Chapter 5
I track Hazel as she practically sprints down the forest path, her long hair streaming behind her. Even from this distance, the tension in her shoulders is evident, the way she’s holding herself like she’s fleeing from something dangerous.
Or someone.
Hazel Brennen can say whatever she wants, but she still wants me. Or at least my body. The question is whether I’m willing to use her weakness against her.
“Come on, Max.” I whistle for my wayward dog, who’s still standing at the edge of the clearing, tail wagging as he watches Hazel disappear into the trees. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one morning.”
Max trots over with that pleased expression dogs get when they’ve successfully completed a mission they assigned themselves. His golden fur is matted with mud and burrs from whatever adventure led him to “escape” and find Hazel on Elm Street.
Right.
“You didn’t escape, did you?” I scratch behind his ears, and his tail wags harder. “You broke free on purpose. Smart boy.”
I’ve had Max and Scout for eight years—found them as puppies the day after Hazel left town, actually. They’d been wandering around the woods lost and alone, and I’d been too raw, too broken to let anything else suffer if I could help it.
Scout barks from inside the cabin, nose pressed against the window, impatient to rejoin his partner in crime.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” I head toward the porch, my mind still replaying the way Hazel’s breath caught when she saw me shirtless. The way her eyes had darkened, pupils dilating as her gaze traced over my chest and shoulders.
Inside the cabin, Scout immediately starts his reunion dance with Max—circling, play-bowing, generally acting like they’ve been separated for weeks instead of an hour. I fill their water bowls and check their food, letting my thoughts wander.
She’d tried to hide it, tried to act unaffected, but I saw everything. The flush that crept up her neck. The way she swallowed hard. How she’d leaned toward me before catching herself and jerking back like I’d burned her.
What would have happened if I’d kissed her?
If I’d closed that last inch between us and claimed her mouth the way every cell in my body was demanding?
I remember the explosive chemistry we used to have—how one kiss could turn into hours tangled together, breathless and desperate.
How she used to melt against me like I was the only solid thing in her world.
The memory hits me hard, and I have to grip the edge of the counter. Eight years, and I can still taste her on my tongue, still feel the way she’d gasp my name against my lips.
She would have kissed me back. I know it. The same way she always did—fierce and hungry and completely mine.
At least until she remembered all the reasons she left in the first place.
I’ve changed over the years—filled out, gotten stronger, more confident. Women notice. Hell, half the single women in three counties have made it clear they’re interested. But I never cared before. Never bothered to use my looks to get what I wanted from anyone.
With Hazel, though? Everything’s different.
The hot shower feels good against muscles still warm from clearing the fallen trees from my access road. I let the water wash away the sweat and dirt while I continue to think about the morning, about the way Hazel’s eyes locked on mine when I cupped her face.
We almost kissed. Right there in broad daylight, with her practically vibrating with desire and me ready to forget every reason this was complicated.
Then she ran.
But she’ll be back in my sights at two o’clock. We have festival planning to do, decorations to organize.
I towel off and get dressed, my body still humming with the memory of almost kissing her. By the time I pull on my uniform and get ready to head into town, I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me—like she wanted to devour me whole.
Two o’clock can’t come fast enough.
I stride into the fire station with a spring in my step that hasn’t been there in years.
The morning air is brisk with autumn’s bite, and Main Street is already bustling with preparations for the Harvest Festival.
Orange and gold garland drapes from every storefront, and the scent of cinnamon and apple cider drifts from Brennen’s Brew across the street.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Declan observes from where he’s polishing equipment near the bay doors. He’s got that knowing grin on his face that usually means trouble. “What’s got you so chipper this morning?”
I ignore him and head straight for my office, but I can’t wipe the satisfied smile off my face. The look in Hazel’s eyes when she saw me shirtless—pure, unfiltered desire. She still wants me.
But do I want to start something again when I could get hurt? Am I willing to watch Hazel leave me again?
The questions circle in my mind as I settle behind my desk.
We’re not young anymore. I’m not the heartbroken twenty-one-year-old who let her walk away without a fight.
