“That’s usually the case, right?” Taking his knife and fork into his hands, Mitch carved off a chunk of white meat before placing the lid back to keep the rest warm while they started in on their dinner. “That’s the whole comfort part.”
Faith smiled, wondering how this could be the same man she’d wanted to slap across the face with an empty oven mitt earlier that afternoon. He’d rattled her then, but in fairness, so had the smoke and the alarm and the tray of ruined cookies. She’d already been out of sorts when he’d joined in on the chaos.
“So, Faith, have you always lived in Snowdrift?”
She unscrewed the cap on her water bottle and took a swig, feeling the cool liquid hit her stomach. “Born and raised. Fourth generation, actually.”
“That seems to be the standard around here. Chief Anderson said the same about his family and the many generations in his family tree that have called Snowdrift home.”
Faith inclined her head. “You know Chief Anderson?”
“Um, not well.” Mitch coughed behind his hand. “But yeah, I’ve met him.”
There was more to it, and Faith couldn’t make heads or tails of the way he’d stammered over his own words. “He’s a good guy,” she said. “He was my dad’s best friend, actually.”
It was more information than she needed to communicate but it had just slipped out, like an unguarded truth. Mitch briefly paused with his knife hovering over a piece of chicken as he regarded her for a moment. He set his utensils down. “I hope I’m not being intrusive, but based on what you’ve mentioned so far, I’m assuming your father is no longer with us?”
“He passed a few years ago.” The words put a knot in her throat, even though they were ones she’d said many timesover. Still, the heartache didn’t lessen with each repetition. No amount of coping mechanisms made it easier. That knot just got tighter each time she talked about her beloved father, to the point where she became choked with emotion.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Mitch said thoughtfully.
“It’s okay,” she replied, her standard, evasive answer when people expressed their condolences. Even after all this time, she still wasn’t sure what to do with others’ sympathy. It made her uncomfortable, like an itch that didn’t go away no matter how hard she scratched it. Persistent and equally unpleasant. “He’d been sick for a while. He was ready.”
Mitch didn’t speak for some time after that. Faith wondered if she’d possibly said something wrong, because the easy flow of conversation they’d fallen into suddenly felt interrupted by her obvious grief.
“How long have you owned the bakery?” Mitch stretched back from the table, leaning deeper into his chair so his legs could cross at the ankles. He was a big guy, probably over six feet if Faith had to guess. Fit but not bulky; strong but not intimidating.
“Three years.”
“Hmm.” Something was at work behind his chestnut eyes. He moved his napkin over his mouth before tossing it to his empty plate. “Family business?”
Goodness, this guy was keen, putting two and two together faster than most people did. “Yep. My dad’s.”
“So, the cookies for the fire station…?”
“That’s a tradition my dad began many, many years ago.” She figured she didn’t need to tell Mitch that, though. He seemed to pick up on all of her subtle, unintentional cues.
“You took over not only a business, but a legacy.”
“Exactly,” she confirmed with a single nod.
“That’s a big lift. Both commitment-wise, and emotionally, I’m sure.”
Could it be possible that a man she’d only met that afternoon was the first person to ever acknowledge that? He’d uncovered a truth Faith would never verbalize. She didn’t feel she had the right to complain about the emotional toll the whole endeavor took since she knew the duty was more honor than obligation. But Mitch was right. It was a lot. Sometimes, it felt like too much.
“I’m happy to do it,” she said through a big, toothy grin. Even though he had peeled back her layers to get to the core of her emotions, Faith zipped herself right back up. There was no sense in becoming this vulnerable with a stranger, and so quickly.
Evenifhe was going to be her neighbor.
CHAPTER 3
The thing about serving as a first responder in a town with a population the size of Snowdrift’s meant there were relatively few emergencies to respond to. Of course, Mitch recognized that as a blessing. He knew when calls came through, the person on the other end of that line was in the middle of their worst day. So, when emergencies were light and the firehouse was quiet, it was a welcome reprieve for all involved.
But it also spelled inevitable boredom.
Mitch didn’t sit well, and coincidentally, it appeared Captain Anderson was cut from the same restless cloth. He had a list of tasks to keep his firefighters occupied when not on emergency calls. And at the top of today’s agenda was washing the rig.
It had been one of Mitch’s favorite chores back at his last station. Even as a grown man approaching thirty, just the sight of the big engine was enough to put a bubble of excitement in his chest, a spring of energy in his step. Firefighting had been his life’s ambition ever since he was a little boy crouched on his bedroom floor, pushing a model replica of a firetruck around as it went from pretend emergency to pretend emergency. He’d kept that little engine polished to perfection, too, so much thatthe haphazard paint job on the toy had rubbed clean off in a few spots.
