“Ma’am,” Asher says without looking up, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I thought we talked about stepping back.”
“I’m not good at following directions,” I say before I can stop myself.
This time he does look up, and there’s almost a smile hiding behind all that seriousness. “I’m getting that impression.”
Our gazes linger for a second longer than necessary, and I feel that spark again.
Even lying there, clearly in pain, Dean tries to reassure Grandma Sanders that everything’s going to be fine.
“Just a little tumble,” he’s saying through gritted teeth. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
Asher keeps one hand steady on the chief’s shoulder, the other already checking his pulse. There’s something reassuring about watching him work. He’s calm, thorough, and completely focused on taking care of people.
“You did good, Lennox,” Dean manages.
“Just following protocol, Chief.”
“You probably saved me from a concussion.”
Lila’s gone pale beside me. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s going to be fine,” Asher says without hesitation, glancing up at her with those surprisingly gentle eyes. “Looks like a broken leg, which is painful but manageable. Dr. Morris will get him fixed up.”
The confidence in his voice settles something anxious in my chest. This muscled man knows what he’s talking about, strong and reliable when everything’s falling apart.
Dr. Morris arrives within minutes. Thankfully, we’re in a small town with the benefit of a doctor who makes house calls. After a quick examination, he delivers the verdict we’re all dreading. Dean’s leg is definitely broken, and he’ll be in a cast for at least six weeks.
“Six weeks?” Dean looks more distressed about this timeline than he did about falling off a ladder. “But Christmas is in three weeks.”
No Dean means no Santa.
No Santa means no Christmas festival.
No Christmas festival means no boost to local businesses during the slowest season.
But more importantly, no Santa means a bunch of disappointed kids who’ve been counting on seeing Dean in his red suit at the annual tree lighting, the Christmas Eve story time, and the festival parade.
“We’ll figure something out,” I say, though I have absolutely no idea what that might be.
Dean reaches for my hand from his position on the ground, waiting for the ambulance Dr. Morris called as a precaution.
“Mads, honey, I need you to coordinate the Christmas committee. You know how everything works, and people trust you.”
“Dean, I can’t?—”
“You can,” he says firmly. “You’ve got the biggest heart in this town and the best ideas. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Mom squeezes my shoulder, and when I look back at her, she’s nodding encouragingly. Even Lila gives me a thumbs up, though she still looks worried about Dean.
By the time the ambulance arrives and takes Dean to the mainland hospital for X-rays and a proper cast, the entire town has gathered in the parking lot of Twin Waves Brewing Co. Michelle’s handed out coffee to anyone who wants it, which is everyone, because a crisis demands caffeine.
Asher’s stayed behind to help coordinate the scene cleanup, and I keep finding myself glancing over at him as he works. There’s something mesmerizing about watching someone who’s completely competent at their job. The way he moves with purpose, checks on people without making a big deal about it, handles the practical details that everyone else forgets about in the chaos.
“So what do we do?” Brett Walker asks from beside Amber, still in his “Yo Yo Yo” sweater. “Christmas is basically Dean’s department.”
“We could ask the mayor,” one of the firefighters suggests, but everyone shakes their heads. Mayor Waters is about as Christmas-spirited as a tax audit.
“What about hiring someone from the mainland?” Michelle offers.
