Knox
Morning comes heavy and gray, the kind of light that seeps through the blinds and settles into everything. I’m sitting at my desk before seven, half a cup of black coffee cooling beside a stack of files. The air in the station still smells faintly of last night’s burnt coffee and cleaning solution. Jasmine’s humming quietly at the dispatch desk, a tune I can’t place.
Today’s supposed to be simple. Interviews with the deputies. Set the tone. Start the cleanup coordination with the fire department and volunteers. Sheriff things.
That’s the plan.
When Gabe Ashford called last night to say he’d have a list of volunteer names for me—people willing to help with debris removal and the new safety checks—I jumped at the chance to meet first thing. It’s practical. Productive. Keeps my mind off the one thing I can’t afford to think about.
But when I pull up to the fire station, everything about the uniform feels different. The badge, the gun belt, the polished boots—all of it feels like armor I have to keep from cracking.
Gabe’s already waiting for me in his office. He’s wearing the same expression he always does: composed, deliberate. Coffee mug in one hand, clipboard in the other.
“Morning, Sheriff,” he says. “You ready for the circus?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I say. “You’ve got the volunteer list?”
He hands me a clipboard, a sheaf of papers clipped to it. “Most of them confirmed this morning. You’ll recognize a few names—town regulars. The rest are new blood. Kids mostly. Big hearts, not a lot of experience.”
I scan the top few lines—names, ages, contact info. Then I see it.
Millie Harper.
The name hits like a blow to the ribs, even though I knew it’d be there. I swallow hard, my thumb tightening on the edge of the paper.
Gabe doesn’t notice. He’s talking about equipment rotations and safety briefings, about coordinating cleanup schedules between our departments. I nod when I’m supposed to, eyes flicking down the list again.
“She’s the youngest of the group,” Gabe says, pointing at a few of the names. “Works hard, though. Always shows up.”
I force a nod. “Good to know.”
We go over logistics, or at least I pretend to. My brain’s half a mile away, caught on the memory of her eyes that night and the sound of her voice when she said my name.
When we finally step out of his office, I’m too busy thinking about how I’m going to get through the day without losing my composure to realize where we’re heading—until I see her.
She’s standing near one of the trucks, hair pulled back into a messy braid that hangs over one shoulder. She’s wearing a faded Driftwood Volunteer T-shirt, tucked into high-waisted jeans, a smudge of something—ash or dirt—streaking her cheek. The sight of her hits hard.
And then I see who she’s talking to.
Tall guy. Blond hair shaved close to his head. Fire department uniform, hands shoved into his pockets, easy smile. She’s laughing at something he said, a small sound that carries in the open space. When he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before pulling her into a hug, something in my chest twists tight.
Gabe’s saying something beside me, but I barely hear it. My brain scrambles for sense.
Her boyfriend?
I didn’t see his name on the volunteer list, but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know all the firefighters yet. Could be a friend. Could be more.
So not only did I sleep with the youngest volunteer in Driftwood—but she’s not even single?
Perfect.
I feel sick.
She’s still laughing, and that sound feels like salt in an open wound. I tell myself to look away, to keep walking, to stay the hell out of this.
Gabe turns toward me. “We’ll get started in an hour,” he says. “Sound good?”
“Yeah,” I manage, voice rough. “I, uh—got a few things to handle first. We’ll talk later.”
