Chapter 19 #2
“Could just be a loose connection,” he offers, but his voice lacks conviction.
I want to believe it’s just a minor technical glitch that hopefully people won’t notice too much. The float continues down Main Street, getting closer to our position, and Santa keeps waving enthusiastically like nothing is wrong.
The crowd doesn’t seem to notice the flickering lights, too focused on Santa himself.
Maybe it’ll be fine and it’ll hold together for the next ten minutes until the float clears the route.
Then, as the float reaches a position maybe fifty feet from where Chris and I are standing, something sparks from the light rigging.
A bright flash, visible even in daylight.
The crowd gasps collectively. “Ooooh!” People pull back instinctively from the barriers.
And then flames erupt from the edge of the float where the lights are mounted. Orange and hungry, spreading fast across the decorative garland.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe.
My training kicks in immediately. I’m already pressing the button on my radio. “We have a fire on Santa’s float. I need fire suppression at the Main Street and Fourth Avenue intersection NOW. Everyone, clear the area around the float immediately!”
I’m moving before I finish speaking, Chris right beside me as we duck under the rope barriers onto the street.
“Everyone, step back!” I’m shouting, waving my arms. “Move away from the float! Clear the area!”
The float has stopped moving, and I see the driver scrambling out of the cab, looking shocked and terrified.
Chris is already getting onto the float on the opposite side to the climbing flames, reaching for Santa on the elevated platform.
Santa is frozen, staring at the flames spreading across the front of the float.
Chris barks something at him, and that gets him moving.
They are down the stairs in no time and safely onto the street just as the flames spread to engulf nearly half of the float’s decorative exterior.
Smoke rises into the sky, and I want to die from this happening now.
The crowd is backing up, some people screaming, parents clutching children, everyone pulling out phones to film. This is a disaster.
Two firefighters in full gear running toward us, carrying specialized backpack units with nozzles. Atlas, the fire station chief, I recognize him immediately because I coordinated with him personally to have fire support stationed at strategic points along the route. Just in case.
Thank God I did.
Atlas is a very large man, easily six three, built like the Greek god he’s named after, with tanned skin and dark brown hair trimmed short at the sides. And he is captivating.
“Clear out!” he shouts with the kind of authority that makes people obey instantly. “Everyone, back!”
He and his partner move fast toward the burning float, aiming their nozzles at the flames.
Chris appears at my side, his hand on my elbow drawing me back from the heat. “They’ve got it. Let them work.”
I watch, my heart hammering so hard I feel it in my throat, as the two firefighters spray the flames with some kind of chemical foam that I assume they use for electrical fires.
The flames resist at first, but within a couple of minutes, they’re extinguished, leaving black char marks across half the float and smoke rising in plumes.
Santa and the driver are safe, standing at a distance, looking shaken.
Everyone is safe.
But the parade is completely stopped, and hundreds of people are watching, filming, posting to social media.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Of course a fire happens on my parade. Of course.
“We need to get it off the route,” I say to Chris, my voice shakier than I want. “The parade needs to continue. We can’t just—”
“I’m on it.”
He’s already striding toward Atlas, and I watch as they exchange quick words. Then Atlas nods, and suddenly all three men, Chris, Atlas, and the other firefighter, are positioning themselves around the charred float and pushing.
The float is enormous and heavy, but they move it, steering it toward a side street.
I rush forward to maneuver people out of the way, unhooking the rope barriers and directing the crowd back. “Please step aside! Make room!”
A few bystanders jump in to help direct foot traffic, and I could kiss every single one of them for their assistance. The men get the float pushed completely off Main Street into the side alley, out of sight of the parade route.
I jog over to Santa. “Are you okay?” I ask, scanning him for injuries.
“Fine. Just scared the hell out of me.” His voice is trembling. “One second everything was fine, and the next second it was on fire.”
“I’m so glad you’re safe.” I grip his shoulder. “I need you to do me a favor. Start walking down the parade route, waving like everything’s okay. Show everyone that Santa’s fine. Can you do that?”
