Chapter 20
Twenty
Tarryn
I park across from the firehouse and let the music and laughter steady me.
Twinkle lights frame the bay doors. It smells like chili and coffee even from here.
A dusting of frost rims the sidewalk, and my breath turns to little clouds in the streetlight.
Somewhere a bell rings, sharp and bright, and I picture the river frozen under the bridge.
I pick up the tray of gingerbread and cross the street.
No more waiting. No more fear calling the shots.
The door is propped with a wrapped box. Heat meets me. Voices roll. A paper banner shouts Happy Holidays in crooked letters. A rookie spots me and grins like I’m smuggling treasure.
“Delivery,” I tell him.
“You must be Tarryn,” he answers. “He talks about you.” He tips his head toward the coffee urn.
Declan stands there with a half smile like the punch line is mine. He looks tired in a way that makes me want to cup his face. He clocks me, then everything in the room narrows to us.
“Hi,” I tell him.
“Hi,” he answers, low.
The captain clocks the tray. “You brought cookies. You’re family now.”
“Careful,” Declan tells him. “She’ll take that literally.”
I wipe my palms on my coat and feel the old script trying to drag me back to quiet. I step up on the small stump under the tree, grab the trunk for balance, and turn to the room.
“Can I’ve your attention for a minute?”
The hum dips. Declan sets a hand on my boot to steady me. I breathe.
“My name is Tarryn Paradise. I run a vineyard. I’m stubborn, I’m afraid of losing what I love, and I’m not great at speeches unless there are grapes involved.”
Someone whistles. The captain grins and hushes them.
“I love Declan Conner,” I tell them. “I love him when he gets it right and when he owns it after he gets it wrong. I love the way he shows up. I love the way he looks at fire like it can be reasoned with. I choose him. No more hiding. I choose him, and I wanted you to hear it from me.”
For a heartbeat, no one breathes. The sound of the string lights hums. Then the room bursts into applause like a struck match flaring to life.
A soft silence spreads after the cheer. Declan looks up at me like thunder just rolled through him. He opens his arms.
“Come here,” he tells me.
I step down and he catches me. He tastes like coffee. The room erupts as his mouth finds mine. A spoon hits a pot like a bell. Someone whoops. We break when breathing becomes a thing again. He keeps one hand at my back like he is not ready to let the moment move on.
“You’re out of your mind,” he murmurs.
“Completely. Stay with me anyway.”
“I was always going to.”
The captain claps. “House rule. Big declaration earns a toast.”
“I lack a glass,” I answer.
A plastic cup arrives by relay. I lift it. “To the crew who shows up for strangers and for each other. To the captain who pretends he doesn’t cry and absolutely does. To the cook who sneaks cinnamon into chili. And to the man who taught me that bravery is a daily practice. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” the room answers.
Music swells again. We edge toward the turnout lockers where it’s a little quieter.
“What pushed you to do that,” Declan asks.
“The meeting with the marshal,” I tell him. “Hearing pattern and accelerant and delivery routes. I thought about what fear does with a match. Then I thought about what love does.”
He searches my face. “You heard all of it.”
“I listened from the hall.”
He huffs. “Sneaky.”
“Efficient,” I answer. “Also the door wasn’t shut.”
He sobers. “Then you know the report confirms a secondary accelerant. Same pattern as the other two vineyard fires. Every route passes a third party yard. One contractor shows on all three runs.”
“Zach.”
“Could be his truck. Could be someone using his access,” Declan tells me. “The marshal thinks the money trail brushes up against Max through property deals. It fits too well.”
I feel the familiar heat under my ribs. “Of course it does.”
“I hate bringing you into this,” he adds.
“I’m already in it.” I lean against the cool locker. “Promise me you will not charge in before we brief. You do that, the guy behind this goes quiet and cleans up.”
“Charging is not the plan.”
“Good. Here is mine. Eight in the morning we sit with the marshal and my captain. I bring vineyard security footage and delivery logs for the last two months. I bring invoices for solvents that could hide a purchase. You bring route maps and shift names. We connect what we can defend. After that, we split. You and Owen shadow the contractor. I take my crew and spot check storage on site with Elise and Beckett present. If we stumble on anything, we back out and call it in. No cowboys.”
“You’re telling me what to do at my own party.”
“Only because you will listen.”
His mouth bends. “You just changed my mind. You should be in the room tomorrow.”
“Good.”
He weighs me again. “There is a rumor the marshal heard about a debt Max never settled. A partner who wants assets moved through shell companies. If that’s real, this is bigger than one contractor.”
“Then we widen where we must and keep the circle tight where we can,” I answer. “Jade can pull a list of holding companies that match contractor surnames. If we find overlap, we dig there first.”
“You changed my mind again. I wanted to keep it to four people. I still want it small. But I’m not going to pretend your people are not assets.”
“My people are stubborn,” I tell him. “It’s genetic.”
A rookie drifts past with a bowl of chips. “Are you two official now. I’ve fifty on yes.”
“There was a bet,” Declan asks.
“There is always a bet,” the rookie answers, and moves on.
Declan leans close. “You just made half the station cry. Even Carter teared up.”
“Which one is Derek?”
“The mustache that looks like it’s auditioning for a bigger face.”
I snort. “I brought gingerbread engines. That buys goodwill.”
“You had them the second you walked in.”
