“Ash…”
He steps back another inch. Then another. His hands fall from my waist, leaving cold air where his heat had seared into me. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking like he’s fighting a demon.
“Lucy, I swear to God,” he mutters, “you’re gonna be the end of me.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“Yes,” he cuts in, low, intense. “You did.”
He stares at me like he’s memorizing my face, then turns away, bracing both hands against the side of the float to steady himself.
The wind whips again. This time, the float doesn’t budge. But I do.
I sink onto the edge, heart hammering, legs trembling, lips tingling with a kiss that didn’t happen—but almost did. Ash exhales hard, still facing away.
“I need to… I need a minute,” he says, voice shredded.
I nod, because I need a minute too. Or maybe an hour. Or maybe a lifetime.
The wind howls again, rattling the decorations, flinging glitter off into the sky. But I barely hear it over the sound of my own heart.
And Ash Calder, still gripping the float like it’s the only thing keeping him from doing the one thing we’re both drowning in—turning around, grabbing me, pulling me in, and finally,finally,kissing me.
Chapter Nineteen
Ash
If the firehouse has ever smelled this clean, I don’t remember it.
Someone scrubbed the bay floors till they shine. Garlands hang from the rafters. Strings of white lights arc across the truck bays like constellations. The ladder truck is parked outside, making room for tables, a dance floor, and a stage where the mayor is currently giving a speech I’m not listening to.
I should be listening.
I’m the department liaison for the festival, which means I should be paying attention, shaking hands, and pretending to enjoy this whole production.
But all I can think about—all I can feel—is the small tremor running under my skin as I wait for her to walk in.
Lucy.
Hell. Even her name hits like a match strike.
I tug at my collar, suddenly too hot under the string lights. The bay door is cracked for airflow, but it doesn’t help. Nothinghelps. I’m wired, restless, pacing the edge of the room like a man waiting for something he shouldn’t want as badly as he does.
“Relax,” Talon mutters, elbowing me as he helps set out hot cocoa cups. “You look like you’re prepping for a rescue.”
“This is relaxing,” I lie.
He snorts. “Sure. And I’m Santa Claus.”
Before I can fire back, the door opens. The world tilts. Lucy steps inside.
Red dress with a deep neckline that makes my pulse punch hard against my ribs. Soft fabric that molds to her waist and flares at her hips. Her hair pulled back just enough to show the line of her neck—and damn if that doesn’t finish me.
I forget how to breathe.
She pauses in the doorway like she’s unsure she belongs here, scanning the crowd, cheeks pink from the cold. Then her eyes land on me. That’s it. That’s the moment. Because her breath catches too.
She walks toward me, small steps, tentative, like she’s worried the floor might give out beneath her. Maybe it does. Maybe it’s just me who feels the ground slide.
