"Tonight," he says, and lets me go.
I exit the truck on legs that aren't entirely steady.
As I climb the steps to Mabel's porch, I'm acutely aware of curious eyes tracking my progress—Martha Washington on her daily walk pauses to stare, and Darlene from the diner does anactual double-take from across the street. News of my overnight "stranding" with Noah will be all over town by lunchtime, with embellishments added at each retelling.
Strangely, I don't care as much as I should. Let them talk. Let them wonder. For once, reality might be more interesting than whatever gossip they concoct.
Inside, Mabel herself awaits, poorly concealing her concern behind a veneer of casual interest. "There you are. Heard you got caught in that nasty storm up on Angel Falls trail."
"News travels fast," I observe drily.
"Small town." Her eyes take in my appearance—clothes slightly rumpled, hair definitely beyond help, a suspicious glow that no amount of professional composure can disguise. "Looks like you weathered it just fine, though."
"Better than fine," I admit, unable to suppress a smile. "Noah knew exactly where to find shelter."
"I'll bet he did." Mabel's knowing expression suggests she's filling in details I haven't provided. "Always was good at rescues, that boy."
As I climb the stairs to my room, I realize she's right. Noah Morgan has rescued me—not just from the storm, but from the safe, controlled existence I've been calling a life. The question now is whether I'm brave enough to accept the salvation he offers, or if I'll retreat back to the familiar comfort of professional distance and emotional isolation.
For the first time since arriving in Angel's Peak, I'm not certain what I want. Scratch that, I know what I want. I just don’t know how to make it real.
Chapter 11
Community Ties
"And that'swhen they decided to convert the old mining museum into the cultural center," Martha Washington explains, her silver curls bobbing enthusiastically as she points to a faded photograph. "George was on the committee. Tell her about the controversy with the foundation, dear."
I scribble notes furiously as George launches into a detailed explanation of structural engineering concerns that threatened the historic building's renovation. My recorder captures every word, though I'm already mentally editing for the parts most relevant to my article.
After last night with Noah—his cooking skills proving as impressive as his other recently demonstrated talents—I've thrown myself into work with renewed focus.
Professional distance.
Journalistic integrity.
Gather the material, write the story, go home. That's the plan that I repeat to myself, even as memories of his hands on my skin threaten my concentration. Even as I know it as the lie it is.
"Riley, dear? Are you still with us?" Martha's voice breaks through my inappropriate daydream.
"Yes, absolutely." I smile apologetically. "Just making sure I have the timeline correct. The cultural center opened in 2018, after the economic downturn?"
"That's right. Just when we needed it most." George adjusts his glasses, a gesture reminiscent of a professor preparing to make an important point. "That's the thing about Angel's Peak—we pull together in crisis. Always have."
"That sense of community solidarity seems to be a recurring theme," I observe, flipping through my notes from other interviews. "Everyone I've spoken with mentions it."
"Because it's true." Martha pats my hand affectionately. "When the resort corporation threatened to pull out, we didn't wait for outside rescue. We looked to ourselves, to our own strengths."
"And to Noah Morgan," George adds, with a pointed look at his wife. "Let's give credit where it's due. That young man rallied this town when spirits were lowest."
My traitor heart skips at the mention of his name. "Noah was involved with the economic revitalization?"
"Involved?" Martha laughs. "He orchestrated half of it. The safety training center that brings in departments from three states? His proposal. The mountain rescue certification program? His initiative. The fellow sees opportunity where others see obstacles."
I make more notes, professional interest mingling with personal curiosity. "You seem to hold him in high regard."
"Everyone does," George confirms. "The Morgan family has been the backbone of Angel's Peak for generations. Eleanor on historical preservation, Noah on emergency services. Hunter brings culinary recognition to The Haven. Salt of the earth, that family."
Their admiration is so earnest it makes my chest ache. Noah isn't just the town's Fire Chief—he's woven into its very fabric,essential to its survival and identity. I think of his words in the cabin:I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to fight for it this time.
