Chapter 3 #2
The sight of Cal—our stoic and steel-eyed ex-combat veteran—singing a Christmas carol like he’s reciting a death report is too much for me to handle.
Especially with a few too many glasses of wine burning through my veins.
Grant mutters a soft, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath, but even he’s laughing too.
Noelle’s laughter rings through the room, unrestrained and bright, and I forget everything else.
All I remember is her body pressed against mine, that mouth moving and tilting to kiss me deeper.
My stomach clenches from the memory, my hand tightening around my wine glass while I pretend it’s her jaw instead.
When Cal finally finishes, he leans back against the side of the couch. “Satisfied?”
Noelle wipes at the corner of her eye, still smiling. “More than you know.”
Cal’s eyes crinkle faintly, his smirk barely there. “Your turn, Dean.”
I grab the bottle with a grin, spinning it between my palms before giving it a flick.
The glass spins fast, the reflection of firelight twisting across it.
When it slows and finally stops, the neck points straight back at Noelle.
“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “Truth.”
I swirl the wine in my glass, thinking. “Alright then. What’s the first thing you noticed about each of us when we got here?”
Grant groans immediately. “Really? You’re looking for an ego stroke?”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “It’s a fair question. We’re just getting to know each other better.”
Not to mention I’m highly curious what Noelle’s opinion of all of us actually is.
She’s never met us before, not in person, anyway, despite all three of us being fixtures in her dad’s life for years.
It’s strange when I think about it.
We’ve known Richard for almost a decade now.
Met by accident, really, when Cal was still in the military.
His unit was assigned to some joint training program for emergency operations, the kind where they teach soldiers to work alongside fire and rescue during crisis responses.
Richard had been a fire chief back then, still in his prime. Cal ended up running point for the squad during the drills.
Within a week, he and Richard were thick as thieves. Two control freaks finding common ground in their love of order and chaos at the same time.
Grant and I were dragged into the mix later. Literally dragged, in my case. I remember Cal calling me after one of the sessions, saying, “We’re going out with the fire chief tonight. Don’t be a jackass, and ghost us. You better show up.”
I did, and the rest was history.
Richard was one of those rare people who made everyone feel like they’d known him forever.
He was easy to like: gruff, funny, big-hearted in a way most men our age weren’t. The kind of guy who didn’t need to say much to make you feel safe just being around him.
Over time, that turned into weekend fishing trips, weekend-long barbecues, endless stories about fires fought and people saved.
When Cal left active duty, the three of us stayed tight with him, even when life started pulling us in different directions.
Grant had been running the ranch solo back then. I was still skating through the last stretch of my hockey career, trying to figure out what came next once I finally retired.
Cal, of course, could never sit still long enough to decide what “civilian life” even meant and eventually ended up becoming Grant’s business partner.
Through it all, Richard stayed in touch. He was the one who always called, always checked in, showed up when we needed him.
We knew Noelle leaving for college hit him hard and had been one of the sole reasons he’d pulled himself out of retirement.
We’ve visited a few times, but we always meant to come visit more often. Jobs and life kept us all busy, and time slipped by too fast.
Until now.
And now that we’re finally here again, sitting in front of his fireplace with his daughter, the same girl whose name used to pop up in Richard’s stories so often she felt like a character we all already knew, I can’t help thinking how strange it feels.
Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s memory.
Watching her now with the firelight catching in her dark brown curls, the reflection of the flames painting her skin in gold, I can’t shake the thought that Richard would probably kill me for the things crossing my mind.
Actually, he would most definitely kill me.
Still, I can’t help being curious.
What does she think of us?
What kind of stories has she been told?
Are we the reckless idiots from her dad’s glory days, or are we something else entirely?
Whatever her answer is, I want to hear it. Every damn word.
Noelle tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, pretending to consider her answer, but I can see the faint flush already creeping up her neck.
The firelight paints every little flicker of emotion across her face like an open book. “You…really want me to answer that?”
“Wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t, sweetheart.”
A shy smile stretches across her lips. “Okay, fine…”
I nod at her. “Go on, then. Hit us.”
She glances around the circle.
