"That was impressive," I admit, reclaiming professional focus. "The level of coordination, the advanced techniques—not what most people would expect from a small-town department."
"That's the point." He gestures toward a small office. "Want to continue the interview somewhere cooler?"
"Lead the way, Chief." The nickname lands differently here—in uniform, surrounded by his crew. Less flirty. More real.
His mouth twitches, but he just nods and leads me inside.
I follow him into the air-conditioned space, taking the offered seat across from a desk covered with neatly organized paperwork. Noah closes the door halfway—private enough for conversation but visible enough to maintain propriety. The consideration doesn't escape me.
"Your rescue certification program could make an excellent centerpiece for my article.” I consult my notes. "Especiallycombined with the story of that family you rescued last winter—the cabin fire where you went back in for the little girl's cat?"
His expression closes immediately. "Who told you about that?"
"Multiple sources." I keep my tone professional despite his sudden tension. "It illustrates perfectly how personalized emergency services contribute to community wellbeing in smaller towns."
"No." The word is clipped, definitive. "That incident doesn't belong in your article."
I blink, surprised by his vehemence. "It's a compelling human interest angle?—"
"It's exploitation of a family's trauma for a heartwarming story." His jaw tightens. "And it focuses attention on one individual rather than the team and systems that make our department effective."
"Noah, readers connect with personal stories. Statistics about emergency response times don't engage emotions the way a child reunited with a cherished pet does."
"Then find another story." He leans forward, intensity rolling off him in waves. "There are plenty that don't involve dramatizing someone's worst day or turning routine responsibility into heroics."
His reaction seems disproportionate, triggering my investigative instincts.
"Why does this bother you so much? Most departments would welcome positive coverage."
Noah runs a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of frustration. "Because it's not journalism. It's... narrative crafting. You're shaping Angel's Peak into this perfect idyllic small town because it fits what your readers want to believe exists somewhere."
The accusation stings, professional pride smarting. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it?" His gaze is uncomfortably perceptive. "Since you arrived, you've been collecting heartwarming anecdotes about community spirit and small-town values, all while filtering them through your big-city lens of quaint nostalgia."
"I'm writing about the actual economic and social revitalization strategies that saved this town," I counter, heat rising in my voice. "Based on documented facts and first-hand accounts."
"Facts filtered through your perspective." His voice softens slightly, which somehow makes it worse. "And I'm worried that perspective is being influenced by... us. By whatever's happening between us."
The implication lands like a slap. "You think I can't separate my personal feelings from my professional assessment? That I'm romanticizing Angel's Peak because we slept together?"
"That's not what I meant." He reaches for my hand, which I deliberately move beyond his reach.
"It's exactly what you meant." I gather my notebook and recorder, professionalism my only defense against hurt. "For your information, I know how to remain objective regardless of personal entanglements."
"Riley—"
"No." I stand, needing distance. "You've made your opinion of my professional ethics clear. And since you're concerned about being featured too prominently, I'll make sure to minimize your presence in the article. Wouldn't want to compromise my journalistic integrity with too much favorable coverage."
"That's not fair." Noah rises, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "I'm trying to have an honest conversation about a complex situation."
"By questioning my professional judgment." The recorder goes into my bag with perhaps more force than necessary. "I appreciate your time today, Chief Morgan. The training drill footage will be valuable for my piece."
The formality creates exactly the distance I intended, a visible flinch crossing his features.
"So we're back to 'Chief Morgan' now?"
"It seems appropriate, given your concerns about my objectivity." I head for the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. "For the record, I separated my personal feelings from my work long before I ever set foot back in Angel's Peak. It's why I've succeeded in a competitive field while maintaining my integrity. I'd appreciate the same professional respect I've always shown you."
