Chapter 12 Tori
Chapter Twelve
Tori
It was kind of odd to be a customer at the place where I worked.
Not because anyone made it feel that way, but it just felt strange to sit in a space where I was usually carrying trays, delivering food and drinks, and the like.
My muscle memory kept wanting to jump in and help.
Tish was firmly holding me at bay and handling hosting duties tonight.
“It’s our contribution,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me as if I were about to snatch a tray and start bussing tables.
“But our contribution does not include one of our waitstaff who is here for social reasons, trying to sneak in unpaid labor.” She swatted me away just as Griffin stopped beside her and slid an arm around her waist.
“The food is amazing,” he said, patting his stomach.
Tish flushed a little, smiling. “Thank you. I’ll give your compliments to the chef.”
“It’s David,” Griffin said with a little chuckle.
David was the longtime chef from the original Fireweed Winery location in Fireweed Harbor.
He’d insisted on coming out here when they opened this expansion restaurant, even though he was supposed to be trying to slow down his work schedule these days.
He still handled the menu and managed things, but they were definitely in the market for someone to take on the full-time role.
“He’s working more than I would like,” Tish chimed in with a frown. “If you know anyone, let us know.”
“I’ll ask around,” I offered. “I’ve got a few friends in Anchorage who work in the restaurant scene.”
Tish got pulled away into a conversation with some arriving guests.
Meanwhile, Kincaid and I wandered over to stand near one of the cocktail tables lining the edges of the room.
The silent auction for artwork was in full swing now, with bidding moving along at a good clip.
All of the works were from Alaskan artists, which made the event even more special.
One of those artists, Jasmine, stopped beside us. She was glowing with her hair spun in a loose knot and her smile warm and bright.
“Tori, I keep meaning to find you when you’re not working,” she said.
“Well, good news,” I replied, gesturing to my skirt paired with a silk blouse and heels. “I’m officially off the clock.”
“You two know each other, I presume?” Kincaid asked, amusement lacing in his voice.
Jasmine grinned, just as her husband Donovan, also a firefighter, strolled over and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Good to see you. Are you up to speed yet?” Donovan said to Kincaid, eyes crinkling with a smile.
“Up to speed?” Jasmine asked, peering up at him.
“Getting to know everyone here,” he said. “Small-town living’s a whole different beast when it’s new. It’s like everyone else went to the same school, has the same stories, and you’re just trying to figure out who all the characters are.”
“Jasmine was a few years ahead of me in school,” I added. “So we didn’t overlap too much when we were younger.”
She shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re back. Speaking of, have you come to card night yet?” she asked.
I blinked. “Um, when is it next?”
Before she could answer, Luna and Casey appeared, each with drinks in hand.
“Even I know when card night is,” Casey said, nudging my arm. “Tori, you have to come.”
“I do?”
“Yes,” Casey said with a firm nod.
For a flash, a lingering and familiar uncertainty flickered inside.
I’d been in high school when my family’s drama exploded.
It had deeply affected me, in the sense of feeling like I wanted to hide from everyone.
I couldn’t help but remember those moments when I was just trying to find my place in the midst of the mess.
I’d felt as if I was always on the outer edges of things, just trying to keep my head low and out of anyone’s attention.
As a result, I mostly avoided social events.
It hadn’t helped that my former friend—Shelly’s daughter—had been one of the more popular girls. She developed a talent for sweet exclusion, always managing to make it clear I wasn’t quite welcome.
When the gossip exploded all those years ago, I remember feeling as if I were a pinata. The one being smacked over and over in someone else’s celebration—bits of my life flying everywhere while people gathered to collect whatever pieces they could and gossip about them later.
None of it felt good, no matter how juicy and saccharine sweet the gossip about my family had been. Now, with everyone smiling and chatting all around, I felt unsettled and uncertain. Maybe it was just me trying to find my footing in a place that was once home, that I’d left feeling cast out.
Tonight, I was on a date—with Kincaid. Someone who made me feel like I wasn’t a pinata anymore. That maybe I could start anew, blaze a fresh trail in my life.
“It’s at Lucy and Levi’s place,” Jasmine was saying. “He has a new hamster.”
“A hamster?” A laugh sputtered out of me.
“I know, right? My husband has a pet hamster. He had one named Ham for years,” Lucy chimed in, appearing at Jasmine’s side with a bemused grin.
“Out of curiosity, how long do hamsters live?” Jasmine asked.
“About three years,” Lucy replied. “So, yeah, Ham passed. There was even a funeral.”
Kincaid carefully schooled his expression to neutral. “A funeral for a pet hamster?” he asked.
Lucy was tiny, almost fairy-like, with her long blond hair and petite size.
I glanced between her and Jasmine and back to Kincaid.
Lucy shrugged. “Yup, for a hamster. Anyway, please come,” she added.
“We’re working on letting the new hamster run loose in the house.
Ham was unusual in that regard. Tomorrow night, around six? ”
“Should I pick you up?” Casey asked, looking at me hopefully.
Before I knew it, I was nodding. Apparently, I had plans tomorrow evening.
The rest of the night rolled along, and I was acutely aware of Kincaid’s presence the entire time.
I tried to remember the last time I went on a date, and I was pretty sure it had been in college.
Which was kind of ironic, considering how much of a bust college had been for me.
I’d never been able to figure out what I wanted to do.
I’d drifted from major to major before graduating.
Despite that aimlessness, since I’d moved back home to Willow Brook, I felt like I was settling into something more solid.
A position with Fireweed Industries was coming together, possibly an events coordinator role I hadn’t expected to want, but actually did.
In the meantime, I genuinely liked waitressing.
