Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Holly zooms off. He sinks into the armchair like he’s collapsing. I stand in front of him. “Ash…”
He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Lucy, I can’t—”
“You can,” I whisper. “And you are.”
His hands fall from his face. He meets my gaze. And for a moment—one heartbeat—he lets me see him fully. Raw. Exhausted. Terrified. Trying.
God, it hits deep.
“Ash,” I whisper, “you’re not going to lose her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I insist. “Because she has you. And you show up. Every day. Even when it hurts. Even when you don’t know how. Even when you’re scared out of your mind.” His breath is uneven. I kneel in front of him, voice soft but certain. “You’re doing more than you think. More than she knows. More than anyone knows.”
He looks at me like the words hit deeper than they should. Then—quietly, desperately—he whispers: “Lucy… I don’t know how to do this.”
“You’re doing it,” I whisper back.
His eyes flick to my mouth. Just for a second. Just long enough for my heart to flip.
Then he stands abruptly, breaking the moment. “I need to check on Holly.”
He walks away before I can say anything else. I watch him go, my breath stuck somewhere between my chest and throat.
He’s hurting. He’s overwhelmed. He’s terrified. But he’s also… good. So damn good it hurts to look at him sometimes.
Holly comes barreling back out of the hallway in dinosaur pajamas. "Lucy, can you read me a story?"
I glance toward the hallway where Ash disappeared.
“Only if your uncle says it’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” his voice calls quietly.
Holly cheers. I settle onto the couch, Holly snuggling under my arm, the little stocking swinging above the fireplace.
Ash appears in the doorway. He leans against the frame. Arms crossed. Eyes on me. Expression unreadable. But not empty. Oh no. Not empty at all. Something real flickers there—something careful and dangerous and alive. Something that scares him. And something that might ruin me. I open the book. Holly leans into me. Ash doesn’t move.
And as I read, I feel his gaze.
Warm. Heavy. Unspoken.
And I know—down to my bones—
This man is not temporary. Not for me. Not for Holly. Not anymore.
Because some things don’t fade. Some things don’t burn out. Some things spark… and keep sparking… until you’re standing in the doorway of something you can’t walk away from.
No matter how hard you try.
Chapter Seven
Ash
The worst part is that I knew something was going to go wrong the moment I pulled into the town square.
There’s a very particular kind of silence that follows disaster. A softness in the air. A pause before the world remembers it needs to start yelling again.
And the second I hear that silence, I know exactly who’s responsible.
Lucy Snow.
She stands near the community gazebo wearing a puffy white jacket, messy half-bun, red scarf wrapped twice around her throat, and the guiltiest expression I’ve ever seen on a human adult.
Which means she probably blew something up.
The fire truck is parked twenty feet away. The engine crew mills around with the same anticipatory look they had the day Boone tried to deep-fry a frozen turkey.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” one of them says when I climb out of my truck. “Might wanna… brace yourself.”
I narrow my eyes. “For what?”
He grins. “Christmas spirit.”
That’s when I see it. A giant metal contraption the size of a small tank sits in the middle of the square, pointed directly at my engine. Industrial-sized. Ugly. Plastered with a rental logo.
A snow machine. A massive one.
And Lucy Snow—glitter librarian, chaotic menace, destroyer of my peace—is standing directly behind it like she’s about to commit a felony. I march toward her. “Lucy.”
She jumps like I’ve caught her stealing state secrets. “Oh! Hi, Lieutenant Calder.”
“Why,” I ask, slow and deadly, “is there a snow machine pointed at my truck?”
She beams. Beams. Like I’m praising her.
“Because I’m testing it!”
I drag a hand down my face. “Why are you testing it at the firehouse?”
“Because!” She gestures wildly. “The Fire & Frost parade is tomorrow night, and this machine is supposed to create atmospheric snowfall over the gingerbread float!”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s already rented.”
“Return it.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
She brightens. “Because I signed a contract.”
I stare at her. “You signed a contract without checking wattage, safety certification, or use allowances?”
“Yes.” She crosses her arms. “Because I am an optimist, Ash.”
“You’re a hazard, Lucy.”
“And you’re a killjoy.”
My voice drops low. “You have no idea what I could kill right now.”
She flushes. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
Her lips twitch. “You say the most romantic things.”
“Lucy.”
“Ash.”
We’re too close again. Too aligned. Too aware of each other in a way that makes my jaw clench and my pulse spike.
Behind us, my crew mutters: “They’re doing it again.” “Oh yeah. They’re about to combust.” “Fifty bucks says she makes him snap.” “Hundred says he snaps first.”
I grit my teeth. “Everyone shut up.”