The door closes behind her.
Silence.
Then Jo dissolves into laughter, and the sound is so uninhibited, so joyful, that I can’t help joining her.
“Our town is insane,” I tell her when I can breathe again.
She steps back into my space like she belongs there. Like we haven’t just been interrupted by a senior citizen with a matchmaking agenda. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Something fierce and possessive surge through me. I frame her face with my hands, tilt her chin up so she has to meet my eyes.
“I’m yours,” I say, and watch her breath catch. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Not just one of the town. Yours.”
“Dean—” Her voice has gone rough. Needy.
“Say it.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip, feeling it tremble. “Say you want me to be yours.”
“I want—” She breaks off as voices approach outside. Multiple voices. The book club, from the sound of it, arriving early with their usual impeccable timing.
I step back, adjusting my uniform, trying to look professional instead of like a man who was seconds away from backing her against the wall and finding out if she tastes as good as she smells.
“This is going to be a very long day,” I mutter.
“The longest.” But she’s smiling, and there’s a promise in her eyes that makes the wait almost unbearable.
By ten a.m., I’ve discovered that the entire town has conspired against my sanity.
Michelle’s coffee shop is serving drinks with couple names. “The Grumpy Chief” and “The Sunny Jo” that everyonekeeps ordering as a set while waggling their eyebrows suggestively.
The book club has set up a “romance novel matchmaking” booth where every personality quiz—I’ve seen three people take them—results in the suggestion to “date the fire chief” or “date the boutique owner.”
Asher is running “couples fire safety demonstrations” that are so transparently about Jo and me that I’ve stopped making eye contact with him.
And Mads. Heaven help me, Mads has a loudspeaker and keeps making announcements about “matters of the heart” while staring directly at me.
“Your future daughter-in-law is a menace,” I tell Jo during a rare moment when we’re both at the boutique counter, reviewing the rotation schedule.
“She learned from the best.” Jo’s hand brushes mine as she reaches for a folder—my folder, which she’s commandeered and decorated with heart stickers. “Besides, you love it.”
“I absolutely do not love being the subject of town-wide speculation about my personal life.”
“Liar.” She leans in close enough that I can feel her breath on my neck. “You love that everyone knows you’re mine.”
The possessiveness in her tone sends heat straight to my groin. “Jo…”
“Chief Beckett!” Someone calls from across the room. “We need your expertise!”
I turn to find half the fire station has arrived, all of them wearing matching grins that spell trouble. Rex, who I’d left in the truck with the windows down, has somehow escaped and is now wearing a tuxedo.
A tuxedo.
“Did you put a tuxedo on my dog?” I demand.
“Mads did,” Asher supplies helpfully. “He’s the ring bearer. For the wedding. Your wedding. To my mom.”
“We’re not getting married.” Yet. The word hangs unspoken between us.
“Not with that attitude.” Mads appears with her loudspeaker. “Attention festival attendees! The fire chief says he’s not getting married! Someone change his mind!”