And if I make her fall in love with me—really fall, not just the physical attraction I saw this morning—if I make her want to stay, would she?
I lean back in my chair, examining my options. The truth hits me like a punch to the gut: I’ve never gotten over Hazel. Never. Not in eight years of telling myself I had, not through the handful of relationships that never went anywhere because they weren’t her.
But now that she’s here, hurt and vulnerable and clearly still attracted to me, maybe I just have to give her a reason to stay. She has no job, no home to return to, and no shithead boyfriend. She has no ties outside of town anymore. If I can convince her to stay, if I can win back her heart…
The plans form in my mind, and I find myself pleased with the possibilities. Three weeks until the festival. Three weeks of working closely together, of reminding her what we had, of showing her what we could have again.
I plan to use this time very wisely.
“Chief!” Mason bounds into my office like an overeager puppy, interrupting my thoughts. “Mrs. Jillian wants to know if we can move the pumpkin carving station closer to the gazebo. Something about better foot traffic for the judging.”
I lean back in my chair, my mind still half-focused on the memory of Hazel’s flushed cheeks. “Whatever she wants. It’s her show.”
Mason blinks at me in surprise. “Really? Usually you have opinions about vendor placement.”
“Not today.” I turn to my computer, pulling up the festival layout spreadsheet. “Anything else?”
“Uh... Brittany’s outside.” Mason’s voice takes on a careful tone. “I told her you weren’t in yet but she won’t leave.”
My good mood dims. “What does she want this time?”
“Said she wanted to volunteer for decorating duties. Something about how last year’s decorations were...” Mason winces. “Her words were ‘amateur hour.’”
Before I can respond, heels click across the station floor. I look up to see Brittany herself approaching my office, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the morning breeze, wearing a dress that costs more than most people’s monthly rent.
The two of us dated through middle school till I was sixteen and she seems to think that gives her some right over me.
“Luke!” Her smile is bright as she leans against my doorframe. “I was hoping to catch you.”
Mason takes this as his cue to disappear, leaving me alone with her.
“Brittany.” I keep my voice neutral, professional. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I was just telling Declan that I’d love to help with festival decorations this year.” She steps into my office uninvited, her gaze sweeping over the paperwork on my desk. “After last year’s... tragic attempt... I thought the festival could use someone with actual taste.”
“We’ve got it handled.”
Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches. “Do you? Because from what I remember, you ended up hanging wilted corn stalks and calling it festive.” She laughs, the sound grating on my ears. “Surely you’d want someone who knows what they’re doing. I’m the only Events Planner in town.”
“Like I said, it’s covered.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
Something flickers in her blue eyes—curiosity mixed with irritation.
“Really? And who exactly is this mystery decorator?” She moves closer to my desk, her voice dropping to that sultry tone she thinks is irresistible.
“You know, Luke, we could discuss this over dinner. That new restaurant in Burlington—”
“No, Brittany.”
“Come on.” She leans forward, resting her hands on my desk. “It’s just dinner. We’re both adults.”
“The answer is no. Same as it was last month, and the month before that.”
Her smile falters for just a moment before snapping back into place. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.” She straightens, smoothing down her dress. “But seriously, about the decorations—”
“Not happening.” I lean back in my chair, making it clear this conversation is over. “Thanks for stopping by.”
The dismissal hangs in the air between us. We’re not enemies exactly—too much history for that—but we’re not friends either. Hard to be friends with someone who dumped you the day after your parents’ funeral when your uncle seized everything you thought you’d inherit.
Her smile tightens, but she maintains her composure. “Well, if you change your mind about either offer...” She places a business card on my desk with manicured fingers. “I’m always available.”
The way she says “available” makes my skin crawl. After she finally leaves, clicking back across the station in her designer heels, I crumble up her card and toss it in the trash.
This dance has played out dozens of times over the years—ever since I got my family’s properties back and suddenly became worth her attention again. Brittany finds excuses to stop by, asks me out, I turn her down, she leaves with her pride intact but her persistence unchanged.