Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The back entrance of the community center was half-buried in snow, the heavy door propped open so volunteers could haul in more boxes of lights. Noah shook his head.
I swear someone’s bought more. This has to be double what we put up last year.
And in all probability the generous donor wouldn’t be the one climbing ladders to hang them.
He reached for one of the last crates when the door jerked wider, fast enough that a gust of icy wind slapped him in the face.
“Whoa—sorry!”
A hand shot out, steadying the crate before it tipped.
Noah blinked against the sudden swirl of snow and found himself staring up at a man he didn’t recognize.
He was tall, like, really tall, broad in the shoulders, with warm dark eyes and a swarthy complexion.
Across the chest of his navy uniform jacket were stitched the words MAPLEFORD FIRE.
“You okay?” the man asked, his voice low and steady.
“Yeah, just surprised, that’s all. You nearly blew me into next Tuesday.”
“That’s the hazard of dramatic entrances.” The man’s quick, crooked smile didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’m Danny Rodriguez, the new Fire Chief. I started a few weeks ago.”
“Oh!” Noah straightened. “Welcome to Mapleford. I’m Noah Carter.”
Danny’s handshake was firm, warm despite the freezing air.
“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself sooner,” Danny said. “But the station’s a mess of paperwork and half-unpacked boxes. I thought getting out and meeting people might help me feel a bit more oriented.”
That last word was enough for Noah to see a man trying to settle into a place that was still shaping itself around him.
He gave Danny a warm smile. “Well, you picked a good day. Nothing says ‘welcome to Mapleford’ like being roped into festival prep.”
Danny looked at the crates, then past Noah to the heaps of coiled lights. “So I’ve heard.” His tone held a trace of amusement, but it was tempered, like humor worn over something heavier. Not sadness, exactly, more like weight.
“Where should I put this?” Danny hefted the crate Noah had been carrying with ease.
“Inside, by the stage,” Noah said. “Unless you want an even heavier box.” He grinned. “We have those, too.”
“Of course you do,” Danny murmured. As they walked, Noah snuck a glance at him. Danny moved like someone used to constant readiness, his posture solid, his steps measured.
City-trained, I’ll bet. Big department, long hours, bad nights he wouldn’t talk about.
He had that look. Noah recognized it immediately. He’d seen it in a lot of newcomers who came to live in Mapleford.
“So what brings you to this perfect little corner of Maine?” Noah asked as they reached the stage.
Danny set the crate down with more care than seemed necessary.
“I needed a change,” he said after a moment. “Something quieter.”
“Oh. Well, you’ve got that here.”
Danny exhaled a breath that might have been a laugh.
“Yeah. It’s… different, but in a good way.
” The lights flickered overhead, casting gold across his face.
Danny looked around the room at the kids’ drawings taped to the walls, garlands half-hung, volunteers laughing across the hall, and his expression relaxed for a heartbeat.
“You all really do this every year,” he murmured.
“Every year,” Noah confirmed.
Danny nodded slowly. “Feels nice. Like a place that means it.”
Noah tilted his head. “Where are you from originally?”
Danny glanced down. “Worcester.” A beat of silence. “I did a long stint in Boston.”
“Do you think you’ll miss it?” Noah asked.
He hesitated, and a muscle flicked in his jaw. “Some parts of it, maybe.”
Noah wasn’t about to push.
Danny dusted snow from his sleeve, and gave Noah that small, crooked half-smile again, the one that hinted at a man who used to smile more easily.
“Thanks for the welcome,” he said.
“Anytime,” Noah replied. “If you ever want company, we’re all creatures of habit around here. Aileen’s bakery is basically the town’s living room, and if that’s closed, there’s the Mapleford Diner.” He smiled. “I can recommend the blueberry pancakes.”
Danny’s eyebrows rose. “Good to know.”
“And if you need help unpacking at the station,” Noah added, “I’m around.”
Danny’s smile deepened a fraction, still cautious, but slightly more real.
“Careful. I might take you up on that.”
“I mean it,” Noah said.
“I know.”
It felt as though something unspoken had passed between them, the recognition of someone who understood what it meant to start again.
“See you around, Carter.” Danny headed toward the back door.
“See you, Chief.”
Danny lifted a gloved hand in a brief salute before disappearing through the door, snow blowing in behind him.
Noah watched the flakes swirl for a moment before closing it and turning back to the volunteers. He didn’t know the new Fire Chief’s story, but he knew instinctively that the man had one.
Maybe Mapleford might be exactly the place where he figures out what comes next.
