“It’s just Jo.” My voice comes out breathier than I’d like. Huskier. “We’ve been through this. I’m not a ‘Mrs.’ anymore.”
Something flickers in his expression. His fingers tighten fractionally on my arms—just enough that I feel it, just enough that heat floods through me—before he releases me and steps back.
The loss of contact feels like cold water.
“Jo, then.” He clears his throat. Is his voice rougher? “Could you please put down the glue gun before someone gets hurt?”
I’m still holding it. Pointing it vaguely in his direction like a craft-store weapon.
“Right. Yes. Sorry.” I step back, but the air between us still feels charged. Heated. “It’s not loaded. I mean, it’s hot, but not?—“
His mouth twitches. Just barely.
“I need everyone to evacuate this building immediately.” His voice carries authority, but his eyes stay on me a beat too long. “This is an official fire safety inspection, and you are in violation of multiple occupancy codes.”
The room empties. Grandma Hensley pats his arm and tells him to loosen up. Michelle squeezes my hand. “We can meet at my coffee shop.”
“But it won’t be the same,” I protest. “The festival needs to be here. This is where the magic happens.”
“Magic doesn’t help when you’re evacuating a building in an emergency,” Dean says, a hardness in his voice. Something that sounds like experience.
“I’m trying to create something beautiful for this community. You’re trying to ruin Valentine’s Day.”
His eyes flash. “I’m trying to keep people safe.”
“By shutting down joy?”
“By enforcing regulations that exist because people die in overcrowded buildings.”
The words land like a slap. Something raw in them makes me think this isn’t theoretical for him.
Then it’s just us and his dog in my empty boutique.
The silence feels dangerous.
“Look.” I force my voice softer, trying to ignore how my skin still feels warm where he touched me. “I moved to Twin Waves after my divorce. Built this business from nothing. The book club, this town, it saved me. The Valentine’s festival isn’t just about romance novels. It’s about showing people it’s never too late for magic. That love and community matter.”
His expression shifts. Just barely.
“I understand what you’re trying to do,” he says, gentler now. “But good intentions don’t change facts. You had thirty people in a space built for fifteen. Blocked exits. You created a dangerous situation. “I’m citing you for multiple violations,” Dean says,his tone softening even as authority stays firm. “You can’t keep holding volunteer meetings, craft prep sessions, and festival setup operations in this space until it meets safety standards.”
That lands like a punch.
“You have one week to fix the violations, submit a compliant event plan, and pass a safety review—or I cannot authorize the Valentine’s Day festival.”
“You can’t?—“
“I can, and I will.” But there’s regret in his expression. “I’m not trying to be the villain. I’m trying to do my job.”
“Your job is to crush dreams?”
“My job is to keep people alive.” His eyes lock on mine with intensity that makes my breath catch. “Even when they’re too stubborn to see the danger.”
We’re standing close again. When did that happen? Maybe two feet between us, and the air feels thick. Charged. Like before a storm breaks.
His chest rises and falls with a breath that seems harder than it should be.
My pulse is racing.
