I nod once. “Then take the day.”
“The day?”
“To figure it out.”
Her brows knit. “You’re giving me a deadline?”
“Yes.”
“Ash!”
“Lucy.”
The banter hits the air like flint hitting steel.
She glares at me. I hold her gaze steady, unflinching, grounded in that solid firefighter way that tells her I’m not backing down.
Her lips part just slightly. She looks away first. The smallest surrender.
“Fine,” she whispers. “I’ll… think about it.”
Good.
My chest loosens in a way it hasn’t in months. I step back just enough to let her breathe.
“Good,” I echo. “Because I’m not denying anything until you tell me to.”
Her eyes snap back to mine.
“Ash.”
“Lucy.”
Holly shouts from across the bay, “MISS LUCY, WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE WEDDING COLORS?”
Lucy groans into her hands. The crew roars with laughter. I bite back a smile. And I still don’t deny it.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucy
The wind picks up before noon.
Devil’s Peak weather is chaotic, unpredictable, slightly vengeful. One minute the air is crisp and clear, the next it’s a swirling mess of winter mischief that laughs right in your face.
I’m standing on the parade grounds next to my gingerbread firefighter float—my pride, my baby, my two-week labor of glitter, cardboard, and questionable engineering. I’m adjusting the peppermint swirl banners along the sides, humming to myself, trying to ignore how every time I let go of a ribbon, the gusting wind whips it against my cheek like a festive insult.
“Hold still,” I mutter to the misbehaving decoration as I secure it with an extra staple. “You will not embarrass me in front of the entire town, do you hear me?”
The peppermint doesn’t answer, but I consider that a good sign.
What’snota good sign?
The creaking. The groaning. And the unmistakable sound of something very large and very important beginning to tip.
My head jerks up.
The giant gingerbread firefighter figure—the centerpiece of the float, the eight-foot-tall cardboard-and-wood Frankenstein creation I’ve poured half my soul into—is swaying dangerously. The wind shoves it, and it tilts, wobbling like a drunk linebacker at last call.