I loved talking to people. I liked the rhythm of it, the motion, the bustle, the conversations. My shifts flew by.
But dating? That hadn’t flown at all, much less ever gotten off the ground.
I’d dated a bit in college. Nothing serious and nothing that lasted.
I hadn’t dated at all in high school—mostly out of sheer embarrassment about the scandal that had blown up around my dad and the sharp edge of anger about all of it that pricked under my skin.
I’d tried to shove that anger down in college, but it never went away.
I’d never been surprised that none of my dating relationships went anywhere.
I didn’t trust, at all. I’d never gone on a date with someone like Kincaid.
He felt steady, grounded, and even kind.
A man who made me feel like I didn’t have to be anyone but myself, and that, somehow, was the most terrifying part.
“Shall we?” he said at one point, as the crowd started to thin out later in the evening.
“Shall we what?” I asked, confused.
He tipped his head slightly, his lips barely quirking at the corners. Just that hint of a smile sent sparks scattering like pinwheels across my skin. The low hum of my pulse revved louder.
“Shall we, you know, leave?” he asked.
“Have you done your duty?” I teased.
He looked around, scanning the room. “I think so. About half my crew left. We’re in the clear.”
We started to make our way out, and I felt his palm rest just above the curve of my lower back. The heat of it felt comforting as he gently coaxed me forward through the room.
The moment we stepped outside, the cool evening air struck my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I said when we paused near the gravel parking lot.
“For what?” he asked.
“For taking me. That was nice.”
This time, his smile stretched slowly from one corner of his mouth to the other—and my belly did a full swoop.
“Well, thank you for coming with me,” he said.
I felt giddy as I smiled back at him. Our footsteps crunched over gravel as we resumed walking. I loved this time of year. It felt like the world was waking up again, coming alive after the deep hush of winter as spring began to take hold.
There were jokes galore about spring and mud season in Alaska and the blink of fall, but every season was distinct here and had its own charms. The days were getting longer, and even though it was fairly late in the evening, there were still remnants of light outside as the night came to gradually claim the sky from the day.
The blue was fading into a soft, deep smudgy purple with the moon rising and the last glimmers of the sun shimmering above the mountain ridge in the distance.
In this moment, standing here with Kincaid, I didn’t feel like I was carrying the weight of all my baggage. I just felt like a woman on a date, with a good man.
We stopped beside his truck, and all of my senses felt alive, tingling and attuned to him. An owl called somewhere nearby, its low hoot echoing in the quiet, followed by another answer farther off in the distance. A bird flew overhead, and the soft whoosh of its wings sliced through the night air.
“The woo-woo birds,” I murmured, barely above a whisper.
“The woo-woo birds?” Kincaid asked, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling faintly. “Their wings make that whistling sound. It’s called winnowing. They’re Wilson’s snipes, small, fast birds that fly low. You can’t always see them, but you can hear them. Woo-woo.” I mimicked the sound, soft and airy.
“There’s nothing amazing about how they look,” I added, “but I love the sound.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. We’d stopped on the passenger side of his truck, and his hand was curled loosely around the handle. I tilted my head up, abruptly aware of how close we were, how still he was.
He lifted his free hand and gently brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead, his fingers grazing my skin. His feather-light touch along the outer shell of my ear sent a shiver skating down my spine. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and my breath caught.
An impulse struck me, fast and sudden. I leaned forward and pressed my lips into the small dip at the base of his throat.
That warm little hollow—exposed beneath the open edge of his shirt—was too tempting.
His skin was sun-kissed even now, in spring.
But he lived a life outdoors, and it showed.
I lingered there for a moment before pulling back.
My knees felt unsteady, and my heart was racing.
His eyes—God, his eyes—were molten. “Tori,” he rasped.
“Yeah?” I whispered. My voice was barely there. The world blurred around the edges, my thoughts hazy like fog.
“This,” he murmured.
On the heels of a breath, his lips were on mine. I felt the shape of that word—this—as surely as I felt his mouth move against mine. It was all fire and heat and slow hunger. There were kisses, and then there were Kincaid’s kisses.
He kissed away the doubts clanging in my thoughts. He kissed open the quiet in my heart that I didn’t let anyone near. Even if fleeting, he made me forget the ache of old wounds.
I leaned into our kiss, into him, with everything I didn’t know I was holding back.
For a few weightless, shimmering moments, nothing else mattered but this.
Every motion was slow, languid, teasing, and designed to bring me to my knees.
My knees actually did give out, but, blessedly, I sagged against the truck behind me just as one of his arms banded around my waist to hold me close. I tried to breathe.
Kincaid drew back, dusting one kiss at one corner of my mouth and then the other before he claimed my lips again.
This time, his tongue swept in, with not even an ounce of hesitation, and I loved it.
I loved the way he just dove in. I loved the way I was burning up with need as I flexed against him.
All of him was strong and hard. I could feel the flex of the muscles in his arms, his strong, muscled chest. He gentled our kiss, lifting his head, whispering my name again. It took an effort to drag my eyes open. My breath was coming in shallow gasps as I stared up at him.
“We should go,” he rasped.
Just then, I heard the sound of tires on gravel and the back door to the restaurant opening and closing. Voices spilled out into the parking lot before muting again.
“Oh,” I said because that was all I could manage.
“Let me take you home.”
“Okay.” Wow. Two whole syllables that time.
He stepped back, and my mind was like static.
My body was on fire, alight with heat and sparks flickering inside.
When he opened the door and helped me into his truck, my knees were so wobbly that my foot slipped on the running board.
He caught me by the hip. Even in that clumsy moment, with the press of his fingers holding me steady, felt like kindling on the fire burning inside.