Chapter Two
Maddox
I'm elbow-deep in lasagna prep, my third batch since we got back from the lodge, when Jones clears his throat.
"You know, at this rate, we'll be eating Italian for a month." He eyes the two pans already cooling on the counter and the mountain of grated cheese beside me. "Not that anyone's complaining, but usually you only stress-cook like this when you're prepping for an exam."
"I'm not stress-cooking." I layer another sheet of pasta, focusing on getting the edges perfectly straight. "The freezer meals needed restocking."
"Right." He leans against the station kitchen counter, arms crossed. "Like those three batches of cinnamon rolls this morning were 'standard breakfast prep.' And the chicken parmesan yesterday was 'just because.'"
"The probie mentioned he likes Italian." I spread ricotta with maybe more force than necessary.
"The probie also likes breathing, which might be difficult under all this food. Besides, aren't you supposed to be prepping for that wedding this weekend? You know, the one you finally found a date for?"
The spoon clatters against the pan. "It’s not like that."
"Finally getting a real date, Archer?" Martinez strolls in, making a beeline for the cooling lasagna. "Miracles do happen."
I swat his hand away from the food. "It's not a date. It's a favor. To get my mother off my back."
"And all the single women in Elk Ridge," Captain Reynolds's voice makes me jump. He's leaning in the doorway, mustache twitching with poorly hidden amusement. "You just happened to agree to take Ivy Callahan? After weeks of dodging every other suggestion?"
"That was your idea," I point out, aggressive grating another block of mozzarella. "Your terrible, inappropriate idea."
"Terrible?" Johnson pipes up from behind the captain. "Did you see the way she?—"
"Don't." I brandish my cheese grater like a weapon. "Don't finish that sentence."
"If it's so terrible," Captain Reynolds says, that knowing look still on his face, "why do you look like you walked into a burning building without your gear?"
The cheese grater stills in my hand. Because he's right. My heart's racing like I'm about to make entry into a structure fire. Which is ridiculous. This is just Ivy. Ivy, who used to put frogs in my boots during camping trips. Ivy, who knows exactly how to push my buttons. Ivy, who grew up into someone so capable and confident that sometimes I forget to breathe when she?—
"Earth to Maddox." Jones waves his hand in front of my face. "Your sauce is bubbling over."
"Shoot." I grab for the pot, barely registering the burn of the hot handle through my calluses.
"You know," Captain Reynolds says carefully, stealing a piece of garlic bread from the cooling rack, "there's nothing wrong with admitting you might actually want to go to this wedding with her."
"I don't." The words come out too fast, too defensive. "She's Liam's sister."
"And?"
"And she's—" Young? No, she's twenty-eight. Off limits? That sounds worse. "She's Ivy."
"Very observant." Martinez slow claps. "No wonder they made you captain of the B-shift."
I turn back to my lasagna, layering meat sauce with mechanical precision. This is fine. This is nothing more than a wedding. One weekend of Ivy pretending to be my date, then everything goes back to normal. Back to carefully maintained distance and definitely not noticing how her eyes light up when she laughs or how she still bites her lip when she's planning something that'll drive me crazy.
"What Martinez means," Captain Reynolds cuts in, "is that maybe it's time to stop using 'she's Ivy' as an excuse not to deal with whatever's been brewing between you two since she moved back from college."
"Nothing's brewing." But even I can hear the lie as I violently sprinkle more cheese.
"Sure." Jones starts pulling plates down for the crew. "That's why you've been wearing a path in the station floor ever since she took over guest services at the lodge. And why you suddenly remembered we needed to do safety checks there twice as often as usual."
"Standard protocol?—"
"Is once a quarter," Johnson finishes. "Not every time she posts a new Instagram story about lodge events."
I slam the oven door with more force than necessary, setting the timer for forty-five minutes. "Don't you all have work to do?"
"This is work." Martinez grins, already cutting into one of the cooled lasagnas. "Preventing our fearless leader from self-destructing over a wedding date."
