“That was ten years ago.”
“And?” Milan said.
“And people move on.” Her own words sounded weak. Because the truth was, she had tried. Lord knew she had.
She’d dated, traveled, and built a life she genuinely loved. Yet somehow, no matter how many years passed, hearing Blaze’s name still did something strange to her chest. It was as though her heart remembered him before her mind had the chance to intervene.
Leigh’s expression softened slightly. “You know he never got married either, right?”
Johanna rolled her eyes even though her pulse betrayed her with one hard thump. “That means nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.” Milan dragged out the sound knowingly. “You didn’t see the way that man looked at you from across the stage.”
Johanna took a bite of her cupcake.
Unfortunately, she had.
And that was the problem.
Blaze hadn't looked shocked or amused. He'd looked pleased. Like somewhere beneath all those years and all that distance, a part of him still wanted her.
The thought unsettled her deeply.
Debra appeared beside the table carrying a tray of mini chocolate cupcakes.
“You ladies still talking about the auction?” she asked casually as she set the tray in front of them.
Johanna groaned. “Please don’t start.”
Debra laughed softly. “This town won’t be talking aboutanything but the auction for the next few weeks.”
Johanna dropped her head back.
Wonderful.
Tasha grabbed her phone. “Speaking of which…”
Johanna pointed sharply. “Don’t.”
Too late.
“I saw this on social media.” Tasha turned the screen around.
A photo filled the screen.
Blaze stood center stage beneath gold lighting like somebody's dangerous fantasy come to life.
Instead of a tuxedo, he'd fully committed to the firefighter theme, and Lord help every woman in Sheraton Beach because the man looked sinful.
Dark navy suspenders hung low against fitted black uniform pants that sat entirely too well on his narrow hips. The black thermal stretched across broad shoulders and a chest built from years of carrying hoses, ladders, and people out of burning buildings. The sleeves were shoved to his forearms, exposing powerful brown skin, intricate tattoos, and hands that looked capable of both rescue and regret.
A silver firefighter badge rested against the center of his chest while heavy black boots completed the look.
The overall effect should've been illegal.
But it was Blaze's face that turned the photo lethal.
That slow half-smirk suggested he already knew women were losing their minds in real time.
