1
GABBY
The wind had been howling for the past hour, rattling the windows of the Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse like it was trying to get inside. I topped off the sweet tea in front of the dark-haired firefighter—Hux, I think his name was—and tried not to look at the man sitting at the end of the booth.
Mason.
I knewhisname. Had since the first week the new firefighters started coming in. Hard to forget a man built like that—broad shoulders, arms straining against his thermal shirt, hands big enough to palm a basketball. Or my breast.
Not that I’d thought about that.
Okay, I’d thought about it—a lot.
Too bad he wanted nothing to do with me.
I moved around the table, filling glasses and smiling at the guys who actually made eye contact. Conner grinned up at me. Wolfe gave me a polite nod. Knox was too busy checking his phone to notice I existed.
And Mason? He stared at his basket of wings like it held the secrets of the universe.
Whatever. I had bigger problems tonight. Like being the only server on shift when a storm was supposed to hit hard within the hour. On top of that, my twelve-year-old sedan was not going to make it up the mountain in a blizzard. The bald tires alone were basically a death sentence.
“Y’all need anything else?” I asked, keeping my voice bright. Professional. Totally unaffected by the silent giant at the end of the table.
“We’re good, sweetheart,” Conner said, leaning back in his seat. He shot a look at Mason. “Although some of us could use a personality transplant.”
A couple of the guys snickered. Mason’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look up.
I pretended not to notice and headed back toward the bar, where Elsa was wiping down glasses with her usual calm demeanor. The roadhouse was empty except for the firefighters’ table. Everyone else had the good sense to hunker down before the storm hit.
“They’re settling in for the long haul,” Elsa said, nodding toward the booth. “Heard them talking. They’re bunking at the station during the storm. Gotta be on call twenty-four-seven once it gets bad.”
“Good for them.” I set the tea pitcher down and rubbed my lower back. I’d been on my feet for six hours, and the thought of driving home in this weather made my stomach churn. “At least they have somewhere warm to sleep.”
Elsa gave me a look. “Your car still acting up?”
“It’s fine.” It was not fine. “Just need new tires.”
And a new transmission. And probably a new car, if I was being honest.
The kitchen door swung open, and Kameron strode out, her manager’s clipboard clutched against her chest. She took onelook at the windows—now streaked with the first flurries of snow—and frowned.
“Gabby. Clock out. Go home.”
I blinked. “What? No, I can stay. We’ve still got?—”
“One table.” Kameron cut me off with a wave of her hand. “And they’re not ordering anything else. Storm’s hitting faster than the forecast said. You need to get out of here before the roads get bad.”
I hesitated. She wasn’t wrong about the storm, but those firefighters always tipped well. Like, forty-percent-of-the-bill well. And I needed every dollar I could get if I was ever going to escape my crappy apartment and my crappier car.
“Kam, I’m fine. Really. I can wait until they’re done.”
“Gabby.” Her voice softened, which was somehow worse than her usual manager tone. “Your car barely made it up the mountain last week when itwasn’tsnowing. I’m not letting you drive home in a blizzard.”
Shit. She had a point.
I glanced toward the windows again. The snow was coming down harder now, thick flakes swirling in the parking lot lights. My stomach sank. Even if I left right now, there was a decent chance I’d end up in a ditch.
“I don’t…” I bit my lip. God, this was embarrassing. “I’m not sure my car can make it. The tires are pretty bald.”