Eli stood in the town square with a cup of Aileen’s cocoa warming his hands, staring up at the massive spruce tree that dominated the space. Snow dusted its branches. A flock of volunteers buzzed around the square like overcaffeinated elves. Someone was already arguing about ornament symmetry.
It was official: Mapleford had plunged full speed ahead into its festive madness phase, and the community-center chaos had spilled into the open air.
Noah stood at the base of the tree, a clipboard tucked under his arm, his beanie at an angle, and snowflakes caught in his eyelashes.
Eli felt that now-familiar jolt in his chest.
He still didn’t know what to do about it.
He also didn’t know what to do with the fact that the man currently consulting a sketch of the lighting plan like a general planning battle formations was the same boy he’d drawn obsessively at fifteen.
Don’t stare. You’re a functioning adult. You can stand in a town square without swooning over someone.
He stared anyway.
Noah spotted him, smiled, and waved him over.
Eli felt it again, that little spark of something real and warm, unwanted and wanted all at once.
“Eli!” Noah called. “Perfect timing. You ready for Ladder Day?”
“I don’t like that sentence. Nothing good starts with ‘ladder.’ Or ends with it.”
Noah grinned. “Noted. But we’ve got to get lights on the Tree of Doom.”
He blinked. “Tree of Doom?”
“That’s what I call it,” Noah said. “It’s fifty feet tall, weighs approximately one emotional breakdown per branch, and last year it nearly concussed the mayor.”
“Define ‘nearly,’” Eli said.
Noah held up two fingers an inch apart. “This close.”
Eli looked up at the tree. “I’m beginning to regret coming.”
“No you’re not,” Noah said lightly.
Damn him, that was almost true.
“Come on. You can help me with the mid-height strands.” Noah leaned in and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Gloria nearly killed a man last year over uneven spacing, so it’s best not to anger her.”
Eli coughed. “Yeah, that sounds like a good move.” He followed Noah to where three ladders were propped against the branches, his breath fogging and fingers already cold despite gloves. Volunteers were laying out huge coils of lights in the snow, cursing in festive tones.
“All the lights have been tested,” Noah told him. “So our job today is to put them all over the tree.”
A lanky teen with purple hair jogged over. “Noah! One of the hooks snapped. Matty says the branch is cursed.”
Noah rolled his eyes. “It’s not cursed, it’s just old.”
The teen frowned. “He said it whispered at him.”
“Garrett…That was the wind.”
Garrett looked unconvinced but ran off.
Eli laughed. “You handle chaos very calmly.”
“It comes from experience,” Noah said. “Carpentry by day. Herding town events by night. My stress tolerance is basically mythical.”
Eli shook his head, amused.
“Okay.” Noah placed his hands on his hips. “You take the middle ladder. I’ll steady it. And I won’t lie this time—I really have only dropped someone once.”
Eli froze. “What?”
“I’m kidding! Honest, it’s just a joke,” Noah assured him, his hands raised. “Only one person has fallen, and that was his own stupid fault because he tried to reach too far. And it’s because of him we now follow the ‘don’t reach like an idiot’ rule.”
“How reassuring.”
“Safety first,” Noah said. “Sarcasm second.”
They approached the mid-height ladder. It looked taller than any ladder Eli had ever attempted to climb.
“You sure this is safe?” Eli asked.
“Nope,” Noah said cheerfully. “But it’s tradition.”
Eli groaned. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”
“Good. I get lonely.”
Eli tried not to react to that but failed.
There was nothing to do but climb.
The metal rungs were cold under his gloves. The lights looped over his shoulder bumped gently against his back as he went up, up, up. The ladder swayed slightly in the snow-laden breeze, but Noah braced it from below, his hands on the rail.
“Good?” Noah called up.
“Well, I’m not dead yet,” Eli called back.
“That’s the spirit!”
From higher up, the square looked postcard-perfect. Snow drifted lazily. The bakery windows glowed warm against the gray morning. People moved like tiny ornaments in motion, bundled, laughing, carrying wreaths and extension cords.
Eli hooked the first strand around a branch, then another. The ladder wobbled, only a fraction, and his stomach plunged.
“Nope, not doing this,” he blurted. “Absolutely not.”
“I’ve got you,” Noah called, steadying the base.
“You don’t weigh enough to counteract my panic,” Eli said through clenched teeth.
“I weigh exactly as much as I need to,” Noah replied.
“Stop sounding confident. It’s weirdly attractive and I can’t deal with that at this height.”
Silence.
“…Attractive?” Noah called, his voice warm even from below.
Eli froze.
“I said—” Eli scrambled for a scrap of dignity, “—it’s dis-tractive. Distracting. Bad for… my ladder… balance.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”