Chapter 2
TWO
DEAN
Rex is still whining when I pull into the fire station parking lot.
“She’s not your friend,” I tell him, killing the engine. “She’s a safety hazard wrapped in glitter and terrible ideas.”
He whines louder, pressing his nose against the window like a lovesick teenager watching his crush walk away.
“Traitor,” I mutter, but my hands are gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary. Not from anger. From the memory of Jo Lennox’s body pressed against mine for those few breathless seconds. The way her pupils dilated when our eyes met. That soft gasp she made when I caught her.
The way I looked at her mouth like a man starving.
I scrub a hand over my face and find glitter on my palm. Pink glitter. It’s in my hair, on my uniform, probably embedded in my skin at this point. I look like I got into a fight with a craft store and lost.
The station door opens, and Asher Lennox walks out, stopping dead when he sees me.
For one terrible second, I think the glitter has given me away. That he can somehow tell I was holding his mother close enough to count her heartbeats. That he knows I spent those suspended seconds cataloging the gold flecks in her green eyes instead of thinking about fire codes.
“Chief?” His eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Did you... is that glitter?”
“Your mother,” I say flatly, climbing out of the truck, “is a menace to public safety.”
Something flickers across his face. Amusement, maybe. Or concern. “What did she do?”
“Had thirty women crammed into a six-hundred-square-foot space with blocked exits and enough flammable materials to turn that boutique into a tinderbox.” I pause. “Also, there’s a life-sized cardboard cutout of Fabio that violates approximately seven different codes.”
Asher’s mouth twitches. He’s trying not to smile. “Sounds like Mom.”
“It’s not funny, Lennox. Someone could’ve been seriously hurt.”
“I know.” He sobers, but there’s still warmth in his expression. That look he gets whenever anyone mentions Jo. Like she’s simultaneously the best and most exasperating person in his life. “But she means well. She’s just...enthusiastic.”
Enthusiastic. That’s one word for a woman who creates chaos wherever she goes and somehow makes it look like magic. Who argues with me about fire safety while covered in glitter and holding a glue gun like a weapon. Who fits against my chest like she was made to be there and looked at me like—
I cut that thought off hard.
“I cited her,” I say, more sharply than I intend. “Multiple violations. She has a week to comply or I’m shutting down her Valentine’s festival.”
Asher winces. “She’s not going to take that well.”
“She didn’t.” The memory of her eyes flashing with fury makes something hot twist in my gut.
The way she’d stepped toward me, all that sunshine personality turning into a storm.
Calling me out for crushing dreams like she could see straight through my professional distance to the parts of me I keep locked down.
Like she knew exactly how to get under my skin.
“Chief.” Asher’s voice pulls me back. “I know you have to do your job. I get it. But...she’s really excited about this festival. It means a lot to her.”
“I’m aware.” Too aware. I can still hear the crack in her voice when she talked about moving here after her divorce. About building something from nothing. About wanting to give back to the community that saved her.
I know what it’s like to build walls after loss. To throw yourself into work because it’s safer than feeling anything else. I recognize it because I’ve been doing the same thing for five years.
But I also know what it’s like to lose someone because safety protocols weren’t followed. Because someone made a judgment call and got it wrong.
I’m not letting that happen on my watch. Not even for a woman with green-blue eyes and a smile that could melt steel.
Especially not for her.
“She’ll figure it out,” I tell Asher, heading for the station. “She seems resourceful.”
“That’s one word for it.” There’s affection in his voice. Pride. “She raised me alone after Dad left. Built a business from scratch. Joined a book club in a town where she didn’t know anyone, and now half of Twin Waves shows up at her boutique.”
I know. I’ve watched her over the past year, noticed the way she lights up every room she enters. The way people gravitate toward her like she’s the sun and they’re all just planets caught in her orbit.
I’ve noticed more than I should.
“The violations stand,” I say, because I need to establish boundaries before I do something stupid.
Like drive back to Driftwood and Dreams and offer to help her figure out a solution.
Like look at her mouth again and wonder if she tastes like the vanilla-and-ocean scent that’s been haunting me since I caught her.
“Understood, Chief.” Asher pauses at the door. “For what it’s worth? She likes you. She always asks about you when I mention the station. Says you gave a beautiful toast at our engagement party.”
