But Lucy is giggling, bright and warm and impossible to ignore. I open her door before she reaches for it, offering my hand without thinking. She takes it without hesitation, letting me help her out of the truck. Her hand fits easily in mine, soft but sure, and something low in my stomach pulls tight.
She’s bundled in a cream sweater and scarf, her cheeks pink from the cold. Her hair is curled slightly from sleep, falling around her shoulders in a way that shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.
I want her. I want her more every damn minute.
And as we step toward the firehouse doors, every instinct in me screams to reach for her again—her hand, her waist, anything.
I don’t. Not yet.
The doors open before we touch the handle, and the crew shouts in unison: “ABOUT TIME!”
Lucy freezes.
I stiffen.
Talon stands in front holding a spatula, pointing it directly at me. “We knew it! The mistletoe was a dead giveaway.”
Sienna pops up beside him, flour on her cheeks. “Finally! Somebody managed to un-grumpify Calder.”
“Un-what?” I growl.
“Un-grumpify,” she repeats, patting Lucy’s arm. “Great job, honey.”
Lucy makes a strangled noise, probably wishing the floor would swallow her. Her cheeks burn a deep shade of rose. I step just slightly closer to her, instinct taking over.
“Knock it off,” I snap at the crew.
They don’t. Not even a little.
Talon smirks. “Relax, Calder. We’re happy for you.”
Lucy’s eyes flick up at me, nervous, questioning.
I exhale slowly. To hell with it.
I place my hand on her lower back—low enough to claim, high enough not to scandalize—but when I feel her shiver under my touch, heat flashes through me.
Her blush deepens.
Mine probably does too, but I don’t pull away.
She leans, just enough for me to feel it. That tiny movement sets something inside me alight. And that’s when I see it–the knowing looks. The smirks. The whispered bets exchanging hands. Holly beaming at Lucy like she’s the best Christmas present she’s ever gotten.
Everyone knows.
Everyone.
And it should make me want to run but it doesn’t. It feels like breathing for the first time in months.
The breakfast rush sweeps us inside. I flip pancakes while Lucy pours cocoa and Holly hands out candy canes to other kids. It feels weirdly domestic, like a moment carved out of a life I didn’t let myself imagine until now.
Every time Lucy passes behind me, I feel her. Her warmth. Her scent.
Her presence. Her arm brushes mine once—just once—and my grip on the spatula tightens.
She glances up at me, startled by the intensity I know I’m not hiding well. Her knees wobble a little. And that right there nearly takes me out.
When things finally slow, I catch her by the refreshment table. She’s refilling whipped cream on the cocoa bar, humming under her breath. I take a step toward her. She looks up. Stops humming. Watches me approach with a soft, breathless expression that hits somewhere deep.
