One Night Flame (Hot Shots of Huckleberry Creek #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

CORD

The scent of waffles hit me the second I stepped into the kitchen. Sweet, buttery, and just self-important enough to say Donkey’s cooking again .

“Who used the last of the good syrup?” Powell Ferguson—Donkey to everyone but the IRS—didn’t even look up from the waffle iron as he barked the question. “You animals finish my syrup again, and I’ll make kale waffles next time. With chia.”

I skirted Twitch, who was bouncing in place near the coffee pot like he’d just freebased an espresso shot, and caught Meatball mid-reach for a finished waffle.

“I swear I was just checking for doneness,” he insisted, completely full of it.

“You were checking it with your hands,” Powell snapped.

Meatball grinned. “That’s how you know it’s homemade.”

Twitch’s knee bounced double-time as he watched the syrup situation unfold. “Wasn’t me, by the way. I don’t even like bourbon syrup.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “you like that sugar-free chemical stuff that tastes like melted guilt.”

He pointed a finger at me. “Zero calories, one hundred percent performance. This temple doesn’t run on corn syrup.”

I was halfway to the coffee when Moose bumped into the paper towel holder with his elbow, sending it rolling across the counter like a bowling pin. He caught it just before it hit the floor, then gave it an apologetic look. “Did somebody rearrange in here?”

“Same setup as always.” Peach walked in just in time to flick him on the back with a dishtowel. “Which you’d know if you paid attention, Goliath.” Then she turned on me. “And there he is—Mr. Centerfold himself.”

I threw her a smirk over my shoulder as I grabbed a mug. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” she said. “For the rest of us.”

Meatball snorted. “Seriously, Hollywood. What moisturizer are you using now? You look like you just stepped out of a commercial for sad billionaire perfume.”

I held up a finger. “First of all, it’s called grooming. Second, that stuff’s expensive. Third, I do not wear sad billionaire perfume.”

“Sure you don’t,” Twitch said, already halfway through his first waffle. “But if you did, you’d make it look good.”

Peach leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “So, Hollywood, you working on your smolder for the auction yet?”

I sipped my coffee like it had bourbon in it. A guy could dream. “All I’m saying is, if anyone’s getting auctioned off, might as well give the people what they want.”

That was a mistake.

“Oh no,” Meatball groaned. “Not this again.”

“Pretty sure I saw him do finger guns at the mirror last week,” Twitch added. “Twice.”

“Hair’s too perfect,” Donkey muttered as he poured more batter. “He’s either selling shampoo on the side or summoning demons.”

Moose grunted as he flopped into a chair. “I saw him floss after a donut.”

I held up a hand. “Okay, one, cavities are no joke. Two, I do not do finger guns. That was a double-point. Completely different genre of gesture.”

Peach just shook her head. “You’re lucky you’re not as annoying as you should be.”

That got a laugh out of the group, and I leaned into it with a grin that I’d perfected over the years. Easy, practiced, just the right edge of self-deprecation. People liked charming. Charming was predictable. Safe.

I kept it light because light didn’t get people hurt.

It wasn’t a conscious thing. It never was. Just a reflex I’d picked up along the way. Make ’em laugh, keep ’em smiling, and nobody ever asks what’s under the hood.

The truth? There wasn’t much. At least, not anything I wanted to unpack before breakfast.

Before I could deflect with another one-liner, Chief Holloway’s voice cut through the room. “Cord, you’re MC again this year.”

I turned to see him leaning in the doorway, cradling his coffee like a man who knew exactly how to cause problems and live to enjoy them.

A chorus of groans erupted immediately.

“Of course he is,” Meatball said. “Town’s been asking for a re-run since last year.”

Twitch bounced on the balls of his feet. “We’ll need a spotlight. And glitter.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you don’t already own some.”

Moose snorted into his coffee .

“Can we request costumes this year?” Meatball asked. “I vote for the leopard-print boxers. You know, full-circle callback.”

“That was one time,” I said flatly, knowing I was never living that down.

“It was glorious,” Twitch said.

