We stare at each other. Heat rising. Air tightening. Something dangerous pushing at the walls between us.
Someone coughs loudly nearby, jolting us apart.
Lucy steps back like she needs air.
I step back too—but only because I have to.
She grabs her bag. “See you at the next meeting.”
“Count on it,” I say, voice rough.
She turns. Takes three steps toward the door. Looks back over her shoulder. And gives me a smile that hits like a spark straight to the chest. Then she walks out, boots crunching in the snow-covered hallway, disappearing around the corner. I exhale slowly, gripping the back of the chair.
Christ.
I’m in trouble.
Deep, glitter-covered, irresistible trouble.
And her name is Lucy Snow.
Chapter Three
Lucy
The town Christmas tree looks like it’s swallowed half the season’s budget and the soul of every Hallmark movie ever made. It towers over the town square—fifty feet of pine bristling with potential.
Potential for magic. Potential for joy. Potential for falling to my death.
“Hold the ladder steady!” I shout down to Mrs. Garland, who at eighty-two has the enthusiasm of a parade float and the upper-body strength of a warm noodle.
“It’s steady, dear!” she calls back, even though the ladder wobbles like a drunk reindeer.
I climb anyway.
Because someone has to attach the final star-shaped garland to the top boughs, and that someone—apparently—is me. My mittens are dusted with snow, my boots slipping on each rung, but I refuse to be deterred.
This is going to be beautiful. This is going to sparkle. This is?—
“Absolutely not.”
The voice hits me like a gust of cold air and strong judgment.
Ash Calder. My neighbor-from-Hell and resident firefighter grump. Of course.
I whip my head down, and there he is—standing at the base of the tree, boots planted in the snow, arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes locked on me like I’m currently violating every known safety protocol. Which, okay, maybe I am.
But still.
“Ash,” I call down, “unless you’re here to help, you can take your grumpy commentary back to whatever fire-glorified cave you crawled out of.”
Mrs. Garland gasps softly. “Lucy…”
Ash doesn’t flinch. He just steps closer, voice low and dangerous.
“Get off the ladder.”
I wave him off. “Busy!”
