"Professional courtesy?" One eyebrow lifts as he resumes his seat. "Go ahead."
For the next hour, Noah is the consummate professional, answering my questions thoroughly about how the fire department adapted to serve a changing community. He describes implementing wilderness rescue protocols, coordinating with neighboring jurisdictions, and balancing the needs of year-round residents with those of seasonal tourists.
I'm impressed despite myself. The boy who once struggled to plan beyond the next weekend has become a man with vision and purpose. His passion for his work is evident in every detail of his responses, from the way he leans forward when discussing technical improvements to the pride in his voice when mentioning his team.
"One last question," I say as our time winds down. "On a personal level, what made you stay in Angel's Peak when so many of your generation left?"
A shadow crosses his face. "Some of us believe in investing in home, not just visiting when it's convenient."
The barb stings, but I press on. "That's admirable, but you must have had opportunities elsewhere."
Noah leans back, regarding me with an unreadable expression. "I had a job offer in Denver five years ago. Better pay, bigger department. I turned it down."
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"This town needed me." He pauses, then adds quietly, "And I don't run out on my commitments."
His words land like a well-aimed dart, striking at the heart of my actions all those years ago. The implication is clear—unlike me, he doesn't abandon his responsibilities or those he caresabout. A wave of guilt and shame washes over me, and I swallow hard, the sting of his comment hitting deep.
"Thank you for your time, Chief Morgan." I switch off my recorder, signaling the end of our formal interview. My voice is steady, but inside, I'm reeling from the emotional blow.
"Let me give you a proper tour of downtown. Seeing is believing when it comes to our transformation." He stands, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he speaks.
His offer catches me off guard, and I can't help but question his motives.
"Why?" My voice is tinged with skepticism. "It doesn't seem like you want to spend any more time with me than necessary."
Noah's expression softens slightly, the edge in his voice fading. "Because, despite everything, I want to show you why I stayed. Maybe you'll understand then."
His words are sincere, and they tug at the part of me that still yearns for his approval and understanding. Despite the pain and tension between us, I find myself nodding and agreeing to the tour.
"Don't you have fires to put out or something?" I try to maintain a semblance of detachment despite the turmoil inside me.
"Not at the moment." He grabs a department cap from a hook, his movements casual yet confident. "Consider it community relations. Better than whatever sanitized version the Chamber of Commerce would give you."
I should decline, maintain professional distance, and protect the fragile boundaries I've erected around myself. But as he stands there, radiating that quiet, steady certainty he's always carried, something old stirs beneath my ribs.
“As you wish.” The words slip out before I can stop them, soft and automatic.
The air shifts.
Noah goes still.
Not obvious. Not dramatic. Just… still. Like something in him hits a wall and locks down hard.
His gaze snaps to mine, sharper now, something raw flashing there before it’s dragged under. For a split second, it’s there—recognition, memory, something that hits deeper than it should. His chest rises, a breath pulled in and held, like he didn’t mean to feel it.
“Don’t.”
Quiet. Controlled.
But it lands like a strike.
My breath catches.
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as he holds my gaze, longer than he should, like letting go of this—of that phrase—isn’t as easy as he wants it to be.
“Don’t say that.” A beat. He exhales through his nose, slow, measured, like he’s forcing the rest of it back down. “That’s not… us anymore.”
