CHAPTER 1
Mitchell Abernathy pressed his hands into his coat pockets, picking up his stride as he continued down the walkway lining Snowdrift Summit’s downtown shops. It was like strolling through a scene pulled straight out of the movies his mother liked to watch during the holiday season. Every face wore a smile. Every storefront a cheerful welcome sign.
It looked like someone had come along earlier that morning to clear the slush that had accumulated overnight, the paths meticulously salted and shoveled. They’d had a sizable winter storm, enough snowfall to sag tree branches and require chains for travel. Mitch wondered if each shopkeeper was responsible for maintaining their own threshold. That would make sense. But in a town like Snowdrift, he figured it was a joint, choreographed effort, neighbor happily helping neighbor.
There was something different in the mountain air here, and he paused to take in the welcoming atmosphere, inhaling so fully his lungs strained from the effort. It was as if this place was blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had forced him to transfer from a firehouse he’d been at for just over five years, swapping one life out for another. He wasn’t naïve enough tothink whispers about his arrival hadn’t preceded him. But the wary looks he figured he’d receive, and the rumors spoken behind tight lips and cupped hands, were noticeably absent. If the people of Snowdrift knew the true reason for his sudden relocation, they didn’t let on.
And that was a gift he knew he didn’t deserve.
He’d spent his first night at the firehouse, a prominent brick building with a faded red façade that stood tall at the far end of Main Street. The moment Mitch stepped through the heavy door, canvas duffle bag slung over his shoulder and an apprehensive smile on his lips, he immediately sensed things would be different from his last station. Laughter, camaraderie, and a palpable feeling of belonging greeted him before any official welcome did.
Chief Anderson had been more than kind, meeting Mitch at the door with a hearty clap on his back and the remark that he’d heard nothing but praise from his previous station. It might not have been a direct lie, but Mitch interpreted it as one. Because despite the assurance that he had acted out of bravery, Mitch knew better. He’d made a mistake; one he couldn’t come back from. One he could only run away from.
Still, he figured there were worse places to run to than Snowdrift Summit.
Chief Anderson had told him to take the day to acquaint himself with the town and its residents. Frankly, Mitch wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed, aside from introducing himself to the baristas at Bitter Cold Coffee Bar where he’d started his morning with a double shot of espresso and some light banter. Snowdrift was surprisingly expansive, if you considered the summit and the mountains that cradled the town with their white-capped peaks and gentle, rolling slopes. He’d overheard a few of the guys at the firehouse talking about an adventure sports shop where you could rent snowmobiles and snowboards—even embark on a winter trail ride on horseback—an establishment Mitch had mentally noted to explore later.
Today, however, he deliberately chose to take things slow. He wanted to ease himself into small-town life. He had to laugh; it was a stark contrast to the way he’d arrived at his last firehouse, brimming with confidence and a bit of a hero-complex that hadn’t played out in his favor. He had wanted to prove himself back then. Show that he had what it took to make it as a young firefighter in the big city.
He didn’t have that confidence now because hewasn’tsure he still had what it took, or if he ever even possessed it in the first place.
Maybe it was the buzz of the caffeine or the persistent thrum of anxiety that always seemed to settle squarely in his chest, but something set Mitch’s nerves on edge as he continued his walk down the main drag. He used to believe he had a sixth sense about these things—recognizing when there was danger looming on the horizon. But in recent years, he’d learned to question that intuition, to the point where he no longer trusted his own instincts.
Still, he couldn’t seem to shake it, and with each store he passed—each window display decked in pink and red hearts that he couldn’t make sense of since Valentine’s day had already come and gone—his own heart seemed to tick out in a faster cadence.
That’s when he caught it, the telltale aroma of smoke. Like a bloodhound locked onto a scent, Mitch took another whiff of the air, certain his initial suspicions were right. And when the door to a small bakery just a few yards up crashed open and a young woman barreled onto the sidewalk, hands covered in yellow oven mitts and urgency in her eyes, he was honestly glad that his senses hadn’t completely failed him.
In that moment, Mitch’s years of training kicked in, and he shifted from being a casual observer of her panic to an experienced firefighter ready to take charge.
He rushed up to the woman, stopping short of hauling her shoulders into his grip. “Where’s the fire?”
“There’s no fire.” She eyed him suspiciously as she stepped back, moving out of arm’s reach.
Thick, opaque smoke billowed from the door, wafting up and surrounding a sign that readSummit Sweetsin a cloud of black.
“You sure about that?” He coughed and waved a hand in front of his face to clear the air. “What’s all the smoke from?”
“Just a batch of cookies that were—ironically—headed to the firehouse.”
Pushing past her, Mitch shouldered into the hazy establishment. He scanned the front portion of the bakery, frowning when his gaze came up short.
“Where’s your extinguisher?” he called out over his shoulder, loud enough to be heard over the earsplitting smoke detector that beeped in such a shrill tone it made his teeth ache. The baker had followed him inside and remained suspiciously close on his heels. It made sense; hehadsort of intruded into her space and predicament without invitation.
“Under the counter.”
Mitch’s frown carved deeper. “There should be one mounted ten to thirty feet from your cooking station. And another placed at the egress of the restaurant. You should have multiple.”
That side-eye she’d given him earlier morphed into an open glare. “I’m sorry, but are you here to help with the burnt cookie situation, or write me up for safety violations?”
Mitch swallowed thickly. The smoke tickled the back of his throat, eliciting another raspy cough. The poor woman was obviously frazzled, and he wasn’t even officially on the clock. Inspections didn’t need to be conducted at this precise moment,despite his disappointment that she was operating under such unsafe conditions.
He reached out and grasped onto her hand.
“What are you doing?” She yanked back, pulling completely out of the oven mitt, exactly what he’d needed her to do.
The bakery was tiny, with a half dozen bistro-style tables flanked by cushioned chairs in varying shades of pink. Grabbing the chair tucked beneath the closest one, Mitch hoisted himself onto it and flapped the oversized mitt in front of the smoke detector until it finally silenced. “At least this works. You’re lucky it’s just smoke and not heat because your fire sprinklers would have kicked on.”
“They actually wouldn’t have because I turned them off.”