"It's not?—"
The station alarm cuts through whatever weak protest I was about to make. Saved by the bell. Finally, something I know how to handle.
"Structure fire on Oak Street," dispatch announces. "Smoke reported from the second floor."
We move as one unit, conversation forgotten as we head for our gear. This is what I'm good at. Clear protocols, defined risks, no complicated feelings about a woman who's always been off limits.
The afternoon sun hits Mountain Laurel Lodge at just the right angle to make the windows gleam like fire. The irony isn’t lost on me. I sit in my truck for a moment, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. After twenty-five years of friendship, you'd think talking to Liam would be easier. But how exactly do you tell your best friend since kindergarten that you're taking his baby sister on a date?
The main entrance is propped open, letting in the mountain breeze. Inside, the lobby is quiet. A few guests lounge by the fireplace, and I catch the scent of whatever Declan's cooking up for dinner service.
"Mad?" Liam looks up from the front desk, using the nickname that's stuck since we were five. "Twice in one day? Don't tell me Tommy found another alarm to pull."
"No, I’m not here on business." I shove my hands in my pockets. "Got a minute?"
"For you? Always." He studies my face for a moment, then calls out, "Dec! I'm taking five!"
We end up on the back patio, the same spot where we used to plot summer adventures and share contraband candy bars. Liam leans against the railing, waiting. He's always been good at letting silence do the work for him. It's a trick he learned from his dad, and even after all these years, it still works.
"So," I finally manage. "About Sarah's wedding this weekend."
"Yeah?"
"I'm taking Ivy."
For a long moment, Liam just stares at me. Then, slowly, one eyebrow rises in that expression I've seen a thousand times. Usually right before he calls me out on my nonsense.
"As your date?"
"Not exactly. It's more like..." I run a hand through my hair, probably making it worse. "My mother keeps calling about plus-ones, and Captain Reynolds suggested—and Ivy offered to help."
"So, a fake date." Liam's smirk fades into something more serious. "To get your mom off your back."
"Yes. Exactly." Relief floods through me. "A favor between friends."
Liam straightens, his expression hardening slightly. "Look, Mad... I know you need this, but Ivy's not just another girl you can?—"
"I would never?—"
"Let me finish." His tone carries the same protective edge I've heard him use with Ivy's past boyfriends. "She puts her whole heart into everything. Make sure she knows this isn't real. That it can't be real."
The words hit harder than they should. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're my best friend, and she's my baby sister." He meets my eyes steadily. "And some lines are better left uncrossed. I can't have either of you getting hurt because you forgot this is just pretend."
"Isn't that the truth?"
I whirl around at Ivy's voice, my chest tight with something that feels too much like guilt. She's standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her smile a little too bright to be real.
"How long have you been standing there?" I manage.
"Long enough to hear my big brother doing his protective routine." She steps onto the patio, but there's a new distance in her stance. "Don't worry, Li. I know exactly what this is. Which reminds me—" She turns to me, all business. "We should probably set some ground rules."
"Rules?"
"Mmhmm." She hops up on the wide stone railing, pointedly ignoring Liam's presence now. "First, no unnecessary touching. Hand-holding at the wedding is fine, but let's not oversell it. We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea."
The edge in her voice makes me wince. "Agreed."
"Second, this is just for the wedding. We officially break up right after. The last thing we need is town gossip about Liam's best friend and his baby sister." She emphasizes the words, and I catch Liam shifting uncomfortably.
"Obviously."
"And most importantly—" She leans forward, her eyes challenging. "No kissing. But that won't be a problem, right? Since some lines are better left uncrossed."
"Right." The word tastes bitter.
"Perfect." She slides off the railing, all traces of her usual playful smirk gone. "Then we're all set. I'll text you about dress colors. Wouldn't want to clash in the photos your mom's so worried about."
I watch her walk away, the stiff set of her shoulders making my chest ache. When did that gap-toothed kid who used to follow us fishing turn into someone who could make me feel like I've lost something I never had?