One of the female firefighters arrives with a tray. “Hot cocoa shots. The grown up kind.”
Declan takes two and passes one to me. She studies my face, then smiles. “That was brave,” she tells me. “It looks good on you.”
“Thank you.”
We touch cups. Warmth slides through my chest. Declan’s shoulder relaxes a notch.
“Would you’ve said it if I were not here,” he asks.
“Yes. I would have told whoever would listen. You’re going to hear it whether you stand in front of me or not.”
He kisses me again. Softer. Certain.
We tuck into the corner by the lockers. The music shifts to an old song, the kind you know even if you don’t like it. Declan threads his fingers with mine and rests our hands against his chest.
“Tell me a memory,” he asks. “Pick one that belongs only to us.”
“The morning after the tree lighting the Christmas before you left,” I answer. “You helped a kid find his mitten and you looked at me like you had found yours.”
He smiles. “That was a good morning.”
“Your turn.”
“The barn,” he murmurs, and the word warms the air between us. “You handing me that nutcracker like it was a dare. You not running when I wanted more.”
“I wanted more too.”
He studies my mouth. “What else.”
“Your truck parked by the curb the first time you showed up at the estate after we stopped pretending we were fine without each other,” I tell him. “You knocked on the kitchen door, and my mother made tea she didn’t drink because she wanted to listen.”
He laughs under his breath. “She did listen.”
“She approved of you before I did,” I admit.
“I didn’t know that.”
“You would have run,” I tell him.
“Probably.”
The music bumps up for a chorus. Someone off key leans hard and the room joins. I let the noise cover the regret in my voice.
“I should have told you earlier,” I add. “I should have stood on a chair and owned it. I kept thinking I would lose everything if I let the light hit us. I forgot I was losing you in the dark.”
He goes still. “You didn’t lose me.”
“You left once,” I whisper. “You had reasons. I had reasons. It still carved me open. Every time you walked through a door after, something in me braced for the empty.”
For a second I almost lie. I almost tell him I’m fine, that it doesn’t matter anymore. But honesty is the point tonight, so I let the truth land.
He pulls me in, slow and careful. “I’m sorry for that. I don’t get to erase it. I can only outlive it.”
I tuck my face against his shoulder. “I don’t want perfection. I want you.”
“You have me,” he tells me.
“You have me too,” I answer.
We stand like that while a cheer rises from the card table. He touches my hair and breathes. I let the ache we share move through and past us.
“Tell me your worst thought this week,” he asks. “Put it on the table so it stops owning the room.”
“That I would pick the vineyard over you without meaning to,” I tell him. “That a crisis would land and I would reach for the work because it’s easy to measure and it never stares back.”
He considers it with the gravity he gives to a fire line. “Thank you for telling me. Here is mine. That I would pick the work over you at the moment it looks like the world is demanding it. That I would forget we’re a team because I’m trained to move first and think later.”
“Then we hold each other accountable,” I say. “We can be brave without being foolish.”
“That’s the line,” he adds. “If I step over it, pull me back.”
“I will.”
“You just changed my mind again. I thought I needed to protect you from the worst parts of my job by keeping you outside the door. I don’t. I need to bring you closer so you can pull me back if I’m about to do the dumb heroic thing.”
“I can do that.”
“Good,” he adds, and kisses my forehead like a seal on the promise.
We slip into the current of the party for a minute and let it carry us.
A kid in a glitter crown stares up at Declan with full adoration.
A spouse asks me about cork taint and I give her the fast version.
Declan returns with two cups of cocoa and a brownie he insists he is splitting and then doesn’t share. I steal half and he lets me.
Crew members come over in gentle waves. A spouse asks what wine pairs with New Year’s dinner. I tell her to drink what she loves and act like an expert because it improves everything. Declan keeps drifting back to me like the tide. Each time he touches my wrist or my hip, something in me steadies.
A kid with a plate stops and frowns up at Declan. “Do you get cats out of trees?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you going to kiss her again?”
“Yes,” I answer. “He is.”
“Good. It was dramatic.”
“Thank you for the note,” I tell him, and he scoots off.
Declan kisses me, quick and sure. The cheer that follows is loud and harmless. I don’t hide.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “We still have to talk about your brothers.”
“We do.”
“They’ll have thoughts.”
“They always do.”
“I can take the heat,” he tells me. “I don’t like it, but I can take it.”
“I don’t want you to take anything alone. We handle it together.”
“You just changed my mind again,” he murmurs. “I was ready to shield you. I don’t need to if you stand beside me.”
“I will.”
We drift to the engine where the chrome throws little moons on the floor. He watches me like he is memorizing angles.
“What?” I ask.
“You look honest,” he tells me. “Not careful. Just honest.”
“I’m still careful,” I answer.
“You’re still you. That’s different.”
The captain cuts a row of lights. The room softens. The tree glows. People settle into board games. I lean into Declan and let the weight I carry sit for a second. “Ready to go?” Declan asks.
“Yes. I’m ready to hog you all to myself at least until morning.”
We tell the captain good night. A rookie swears he’ll guard the last cookie and then eats it. We step into the night. The cold bites. He helps me into his truck with the promise to return for my truck in the morning and turns the heat low.
He threads our fingers together on the console. “You did something brave.”
“So did you,” I answer. “You didn’t run at the fence.”
He thinks on that. “Maybe I’m learning.”
“You love me,” I tell him.
“I do.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”