“And what do you do besides break things?”
“Utility and tools. I handle forcible entry, ventilation, and extrication. Basically, if something needs to be destroyed in a controlled manner, that’s me. I’m the guy with the Halligan and the axe—the irons.”
“So you’ve saved people’s lives?” The question comes out hesitant, like I’m entering uncertain territory because it comes with the recognition that the opposite might also be true.
Reese’s expression turns serious. “I have.”
“That’s incredible.”
“It’s the job.” The way he says it so humbly makes me think that he doesn’t see himself as a hero. Like risking his life for strangers is what anyone would do.
My heart swoops again. Reese Marchiano is genuine and kind. One of the good guys.
And I’m supposed to date bad boys. At least, that’s what Lilith always says. She tells me that my brand needs edge and has set me up with debaucherous rock stars and actors with bad reputations.
Tearing my thoughts out of what’s quickly becoming a bitter rut, I rummage through my gift shop bags, pushing away thoughts of my so-called team. From what Reese has said, it seems like he and his fire crew have each other’s backs, unlike mine, who’d just as soon stab each other in the back. Lilith’s signing me on for the concert is a betrayal, especially after I specifically asked for Christmas off.
I exclaim, “We need one for Pookie!”
“The dog needs an ugly Christmas sweatshirt?”
“It’s Christmas Eve. My pugcess deserves an ugly Christmas sweatshirt.”
Twenty minutes of laughter and creative license later, Pookie has her own tiny red creation with iron-on letters spelling Sleigh Queen. She looks absolutely mortified, sitting in her chair like a disgruntled Christmas ornament.
I’ve never had more fun in my life.
“Goofs!” a voice calls from the doorway.
I turn to see a guy in his thirties wearing a Timber’s Edge staff shirt, grinning at us from the entrance. He’s got an easy smile and the kind of build that suggests he’s no stranger to physical work.
“Hey, Corbin,” Reese says.
“Looking good, man! Didn’t know you were spending Christmas here.” Corbin’s eyes flick from the ugly Christmas sweatshirt to me with friendly curiosity, but no recognition. It’s refreshing. Slightly concerning. But overall, absolutely wonderful not to have people clamoring for a piece of the Rebecca Rios.
“It was a last-minute change of plans,” Reese says.
“Well, Merry Christmas! I’d better get back to work before Noella catches me sneaking cookies.” Corbin waves and disappears down the hallway.
“Goofs?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at Reese.
His neck turns red. “That would be my nickname. The crew started calling me Goose because someone said I looked like the character from Top Gun. But we already have a Maverick, and apparently, I’m a bit of a goofball, so Goofs it is.”
“Goofs,” I repeat, filing that away for future teasing. “I like it. It suits you.”
“Thanks?” he says it like a question.
I laugh and start cleaning up our craft station. The outside edges of our hands brush as he helps and instead of ignoring the contact, our eyes meet. Smiles are exchanged, quick as a flash, before we both look away.
I feel a pull between us. A sense that something is shifting. Or maybe it’s the weather … unless he feels it too.
However, Reese is my brother’s best friend. The unspoken rule that’s been in place since we were kids is that he’s off-limits. I mean, Brady never expressly said that, but it was implied. I was the annoying little sister who’d tag along and make them listen to me play piano and sing.
Besides, I’m a pop star. I’m supposed to want the bad boys, the guys with danger and drama. Not a steady, caring firefighter who saves lives and makes terrible puns and wears an ugly Christmas sweatshirt without complaint.
Except why does that rule exist again? Since when are the good guys on the no-date list? It seems completely backward.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as I gather Pookie.
