Chapter 7 Knox
Knox
The hall smells like floor polish and coffee that’s been sitting too long on a warmer. Voices overlap—low murmurs, restless, threaded through with the sound of folding chairs scraping against linoleum.
The air carries that small-town electricity that builds when everyone gathers in one place, full of opinions and nerves. I can almost feel it prickling against my skin.
Jake stands beside me near the front, half-grinning, the kind of smile that says don’t screw this up. Beside him, Captain Gabe Ashford leans back in his seat, arms folded across his chest, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. I’ve only worked with him for a few hours, but he seems reliable enough.
When the mayor clears his throat, the crowd hushes—mostly. A baby cries somewhere near the back, followed by the sound of someone shushing it. The mayor straightens, adjusts his glasses, and raises his voice.
“Folks, as you know, our community’s been through a lot these past months.
The fires, the losses, the rebuilding—it’s tested all of us.
But Driftwood’s nothing if not resilient.
” He pauses, letting the murmurs settle again.
“Today, we officially welcome our new sheriff, Mr. Knox Hill, who’s moved here from New York City.
He’s already met with the department and Captain Ashford, and we’re lucky to have him. Sheriff Hill?”
I step forward, the weight of a hundred eyes following me. The podium’s too short. The mic squeals once when I touch it, earning a few laughs. Small ones, but it breaks the tension.
“Evening,” I start. My voice echoes off the high ceilings. “I know most of you don’t know me yet. I’ve only been in Driftwood a few hours, but I’ve already seen what kind of place this is. You look out for each other. You show up when it matters. That’s what makes a community strong.”
A few nods. Some faces soften. Others stay wary. I can’t blame them. A stranger walking in with a badge—people wonder what that means, what I’ll change, if I’ll understand what it’s like to live where everyone knows your business.
“I came from a city that never stops moving,” I continue.
“Here, things are slower—but that’s not the same as safe.
After the fires, it’s natural to worry about what comes next.
I’ve reviewed the reports. Some of the incidents were accidents.
But not all of them. There’s been talk of arsons tied to insurance claims, and while I won’t confirm anything before the investigation’s done, I can tell you this much: Someone’s been taking advantage of your losses. Of your trust. That ends now.”
The room shifts. People lean in. Chairs creak. Gabe glances at me, nodding once, subtle approval in the tilt of his head.
“I’ll be working closely with Captain Ashford and his team,” I say, gesturing toward him.
“We’re restructuring coordination between the sheriff’s office and the fire department—shared call logs, faster response routes, joint inspections where necessary.
The goal isn’t just to react, it’s to prevent.
We’ll be putting up cameras near the pier, updating the volunteer patrols, and reinforcing safety protocols for the businesses downtown.
Driftwood deserves to feel secure again. My job is to make sure you can.”
A low rumble of agreement moves through the crowd. Not applause yet, but acceptance. I take a breath and let my shoulders ease a fraction.
Then I see her.
It happens by accident. I glance toward the back of the room, looking for one of the deputies. But my gaze catches on something else instead—blonde hair, a flash of green eyes that are unflinching.
Millie.
For a second, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing.
It’s like someone pulled the air out of the room.
She’s sitting near the back, half-hidden between two other women, her posture stiff, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Her eyes meet mine, and everything that was easy a moment ago shatters into noise.
Oh, hell.
Oh, no.
The same eyes that looked up at me last night when I—
I grip the sides of the podium, fingers tightening around the edge. My mouth is still moving, words coming out, but I’m not hearing them. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else.
Her face doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of recognition. The quick rise of her chest. The flush that climbs her neck before she looks down.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I keep talking—something about safety drills, coordination, public trust—but my brain’s spinning. Why the hell did I have a one-night stand?
I didn’t think. I didn’t want to think.
Now, all I can think about is the feel of her skin against my palms, the sound she made when she said my name, the look in her eyes when I pushed inside her.
Oh, God.
I fucked up.
I fucked up bad.
I catch Gabe’s movement out of the corner of my eye—he’s nodding toward the clipboard the mayor’s holding. My cue to wrap it up.
I clear my throat, trying to sound composed. “The department’s doors are always open. If you see something that doesn’t sit right, say something. Together, we can make sure Driftwood stays the kind of place that takes care of its own.”