He nods, some color returning to his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
I turn to the driver. “Stay with the float. I’m sending someone to tow it back to the staging garages for a full inspection.”
He nods mutely, still looking stunned, and then I put the call in with the team.
Atlas approaches, pulling off his helmet, and even stressed and covered in soot, the man is objectively gorgeous—strong jaw, dark eyes, the kind of presence that commands respect.
“Electrical fire,” he says without preamble. “Likely a short in the wiring or a faulty connection that sparked when it shouldn’t have. If everything was installed properly, this shouldn’t have happened. Needs a full inspection to determine the exact cause.”
“That’s going to happen,” I assure him. “I need to know how this could have occurred when everything was supposedly checked.”
“I’ll stay here and make sure there’s nothing else that might reignite,” Atlas offers. “You get back to your parade. You’ve got people waiting.”
“Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much.”
He nods and turns back to the charred float.
I make my way back to the viewing area where Chris is waiting, and I feel like I might throw up.
“Sometimes these things happen,” Chris says gently, reading my expression. “You couldn’t have predicted—”
“But it’s on me.” My voice cracks slightly. “All of this comes back on me. The safety, the inspection, everything. This is my event.”
“And you handled it perfectly. No one was hurt. That’s what matters.”
“People are going to remember the parade where Santa’s float caught fire.”
“Actually, people are already talking about those adorable reindeer,” he counters. “I heard at least five different conversations praising that addition.”
I want to believe him, but the dread sitting heavily in my chest won’t budge.
Slowly, the crowd returns its attention to the parade route, and following Santa.
Chris produces a bottle of water from somewhere and hands it to me. “Drink. You’re pale.”
I take it gratefully and gulp down half the bottle, the cold water helping to clear my head slightly.
“You’re doing great,” he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know you’re stressed, but you handled an emergency with grace and efficiency.”
I lean into his touch for just a moment, drawing strength from his solid presence.
My team is moving along Main Street, removing rope barriers, waving to the dispersing crowd who all seem happy and satisfied despite the earlier fire.
The Santa float has already been towed away to the staging area, but I can’t stop thinking about how much worse it could have been. If the flames had spread faster, if people had panicked and stampeded, if Santa had fallen from that platform…
My phone rings, and my stomach drops when I see that it’s the council member we booked this event through, the head of the public events committee.
I answer with a shaking hand. “Hello, Margaret.”
“Hannah, I heard about the fire on the Santa float. How did that happen?”
My stomach churns. “We’re investigating the exact cause. The electrician who inspected everything certified it as safe, but clearly something went wrong. I’ve already ordered a full—”
“Look,” Margaret interrupts, and her tone is firm but not unkind.
“I know sometimes shit happens. Equipment fails, things go wrong despite our best efforts. Most people I’ve talked to are actually raving about your last-minute addition to the parade, those adorable reindeer. They saved you in a way.”
Some of the tension eases from my shoulders. “I’m so glad people enjoyed them.”
“But, Hannah, the tree lighting ceremony next week is even more important. Higher stakes, more visibility, more things that can go wrong. I need you to promise me it will go off without a hitch.”
“I promise. I’ll triple-check everything. Quadruple-check. I’ll personally inspect every single element.”
“Good. I’m counting on you. The council is counting on you.”
She hangs up, and I stand there staring at my phone.
The pressure is crushing. The tree lighting has to be perfect.
Has to be. And suddenly my body temperature spikes dramatically.
Heat floods through me, not embarrassment or stress, but actual physical heat that makes sweat break out across my skin.
No. Not now. God, not now.
“Chris, we need to go see what they found with the float,” I say quickly, trying to ignore the growing ache between my thighs.
“Are you okay?” He’s studying my face with concern. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine. I just need to know what happened. Please.”
He takes my hand in his, squeezing gently. “Want me to carry you? You look unsteady.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “No, it’s okay. But I love that you asked.”
“I adore you, you know that?” His voice goes soft, intimate. “And you’re not working here alone. We have your back. Always.”
I stop walking and look up at him, and something in my chest clenches painfully. Then I hug him tightly, burying my face against his chest. “I love that so much. Thank you.”