My chest tightens. I remember that night. Jo in a soft blue dress that matched her eyes, laughing with the book club women. The way she’d hugged me after the toast, all warmth and genuine happiness, and told me Asher was lucky to have me as his chief.
The way I’d caught myself watching her across the room more times than I could count.
“Go check the equipment logs,” I tell him. “And Lennox? Tell your mother to lose the Fabio cutout before someone trips over it and breaks their neck.”
He grins. “Yes, sir.”
The station is quiet for a Thursday afternoon. Jenkins and Torres are running drills. Patterson’s doing maintenance on Engine 3. Everything in its place, everyone following protocol.
This is what I understand. Order. Rules. Systems that keep people safe.
Not chaos wrapped in sunshine. Not glitter and craft supplies and a woman who looks at fire codes like they’re suggestions instead of requirements.
I head to my office, fully intending to file the citation and forget about Jo Lennox and her dangerous eyes.
Rex follows me, settling at my feet with a heavy sigh that sounds distinctly judgmental.
“Don’t start,” I warn him.
He huffs.
I pull up the citation form on my computer, but my focus keeps drifting to the glitter still coating my uniform sleeve. Pink. Sparkly. Completely inappropriate for a fire chief.
Just like the thoughts I’ve been having about Asher’s mother.
My phone buzzes.
Savannah: How’s your day, Dad?
I consider lying. Telling her it’s fine. Normal. Definitely not complicated by the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how Jo Lennox felt in my arms.
Me: Cited someone for occupancy violations. The usual.
Savannah: Anyone I know?
Oh no. Savannah’s met Jo. At the engagement party. They’d talked for twenty minutes about some medical drama they both watch, and afterward Savannah had told me she liked Asher’s mom. That she was warm and funny and real.
That I should ask her out.
I’d nearly choked on my beer.
Me: Asher’s mother. Her boutique had 30 people in a space rated for 15.
The typing bubbles appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Savannah: Mom would have liked her.
My chest constricts. Savannah rarely mentions her mother. We both avoid it—that careful dance around grief that’s easier than actually dealing with it.
Me: Yeah. She would have.
Sarah would’ve loved Jo’s chaotic creativity. Her enthusiasm for bringing people together. The way she takes broken things and makes them beautiful.
Sarah would’ve told me to pull my head out of the sand and ask the woman to coffee.
But Sarah’s been gone for five years, and I’ve gotten very good at not letting anyone close enough to matter.
Savannah: You doing okay?
Me: Fine. Just a long day.
Savannah: Dad. When’s the last time you did something that wasn’t work-related?
I stare at the message. The answer is never. Work is safe. Work has rules and protocols and clear outcomes. Work doesn’t require me to be vulnerable or risk my heart or wonder what it would feel like to kiss someone who tastes like trouble.
Me: I’m fine, sweetheart. How’s the hospital?
Savannah: Deflection noted. But I’m letting it slide because we’re swamped. Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I set the phone down and force myself to focus on the citation.
But my mind keeps replaying the moment Jo fell into my arms. The way time seemed to slow.
How I’d forgotten about the thirty women, the violations, my professional responsibilities—forgotten everything except the feeling of her against me and the wild, reckless urge to see what would happen if I closed that last inch between us.
I’ve spent five years keeping everyone at arm’s length. Being the responsible one. The chief who never breaks protocol, never lets emotions cloud judgment, never lets anyone see the man underneath the uniform.
Then Jo Lennox slips on a ribbon, and suddenly I’m staring at her mouth in front of half the town, my hands on her arms like I have any right to touch her, forgetting she’s my firefighter’s mother and completely off-limits.
The door opens. Jenkins sticks his head in. “Chief? Got a question about the new hydrant locations.”
“Be right there.”
Work. I can do work. Work makes sense.
I spend the next two hours reviewing hydrant placements, running equipment checks, going over the schedule. Normal things. Safe things.
Things that don’t require me to think about blue-green eyes or the way Jo’s voice cracked when she talked about building something that matters.
But when I finally head home that evening, Rex makes a beeline for my truck like he thinks we’re going back to Driftwood and Dreams.
“Not happening,” I tell him.
He gives me a look that clearly says I’m an idiot.
“She’s Asher’s mother. It’s inappropriate.”
Rex’s expression doesn’t change.
“She drives me crazy. She doesn’t follow rules. She creates chaos everywhere she goes.”
The dog’s tail wags slightly.
“Stop looking at me like that. We’re going home.”