Applause follows, hesitant at first, then stronger. I step back, heart still hammering, palms damp.
The mayor smiles, saying something about volunteer recognition. My brain registers fragments—“incredible effort,” “community spirit,” “Driftwood’s heart.” The crowd claps again as a handful of people move toward the front, most of them faces I don’t know. Then I hear her name.
“Millie Harper.”
She hesitates for a second before standing.
The crowd cheers louder this time, clapping, some even whistling. Apparently, she’s known around here—one of those people who shows up to help without being asked. She looks embarrassed, cheeks pink, hands twisting in front of her as she joins the others.
I can’t look away.
Her hair’s pulled up, a few strands falling loose around her face. She’s wearing a soft green cardigan that makes her look like spring in human form. She glances up once, searching the crowd, and for the briefest second, our eyes lock again.
My stomach drops.
The same green eyes. The same soft mouth. The same woman who’d whispered my name like a secret while I held her in my lap.
I’m sure everyone can see it written all over me. The guilt, the shock, the mess of it all. I force my jaw to relax, nod faintly when someone in the front row catches my attention. Just another day, another handshake, another introduction. Nothing unusual. Nothing to see here.
Except there is.
Every nerve in my body’s on fire, because now I’m remembering things I shouldn’t—how she smelled, how she moved, how her fingers dug into my shoulders when she came apart.
My throat’s dry, my collar too tight. I glance toward Gabe, pretending to focus on what he’s saying to the mayor, but my pulse won’t slow.
When the volunteers line up, the mayor shakes each of their hands, saying a few words. I keep my expression neutral, professional. Sheriff. Not the man who spent last night buried inside one of those volunteers.
Millie reaches the front of the line.
For a split second, she looks right at me, expression unreadable. Then she looks past me, smiling politely at the mayor, who says something about her dedication to the community. The crowd claps again, louder this time. She laughs softly, and the sound twists something in my chest I can’t name.
I take a step back, far enough that I can breathe again, at least on the outside. Inside, it’s chaos. I can feel the weight of her presence even after she sits back down.
Gabe leans closer, voice low. “You okay, Sheriff?”
I nod once. “Fine.”
He studies me for a beat too long, then lets it go.
The meeting rolls on—budget talk, upcoming fundraisers, disaster relief programs. I hear words like “reconstruction permits” and “fire assessments,” but none of it sticks.
My mind keeps circling back to her. To the fact that the woman I spent the night with isn’t just a local—she’s Millie Harper, Driftwood’s sweetheart, the volunteer everyone loves.
How the hell am I supposed to do my job when every time I close my eyes, I see her face?
When the meeting finally ends, people start filing out, chairs scraping, voices overlapping again. I stay near the front, answering a few questions from residents. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch glimpses of her moving through the crowd, head ducked slightly, avoiding my gaze.
Good.
Or maybe not.
Part of me wants to stop her. To say something—anything—to explain that I didn’t know. That if I had, I would’ve stopped before it ever started. But another part of me knows that’d only make it worse.
Whatever we were last night, it ends here. It has to.
When I finally look up, she’s gone. Only the faint scent of vanilla and something warm lingers in the air, a ghost of the night I should’ve forgotten.
Jake claps me on the shoulder, startling me out of my thoughts. “Not bad for your first meeting,” he says. “You’ve got the whole town talking.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, watching the doorway where she disappeared. “I bet I do.”
He grins, oblivious. “You handled yourself well. Everyone’s impressed. Captain Ashford too. I think you made a good impression.”
I nod, forcing a tight smile. “Thanks.”
But inside, all I can think is that my so-called fresh start in Driftwood just collided headfirst with the one woman I can’t stop thinking about—and the only one I’m supposed to stay away from.
As the last of the crowd filters out, I grab my jacket and step into the night air.
The breeze carries the faintest trace of the sea, cool and sharp against my skin.
The street’s quiet now, most of the shops dark.
The glow from the town hall spills onto the sidewalk, fading as the door closes behind me.
I stand there for a long moment, hands in my pockets, staring out at the empty street.
I came here to start over. To do things right this time.