I roll my eyes and set my phone aside. I need to focus on perfecting this recipe, not on Gabriel Frost's unfairly blue eyes or the way his dark hair used to fall across his forehead when he laughed. I used to bore Avery at school because I talked about him so much, although he never noticed me. And why would he… I was the ultimate nerd, and he was one of the cool kids.
Movement outside the window catches my attention. I blink hard, adjusting my glasses. Areindeeris galloping down Main Street. An actual reindeer. In Snowflake Falls.
The reindeer gets closer, and it's actually a dog, a chocolate lab, maybe, wearing a ridiculous pair of sparkly antlers. The jingle bells on its collar create a festive cacophony as it races past the diner.
“What the…”
The smell hits me first. Then burning. Smoke.
I spin around as flames shoot up from the broiler, my latest batch of sandwiches transformed into charcoal briquettes. The grease that's been accumulating for God knows how long has finally caught fire.
“No, no, no!” I grab the fire extinguisher from the wall, but the pin is rusted and stuck. The flames leap higher, licking at the ancient overhead vent that probably hasn't been cleaned since the Reagan administration.
Smoke fills the kitchen as the detector starts shrieking. Some kind of substance leaks out of the extinguisher as I wrestle with it, and I slip, landing on the floor with all the breath knocked out of me.
Shit.
“Fire department!” The back door slams open, and through the smoke steps a vision in firefighter gear. He's tall and broad, moving with the kind of controlled purpose that makes my panicked brain stop spinning. “Everyone out!”
“I'm the only one here!” I'm still fighting with the extinguisher pin like I’m wrestling an opponent. “I can't get this stupid?—”
He crosses the kitchen in two strides, scooping me up into his arms. I breathe in his fresh scent over the smoke. He opens the back door, sets me down on the chair outside, then takes the extinguisher from my hands, and somehow makes the pin looklike it was never stuck at all. The foam shoots out, dousing the flames in seconds. He adjusts something on the broiler, shuts off the gas line, and opens windows with an efficiency that would be annoying if it weren't so impressive.
Then he turns to me, pulling off his helmet, and my heart stops.
Gabriel Frost.
Six feet three inches of hometown hero, with those same devastating blue eyes and that thick dark hair. The years have been unfairly kind to him, adding muscle and turning wholesome handsomeness into something that needs a warning label.
His eyes widen in recognition. “Noelle?”
I'm painfully aware that I'm wearing a grease-stained apron, my hair is falling out of its messy bun, and I smell like a burnt sandwich. My glasses are fogged from the heat, so I take them off and wipe them on my apron.
“Hi, Gabriel.” I aim for casual and land somewhere around squeaky. “Thanks for the... y’know. Not letting me burn down the family business.”
His lips quirk into that cute, crooked smile that used to make me walk into lockers. “Always had interesting timing, didn't you?”
“What?”
He gestures at my grandmother's watch. “Like that time you showed up an hour late to the Winter Formal because your watch was broken.”
I stare at him. “You remember that?”
“I was taking tickets at the door. You wore a silver dress and spent the whole night hiding behind the punch bowl.” His eyes hold mine for a moment longer than necessary. “I kept trying to work up the courage to ask you to dance, but then Jerry Harnett spiked the punch and everything went sideways.”
Gabriel Frost noticedme? Before I can process this earth-shattering revelation, he's moving again, checking the broiler.
“This equipment is a disaster,” he says, back to professional mode. “When's the last time any of this was serviced?”
I push my glasses up my nose. “Um… define 'serviced.’”
He raises one dark eyebrow. “I'll be back tomorrow to do a full safety inspection. Try not to ignite anything between now and then.”
He heads for the door, and I'm struck by the irrational urge to make him stay.
"Wait!" I grab one of the Christmas muffins I made this morning, spiced apple with a cinnamon streusel top, and thrust it at him. “For... saving the diner. And me. Mostly the diner.”
He takes the muffin, his fingers brushing mine for just a second. A bolt of electricity runs from my fingers straight to my core.
