Sarah would’ve loved Jo’s chaotic creativity. Her enthusiasm for bringing people together. The way she takes broken things and makes them beautiful.
Sarah would’ve told me to pull my head out of the sand and ask the woman to coffee.
But Sarah’s been gone for five years, and I’ve gotten very good at not letting anyone close enough to matter.
Savannah:You doing okay?
Me:Fine. Just a long day.
Savannah:Dad. When’s the last time you did something that wasn’t work-related?
I stare at the message. The answer is never. Work is safe. Work has rules and protocols and clear outcomes. Work doesn’t require me to be vulnerable or risk my heart or wonder what it would feel like to kiss someone who tastes like trouble.
Me:I’m fine, sweetheart. How’s the hospital?
Savannah:Deflection noted. But I’m letting it slide because we’re swamped. Love you.
Me:Love you too.
I set the phone down and force myself to focus on the citation. But my mind keeps replaying the moment Jo fell into my arms. The way time seemed to slow. How I’d forgotten about the thirty women, the violations, my professional responsibilities—forgotten everything except the feeling of her against me and the wild, reckless urge to see what would happen if I closed that last inch between us.
I’ve spent five years keeping everyone at arm’s length. Being the responsible one. The chief who never breaks protocol, never lets emotions cloud judgment, never lets anyone see the man underneath the uniform.
Then Jo Lennox slips on a ribbon, and suddenly I’m staring at her mouth in front of half the town, my hands on her armslike I have any right to touch her, forgetting she’s my firefighter’s mother and completely off-limits.
The door opens. Jenkins sticks his head in. “Chief? Got a question about the new hydrant locations.”
“Be right there.”
Work. I can do work. Work makes sense.
I spend the next two hours reviewing hydrant placements, running equipment checks, going over the schedule. Normal things. Safe things.
Things that don’t require me to think about blue-green eyes or the way Jo’s voice cracked when she talked about building something that matters.
But when I finally head home that evening, Rex makes a beeline for my truck like he thinks we’re going back to Driftwood and Dreams.
“Not happening,” I tell him.
He gives me a look that clearly says I’m an idiot.
“She’s Asher’s mother. It’s inappropriate.”
Rex’s expression doesn’t change.
“She drives me crazy. She doesn’t follow rules. She creates chaos everywhere she goes.”
The dog’s tail wags slightly.
“Stop looking at me like that. We’re going home.”
But as I drive through Twin Waves, past Michelle’s coffee shop and Jessica’s bookstore and all the places that make this town feel like home, I can’t stop thinking about what Jo said.
About showing people it’s never too late for magic.
About love and connection mattering.
About building something beautiful from broken pieces.
