Someone who won’t make her work so hard just to get basic affection.
My phone buzzes.
Hazel: This is Ellen. Grandma says you’re supposed to practice your ho-ho-ho today. But not the grumpy kind.
Right. Santa duty. Community expectations. Three weeks to figure out how to be magical.
I pocket the phone and walk away from the boutique. Whatever conversation’s happening in there, Mads needs to have it without me lurking across the street.
Besides, I’ve got bigger problems than relationship drama. Learning how to convince a bunch of kids that a grumpy firefighter can deliver Christmas magic.
Mother Nature decides our Christmas planning needs a meteorological disaster soundtrack.
The wind’s howling, and we’re out here trying to set up festival booths that keep threatening to become airborne. Snow’s coming down sideways, and the temperature’s dropping fast enough to freeze exposed skin in minutes.
This is what I’m good at—emergency response, practical problems, things with clear solutions.
“We need to secure those decorations before they end up in the next county,” I shout over the wind, grabbing rope from the supply truck.