Chief took a sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying himself. “Auction’s this Saturday. Mandatory unless you’re dead or on shift. And even then, I’d expect you to show up.”

I offered a dramatic sigh. “Guess I better start working on my walkout song.”

“‘I’m Too Sexy,’” Peach said instantly.

“Obviously,” Meatball added.

Twitch mimed a slow turn in his seat. “With glitter. And a wind machine. Maybe backup dancers.”

Donkey didn’t look up from the waffle iron. “Just make sure someone bids this time. Can’t have you standing up there like a clearance rack prom king.”

“Are you forgetting what I went for last year? I’m not worried.” In all the years we’d done this fundraiser, I’d never once been left hanging. I leaned on the counter. “It’s for a good cause. I smile, I wave, somebody writes a check. Everybody wins.”

Moose spoke around a mouthful of waffle. “Except whoever gets stuck with you. Town’s got short memories.”

“They’ll remember fast enough. Especially if you do that smirk thing.” Meatball mimed something that was probably supposed to be Blue Steel from that Ben Stiller movie where he played a model.

“Yeah.” Twitch’s eyes went wide. “Bet you end up with someone aggressive this year. Like Margaret Simmons from the planning commission.”

“Or Mrs. Whitaker again,” Donkey muttered. “She’s still got that inflatable hot tub.”

I laughed, because what else could I do? “Whoever it is, let’s just hope they don’t expect me to install ceiling fans shirtless.”

“Hope it’s not a single mom with a gluten-free kid and a Pinterest board for their mutual future,” Peach added, deadpan. “We all know how allergic Hollywood is to long-term planning.”

That got a bigger laugh than it probably should’ve. Meatball snorted. Twitch nearly fell off his chair.

I laughed, too. Light, automatic. Then I said it. Just loud enough to register, quiet enough that nobody had to stop and look at it too closely. “I don’t do single moms.”

That earned a few lifted eyebrows, but nothing more. We all had our lines. Mine just happened to be this one.

“Too many moving parts,” I added, trying to keep the edges soft. “Too easy to screw it up.”

Twitch was already bouncing back into a monologue about firehouse superstition and whether glitter was a Class C hazard.

But Chief… Chief didn’t move on with the rest of them. He just watched me over the rim of his mug like he’d heard something I hadn’t meant to say out loud.

I looked down at my coffee.

It wasn’t about the mom. It wasn’t about the kid. It was about me.

I didn’t come from a stable home. I came from slammed doors, long silences, and rules that changed depending on how much someone had to drink.

And the truth was—I didn’t trust myself not to turn into that. Didn’t matter how good my intentions were. That’s not what kids remember.

They remember who showed up. And who didn’t.

And the last thing I ever wanted was to be someone a kid had to recover from .

So no, I didn’t do single moms. Because I wouldn’t risk doing damage I couldn’t take back.

“You know who is showing up this year?” Meatball continued. “Lola Taggert.”

Twitch groaned. “Says the auction’s her favorite event of the year. Right after Pie Hard trivia night and the mayor’s chili cook-off disaster.”

“Didn’t she bid on the new guy last year just to ask if he liked Die Hard or was dead inside?” Donkey asked.

“Pretty sure that was her screening question,” Peach said. “You answer wrong, you don’t get pie.”

I grinned because it was expected. “Bet she’s got her eye on someone already.”

“Better hope it’s not you,” Peach shot back. “She likes ’em clean-shaven and cocky.”

I raised my mug. “I aim to please.”

We all fell into that comfortable lull that came after good food, solid teasing, and one too many cups of burnt coffee.

I drained the last sip and tossed my towel onto the counter as I headed for the locker room.. “Don’t worry, kids. I’ll smile pretty, sell high, and make y’all proud.”

Laughter followed me out, but I kept my expression neutral.

They didn’t need to know the difference between who I was and who I let them see. That was the point. The smile kept things easy. Shallow. Safe.

Behind me, I heard Chief’s voice, low but not quiet. “One of these days, that grin’s gonna crack.”

I didn’t look back.