Nope. No. Absolutely not going down that thought path.
He jerks his chin toward my porch. “You should get inside. Weather’s dropping.”
“Right. I will. As soon as the grumpy welcome committee clears my steps.”
He stares at me. I stare back. For a moment, the air between us hums. Something sharp. Bright. Electric.
Then he breaks it. “Suit yourself, Sparky.” He turns to Holly. “Come on, kiddo. We gotta get dinner started.”
Holly leans toward me. “He cooks pasta like a monster. Don’t trust him.”
Ash groans. “Holly.”
She giggles and follows him down the path.
Ash glances back once—just once—eyes flicking over me again like he’s memorizing something he has no business memorizing.
Then he disappears into the trees.
Over the next few hours, I manage to get three boxes into the cabin before I hear the crunch of boots behind me again. I whirl around, ready to defend my “festive sparkle” with the full force of my stubbornness.
Ash stands there, holding a small cardboard box.
“You dropped this out by your car,” he says, handing it over.
“Oh. Thanks.”
He doesn’t move. Just stands there in the cold, watching me like he’s trying to figure me out.
“You moving out here alone?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“No boyfriend coming?”
“No boyfriend.” Not after the last disaster. Not after— Stop.
His gaze flicks over my face, sharp. “Good.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs one thick shoulder. “Less chance of someone else messing with my emergency calls.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means if your lights blow a fuse—and they will—I’m the one who gets dragged out at midnight.”
I stare at him. “You assume a lot.”
“I’m a firefighter,” he says. “It’s my job to assume the worst.”
I fold my arms. “Well, it’s my job to be optimistic.”
His lips twitch again. “That right?”
“Yes. I’m restoring the library. Bringing back story hours and book clubs. Community events.”
“More fire hazards.”