She leans forward a little, elbows on her knees, pretending to think, but I can tell by the faint, secret smile tugging at her lips that she already knows exactly what she’s going to say.
Her eyes finally land on Grant.
Her gaze flicks over him from his worn denim to the way he sits upright, hands resting loosely on his thighs.
Even when he’s at ease, Grant still looks like a man in charge of something.
It’s in the posture, the stillness that he holds himself with. You can’t easily erase that even after a glass and a half of wine buzzing through your veins.
“I’ll start with you first, Grant. Hm… let’s see…
” She tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
“You strike me as the type to be strict with how you want things. I could see you scolding people over not leaving their shoes at the door. Or lecturing someone for touching something without asking. I don’t know…
You seem like you run a tight ship. I know my dad told me you had a ranch at one point.
Kind of fits, needing to be strict like that.
Don’t you think? But I think you truly care about those around you. Maybe to a fault.”
That does it.
All three of us burst out laughing.
Even Grant, though true to form, tries to hide it behind a sip of his wine, his jaw tightening like he’s fighting to stay stoic despite the smile trying to crawl across his face.
It’s uncanny how easily she’s read him. Every word, every observation down to his infamous lectures, is spot on.
Grant does run a tight ship.
Always has.
Doesn’t matter if it’s the ranch, a road trip, or a round of poker.
He runs it like a small kingdom with one iron rule.
Hearing it from Noelle, though, hits a little differently.
She’s not mocking him.
She’s just seeing him, and that’s what gets me. Because most people miss the small stuff about Grant.
They see the rough edges, the quiet, the authority, but they don’t catch the diehard loyalty underneath, or the stubborn sense of care that drives him to do the things he does.
Out of anyone, she’s clocked it instantly with nothing but a handful of stories and a single evening to go off.
Maybe there’s more to Noelle than her dad’s ever let on.
Maybe she’s got the same instinct he does—that ability to read a room, to sense things people would rather keep hidden.
She’s sharper than any of us gave her credit for so far, and it’s making me even more intrigued than before.
Grant lowers his glass finally, giving her a long, assessing look that manages to be both amused and a little impressed. “You’re not wrong. Now that I think about it, I do run a tight ship. Comes with the territory of owning a business though, I suppose.”
She claps her hands together in front of her. “I knew it.”
I grin, tipping my glass in her direction. “One down. What about Cal?”
In response, he raises a single brow.
That silent brand of confidence that doesn’t need words to make a point already prominent on his face.
Most people would fold under a look like that. Hell, I’ve seen even full-grown men have backed down from it, but Noelle doesn’t even blink.
She holds his gaze, chin tilted up just slightly, and something about that quiet defiance makes the corner of Cal’s mouth twitch. Barely, but it’s there.
Honestly, it impresses me all over again.
The room is quiet for a second before she breaks the silence with a soft hum, tilting her head like she’s still figuring him out. “You’ve got…soldier energy.”
His brow lifts a little higher, tone bone-dry when he echoes, “Soldier energy?”
“Yeah.” S gestures vaguely with her hand as though she’s painting the thought into the air. “Like…I don’t know. From the minute you walked through the door, I could tell you were assessing the whole room. Looking around for something not quite right. Or calculating all the exit routes.”
Cal’s expression doesn’t change much, but his eyes narrow just a fraction, curious now.
She keeps going, her voice picking up as she continues. “Is that something you always do? Because usually only trained soldiers do that. The whole ‘situational awareness’ thing.”
Her tone is casual, even a little teasing, but I can tell she’s not just shooting in the dark with what she’s guessing.
Most people look at Cal and see the surface: the quiet guy with the sharp jaw and that unnerving stillness that makes them second-guess their every move.
But she’s zeroed in on the truth buried under all that composure.
The discipline he carries like it’s been infused into his bone marrow.
Even retired, he still moves like a soldier.
Calm.
Controlled.
But always ready to jump at a moment’s notice.
Somehow, this girl who’s known us less than a day, has picked up on it before any of us have said a word.
I glance at Grant, and even he looks a little thrown.
Noelle trails off mid-thought, her confidence faltering as she catches herself.
The sudden quiet makes her voice catch.