I pull into my driveway and sit there for a long moment, staring at the house I’ve lived in alone for five years. The house where Savannah grew up. Where Sarah and I built a life before a distracted driver ran a red light and took her from us in seconds.
The house that’s been more museum than home ever since.
Inside, everything is exactly as I left it. Clean. Organized. Empty.
I heat up leftover takeout and eat at the kitchen table, Rex watching me with those judgmental eyes.
“What?”
He huffs.
“I did my job. That’s all.”
But I can still feel the phantom warmth of Jo’s hands on my chest. Can still see the way her breath caught when our eyes met. Can still remember the reckless, dangerous moment when I almost forgot every single reason why I shouldn’t want her.
My phone buzzes.
Asher:Mom says you’re trying to ruin Valentine’s Day. Just FYI, she’s plotting. Thought you should have a heads up.
I stare at the message, and against my better judgment, something like anticipation coils in my chest.
Jo Lennox, plotting.
That can’t possibly end well.
Me:Let her plot. The codes are the codes.
Asher:Chief, you don’t know my mom. She once convinced the entire town to help her save a historic lighthouse by organizing a flash mob. In 2024.
Me:A flash mob?
Asher:With costumes. And choreography. The mayor still talks about it.
Great. What have I gotten myself into?
Me:The violations stand. She has a week to get her permits together.
Asher:Good luck with that.
I set the phone down and head to my home office, telling myself I’m going to work on budget reports. But instead, I find myself researching creative solutions for occupancy issues.Looking at how other towns have handled similar situations. Seeing if there’s any way to make Jo’s festival work without compromising safety.
Not because I want to help her.
Or that I can’t stop thinking about the way she lit up when she talked about bringing people together.
And not because some buried part of me that I thought died with Sarah is suddenly, terrifyingly awake.
Just because it’s my job to find solutions.
That’s all.
Rex settles at my feet with another one of those huffs that sounds distinctly skeptical.
“Don’t even start,” I mutter.
But I’m already sketching out possibilities. Rotating schedules. Outdoor components. Partnerships with other venues.
Ways to give Jo Lennox her magic while keeping everyone safe.
