PROLOGUE
SYLVIE
“You know, Sylvie, I really thought it would be…more,” Chantelle snarks, holding her martini glass high like it’ll make her appear more poised and less cheap.
I don’t know what she means bymorewhen I planned everything to the exact detail she’d given me. It’s the perfect party she wanted for her little gremlin of a child.
It’s not my fault he only cares about his iPad and the bag of Cheetos he found stashed in the back of the butler’s pantry.
“Is there something else you would have preferred?” I ask sweetly, gripping my tablet tighter as her eyes swing over the magicalZootopia-inspiredparty.
A child party planner, I am not. I plan elegant galas that raise money for charities to make the rich feel better about themselves; throw events for patrons of the arts so they can show off collections or skills or whatever makes their money look good. I’m a fantastic host ofadultparties and can make even the blandest 1920s theme go a long way. Hell, I’ve even managed an amazing murder mystery night with live actors, impressive decorations, and a set designer flown in from Vancouver.
Gremlins, though? They don’t appreciate my particular expertise. Well, most don’t. Quite a lot of small children love the animatronic animals. It’s the parents who are the real problem.
And it is exhausting.
Chantelle glances at me over her martini glass as she takes a sip. Red lipstick smudges the corner of her lips and on the rim of the glass as she lowers it. “It just isn’t as…wonderfulas your normal stuff, Sy. Like…” She trails off, voice slurred. “It’s a littlemeh.”
Meh. That’s what I get for spending three weeks at nearly seventeen different locations sourcing her stupid party favours, finding the right fur for the robot rabbit, and getting the okay fromDisneythemselves.
All formeh.
It’s like something snaps inside me. I remember helping my brother’s best friend through memorial planning three years ago. We’d coordinated with their fire chief and the town mayor on getting not just two separate ceremonies set up, but also helping pay medical bills for everyone affected by the fire in Willow Ridge.
They hadn’t asked me to help. My brother told me the news, and I got on calls with the town immediately to offer my services.
And what did I get in return? Letters from affected families. Flowers to my office. A video call from the daughter of the dead firefighter. Baskets of goods from all over town saying thank you.
Actual appreciation for my work.
All I can do is stare at Chantelle with disgust. “I quit,” I tell her. “Figure the rest out yourself.”
I walk off with her screaming after me, and it feels good. As I do, I grab my cell from my purse and dial my brother. He picks up on the first ring.
“Sylvie? Aren’t you at a birthday party right now?” he asks, bored.
“Any chance Cade knows of any work the town needs with fundraising?”
Tobias is silent for a moment. “I can make a call, but?—”
“Thanks.” I leave the giant Cape Cod mansion and wave for the valet to bring my car around. “I’ll be there in a week.”
ONE
HUNTER
Istare at the pile of paperwork Captain Page and Fire Chief Walker want me to go through on their behalf. As soon as they told me there was interest in getting the house back up and running, I was all in on helping. I mean, we’ve been without a real station for three years since the county cut funding to our area. They didn’t see what happened at the Jade Mountain lodge as the warning it was.
Opal swipes a small, stapled bundle. “Oh, you should totally do this one,” she says, smirking. A candy cane sticks out from the corner of her mouth—one of her few Christmas vices—and while she reads over the multi-page proposal, her eyes brighten. “Holy crap. This one. You need to do this one.”
I snatch the paper from her and set it down. “Absolutely not.”
“But you didn’t even read it,” she pouts, crossing her arms. “It soundsperfect! It’s fun, it’ll get everyone involved—which is what Uncle Everettespecificallywanted—plus it means working withSylvie.” Opal draws out the name with a pucker of her lips, making all sorts of kissing faces.
Immediately, I roll my eyes and consider tossing the proposal away entirely. Especially if that’s my daughter’s reaction to the possibility of working with the rich eventplanner Cade Abernathy flew in to help with fundraising for the firehouse.
I know the man feels intense guilt about the fire. What many people don’t know is that he threw himself into one of the buildings. Got seriously burned for it. I’d crossed paths with him a few times before I retired as fire captain, and none of those times gave me a good impression of him. But that night changed it all. He saved two lives, even if he wanted no one to know about it.
