Chapter 6 #2
“Let me show you something.” I unroll the plans on her counter, and suddenly we’re standing close enough that I can smell her perfume. Beachy and floral with vanilla underneath—the scent that’s been haunting me for days. “What if I told you I found a way to make your festival work?”
“I’d say you’re lying.” But she’s leaning in, studying the diagrams. Her shoulder brushes mine, and the contact sends heat racing through me.
“I don’t lie.” I point to the first page. “Multiple venues. Rotating groups. Your boutique hosts the centerpiece activities—the ones that matter most to you. But we partner with Michelle’s coffee shop, Jessica’s bookstore, maybe the art gallery. Create a Valentine’s Trail through downtown.”
“A trail?” She’s close enough now that I can feel her breath on my neck.
“Each location hosts a different experience. Wine tasting here, poetry reading at the bookstore, live music at Twin Waves Brewing Co. People rotate through in groups small enough to meet occupancy limits.” My hand moves across the diagram, and her hand follows, not quite touching mine but close enough to make my skin electric.
“We add an outdoor component on the beach—weather permitting, with proper permits. String lights, fire pits, s’mores station. ”
“Fire pits run by the fire department, I assume?” There’s amusement in her voice. And something else. Something breathless.
“Obviously.” I glance at her, find her already looking at me. Her pupils are dilated, her lips slightly parted, and every instinct I have screams at me to close the distance. “It’s bigger than your original vision, Jo. Better. And completely, totally safe.”
“You did all this?” Her voice is barely a whisper. “For me?”
“For the festival,” I say, but we both know it’s a lie.
She turns to face me fully, and suddenly we’re not looking at plans anymore. We’re just standing in her boutique at closing time, close enough to kiss, both of us breathing too fast.
“Dean.” She reaches up, and her fingers brush my jaw. The touch is feather-light and devastating. “Why are you really here?”
Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because you make me want to break all my carefully maintained rules. Because I’m fifty-two years old and terrified and falling for a woman who argues with me and makes my heart race like I’m twenty again.
“Because you deserve to have your dream,” I say instead. Safer. Less revealing.
“That’s not an answer.” Her thumb traces along my jawline, and I have to lock my knees to keep standing. “Try again.”
“Jo—”
“Tell me why you spent hours creating these plans.” She’s close enough now that her breasts brush my chest when she breathes. “Tell me why you’re here instead of sending them by email. Tell me why you’re looking at me like—” She stops. Swallows. “Like you want to do something about it.”
Every professional boundary screams at me to step back. Every safety protocol I’ve ever followed says this is dangerous territory.
I step closer instead.
“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” I admit, my voice rough. “Because watching you fight for your dreams makes me want to fight for something again. Because you held my hand yesterday, and I didn’t want to let go.”
Her eyes go dark. Molten. “Dean—”
“Because I’m falling for you, Jo Lennox, and it terrifies me. But not as much as the thought of walking away.”
For one suspended moment, we just stare at each other. Her hand still on my jaw, my heart thundering against my ribs, the air between us so charged I can barely breathe.
Then her door chimes.
We jump apart like guilty teenagers as Mads walks in, takes one look at us—at the plans spread across the counter, at our flushed faces, at the way we’re both breathing too hard—and grins.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” She doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“I was just—” I start.
“Leaving,” Jo finishes, but her eyes are still locked on mine. “Dean was just leaving.”
“Was I?” The words come out lower than I intended. Almost a challenge.
“Weren’t you?” She lifts her chin, and there’s that spark again. That fire that makes me want to either argue with her or kiss her until we both forget our own names.
“I should review the plans with you first,” I say, not moving. “Make sure you understand all the permit requirements. Could take a while.”
“How long?” Her voice has gone breathy again.
“As long as it takes.” I let the words hang there, loaded with every bit of subtext I can’t quite say out loud yet.
Mads looks between us, her grin growing wider. “You know what? I just remembered I have a thing. A very urgent thing. Across town. I’ll just—yeah.” She backs toward the door. "Jo, I'll text you about the flowers later. Much later. You two take your time."
The door chimes as she leaves, and then we’re alone again.
“Well, that was subtle,” I say.
“About as subtle as your clipboard.” Jo’s lips curve. “So. These permit requirements. Are they complicated?”
“Extremely.” I unroll the plans again, but this time when she steps close to look, I don’t pretend it’s accidental. “Might take all evening to explain properly.”
“I’m a slow learner,” she murmurs. “Might need extensive hands-on instruction.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on either of us.
“Jo.” I turn to face her fully. “What are we doing here?”
“I don’t know.” She looks up at me, and there’s vulnerability beneath the heat. “But I think I want to find out.”
“This is complicated.”
“Everything worth having is complicated.”
“I’m your son’s fire chief.”
“My son gave his blessing. I saw the group chat.”
“I’m fifty-two and set in my ways.”
“I’m forty-eight and stubborn as all getout.” She reaches up, her fingers tangling in my shirt. “We’re going to argue about everything.”
“Probably.” I cover her hand with mine. “I’m going to want to follow regulations.”
“I’m going to want to bend them.”
“I’m going to worry about keeping you safe.”
“I’m going to drive you crazy.” Her voice drops to barely a whisper. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing?”
I look down at her—this woman who’s turned my carefully ordered world into beautiful chaos—and make another choice. The important one.
“Maybe crazy is exactly what I need,” I say, and kiss her.
She tastes like vanilla and ocean air and every risk I’ve been too afraid to take. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I go willingly, backing her against the counter as the kiss deepens from tentative to hungry.
This is insane. We’re in her boutique where anyone could see. We barely know each other. We’ve been fighting for days.
I don’t care.
She makes a sound against my mouth—half sigh, half surrender—and I swallow it, tasting her smile. Her hands slide up my chest, around my neck, into my hair, and suddenly I’m the one surrendering.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, she’s looking at me like I’m her favorite disaster and she can’t wait to see what happens next.
“So,” she says, voice wrecked. “About those permit requirements?”
I laugh—actually laugh—and pull her close again. “They can wait.”
“Can they?” She arches an eyebrow, all challenge and heat.
“They really can’t,” I admit. “But I’m going to pretend they can for another few minutes.”
“Just a few minutes?”
“Jo, if I kiss you again, I’m not stopping at a few minutes.”
Her smile is pure sin. “Promise?”
Rex barks from the truck. A reminder that this is real, that tomorrow we’ll have to figure out what this means, that the whole town is probably already planning our wedding.
But tonight?
Tonight I’m holding Jo Lennox in her boutique full of dreams, and for the first time in five years, I feel alive.
“Let me take you to dinner,” I say. “Let me do this right.”
“Dinner?” She looks skeptical. “In Twin Waves? Where everyone will see us?”
“Good.” I kiss her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. “Let them see. Let them know I’m falling for the woman who argues with me about fire codes and makes my heart race.”
“You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, Chief Beckett.”
“Dean,” I correct. “When I’m kissing you, I’m just Dean.”
“Then kiss me again, Just Dean.”
I do.
And this time, the permits can definitely wait.