“I’m trying,” he says quietly.
“You’re doing great,” I tell him. “Really.”
His gaze sharpens, like my words hit something he keeps hidden. He looks at my mouth again. I grip the broom harder.
“Lucy,” he says, voice low.
“Ash.”
We hover there—so close the space between us feels like it could combust. But then he steps back. Just an inch. Just enough to breathe.
“We should head out,” he says. “Storm’s coming.”
I nod, trying to steady my heartbeat. “Right.”
He turns… then pauses. “Oh.” He points at me again. “You have glitter on your face.”
I wipe my cheek. “Here?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Other side.”
I wipe the other cheek. “Here?”
“No.”
I frown. “Can you just tell me where?—”
He lifts his hand. I freeze. His knuckles brush my cheekbone gently, sweeping the glitter away. His touch is warm. Careful. Slow enough to feel like a confession.
My breath catches. His eyes flick to mine. Then he drops his hand, stepping back fast, jaw set like steel.
“Be careful on the way home,” he mutters, turning away. “Seriously.”
I watch him walk off toward the firetruck, broad shoulders outlined in the fading daylight, steam rising off him like he’s walking through the cold unbothered.
He climbs in, slams the door, and drives away.
Leaving me standing in the snow, broom dangling in my hands, heart hammering, pulse racing, body still tingling where he touched me. I whisper into the quiet: “I am so screwed.”
Chapter Four
Lucy
If there’s an award for “Most Adorable Holiday Float in the History of Ever,” I’m about to win it. The Fire & Frost Festival float is perfect—absolutely, undeniably perfect—and no one, especially not one tall, glowering firefighter with biceps that belong in a safety hazard manual of their own, is going to ruin this moment.
I tug the tarp with a flourish. “Ta-da!”
Underneath, the magnificent creation stands proudly: a six-foot gingerbread firefighter. Helmet. Suspenders. Frosting smile. Licorice axe. Gumdrop buttons. Cinnamon-stick ladder leaning against a gingerbread fire truck.
It’s whimsical. It’s magical. It’s everything.
And then— A low, slow growl behind me. “Absolutely not.”
Of course.
He stands there with his turnout jacket unzipped, gloves shoved in the back pocket, jaw tight, eyes burning in full “ruin Lucy’s fun” mode.
I turn slowly. “Do you like it?”
