Chapter 2 #2
But as I drive through Twin Waves, past Michelle’s coffee shop and Jessica’s bookstore and all the places that make this town feel like home, I can’t stop thinking about what Jo said.
About showing people it’s never too late for magic.
About love and connection mattering.
About building something beautiful from broken pieces.
I pull into my driveway and sit there for a long moment, staring at the house I’ve lived in alone for five years. The house where Savannah grew up. Where Sarah and I built a life before a distracted driver ran a red light and took her from us in seconds.
The house that’s been more museum than home ever since.
Inside, everything is exactly as I left it. Clean. Organized. Empty.
I heat up leftover takeout and eat at the kitchen table, Rex watching me with those judgmental eyes.
“What?”
He huffs.
“I did my job. That’s all.”
But I can still feel the phantom warmth of Jo’s hands on my chest. Can still see the way her breath caught when our eyes met. Can still remember the reckless, dangerous moment when I almost forgot every single reason why I shouldn’t want her.
My phone buzzes.
Asher: Mom says you’re trying to ruin Valentine’s Day. Just FYI, she’s plotting. Thought you should have a heads up.
I stare at the message, and against my better judgment, something like anticipation coils in my chest.
Jo Lennox, plotting.
That can’t possibly end well.
Me: Let her plot. The codes are the codes.
Asher: Chief, you don’t know my mom. She once convinced the entire town to help her save a historic lighthouse by organizing a flash mob. In 2024.
Me: A flash mob?
Asher: With costumes. And choreography. The mayor still talks about it.
Great. What have I gotten myself into?
Me: The violations stand. She has a week to get her permits together.
Asher: Good luck with that.
I set the phone down and head to my home office, telling myself I’m going to work on budget reports.
But instead, I find myself researching creative solutions for occupancy issues.
Looking at how other towns have handled similar situations.
Seeing if there’s any way to make Jo’s festival work without compromising safety.
Not because I want to help her.
Or that I can’t stop thinking about the way she lit up when she talked about bringing people together.
And not because some buried part of me that I thought died with Sarah is suddenly, terrifyingly awake.
Just because it’s my job to find solutions.
That’s all.
Rex settles at my feet with another one of those huffs that sounds distinctly skeptical.
“Don’t even start,” I mutter.
But I’m already sketching out possibilities. Rotating schedules. Outdoor components. Partnerships with other venues.
Ways to give Jo Lennox her magic while keeping everyone safe.
Ways to stop her from looking at me like I’m the villain in her story.
Because that look in her eyes when I cited her—fury and hurt and disappointment—did something to me. Made me want to fix it. Made me want to be the person who helps her dreams come true instead of crushing them.
Made me want things I have no business wanting.
My phone buzzes again.
Savannah: BTW, Mads just texted me. Apparently Jo’s having an emergency book club meeting tomorrow to “strategize around certain grumpy obstacles.” Her words.
I stare at the message. Then, before I can stop myself: What time?
Savannah: Why do you want to know?
Me: No reason.
Savannah: Dad. Are you interested in Asher’s mom?
Me: I’m interested in making sure she doesn’t violate more fire codes while she’s strategizing.
Savannah: Uh huh. Sure.
Me: Savannah.
Savannah: The meeting’s at 9am at Twin Waves Brewing Co. You know, in case you need to do an impromptu safety inspection. Of a coffee shop. That’s been in business for years without any violations.
Me: Go to sleep. You have an early shift.
Savannah: You’re deflecting again. I’m just saying, Mom’s been gone five years. She’d want you to be happy.
My throat tightens.
Me: I am happy.
Savannah: You’re content. There’s a difference. Love you, Dad. Try not to cite anyone else’s mom tomorrow.
I sit there in the quiet of my empty house, Rex’s head heavy on my foot, glitter still sparkling on my uniform, and let myself admit the truth.
I haven’t felt this alive—this aware—in five years.
And it scares the hell out of me.
Because Jo Lennox is chaos and creativity and everything I’ve spent half a decade avoiding. She breaks rules and creates messes and looks at me like she can see past every defense I’ve built.
She’s dangerous.
She’s inappropriate.
She’s my best firefighter’s mother and completely off-limits.
And I can’t stop thinking about the way she felt in my arms.
I pull up the citation on my laptop, fully intending to file it and move on with my life.
Instead, I start drafting a proposal. A way to make her festival work. A compromise that gives her what she wants while keeping everyone safe.
Not because I’m interested.
Not because I can’t get her voice out of my head.
Not because I want to be the person who brings light to her eyes instead of disappointment.
Just because it’s the right thing to do.
That’s all.
But as I work through the night, sketching out layouts and schedules and solutions, Rex snoring at my feet and glitter catching the lamplight, I know I’m lying to myself.
I know exactly what I’m doing.
And I know it’s going to complicate everything.
But I can’t seem to stop.