11. Chapter 11
Phoenix
Miller’s Hill is the kind of place that makes you understand why people never leave small towns.
The view stretches across the valley like a postcard—Honeysuckle Ridge below, the ridgeline beyond it bathed in the last light of day. Families are camped out on blankets and lawn chairs, kids running around with sparklers while the smell of grilled hot dogs and funnel cakes drifts on the breeze.
I should be relaxed.
Instead, I feel like I’m sitting on a live wire.
Because somewhere between Gigi showing up on my porch with cake and almost kissing me again , this stopped being simple. It’s not just a temporary detour from my real life. This feels like real life. And I’m the guy holding a secret that could blow it all apart.
Fifty thousand dollars. That’s what her parents promised if I could “nudge” their daughter toward Hart Health. Not even a hard sell—just encouragement. A little influence. A push.
At the time, it seemed harmless. It was supposed to be a quick trip. A simple task.
Then I met her.
Gigi, with her flour-dusted clothes and fierce independence. Who bakes like she’s performing alchemy and smiles from the heart. Who built something beautiful in a town her parents think is too small for her.
And I’m supposed to help dismantle it.
I can’t.
I won’t.
"You're brooding," Joe says, settling onto the blanket beside me with two beers.
"I’m not brooding," I mutter. “I’m thinking.”
"About a certain baker who brought you a cake at midnight?"
I glance toward Gigi, who’s laughing as she unpacks a cooler with Ella. She’s wearing a pale blue sundress that ties at the shoulder, and she’s so gorgeous it hurts . She outshines every model, every actress, every NFL player’s trophy wife that I’ve ever met.
And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know.
“Among other things,” I say.
Joe follows my gaze, then hands me a beer. “She likes you. Ella says she’s been asking questions.”
That only makes my gut twist harder. “What kind of questions?”
“The kind that mean she’s not thinking of you as her parents’ errand boy.”
If only he knew how right—and wrong—that was.
“How’s that situation going, by the way?” Joe asks casually. “The whole Hart Health ambassador gig?”
My stomach drops.
“Complicated,” I say.
“Isn’t it always.”
I watch Gigi crouch down to hand a cookie to a little girl with pigtails. She ruffles the kid’s hair, says something that makes her beam. Gigi doesn’t just live in this town—she belongs to it.
“She’s happy here,” I say. “Her parents don’t see it, but she’s built a life that fits her better than any boardroom ever could.”
Joe hums in agreement. “Maybe you could be happy here, too. I am.”
Could I be happy here? I look around at the crowd of people on the hill, at the couples sprawled on blankets, the old people in lawn chairs, and the kids chasing each other with sparklers. My eyes settle on Gigi again. Yes, I think I could be very happy here.
“Phoenix!” Gigi calls, holding a cookie in the air in one hand, and a brownie in the other. “Come settle a debate. Cookies or brownies for optimal fireworks enjoyment?”
I glance at Joe.
“Go,” he says, already smirking. “You’re being summoned.”
I cross the short distance to her blanket and stand in front of her. “Is this a test?”
“Yes,” she says, grinning. “If you could only choose one, which would it be?”
“Cookies. Hands down,” I say. “Easier to sneak extras into your pockets.”
Gigi and Ella laugh.
“But I do I really have to choose between the two?” I ask, eyeing the brownie hopefully.
“Of course not. I’d never try to deprive you of having something sweet,” Gigi says, licking a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
My eyes track the movement of her tongue. And I bite back the words threatening to tumble from my mouth: that if I had my choice of sweet things to taste, I’d choose her lips every time.
“These are for you,” she says, holding out the cookie and the brownie for me.
Before I can retrieve them, Ella snatches the cookie. “Too slow,” she says with a laugh.
“Hey!” Gigi calls as Ella runs away with the cookie to join her husband.
I take Ella’s spot on the blanket. As the sun dips and the first fireworks crackle across the sky, Gigi and I sit side by side. Our shoulders brush. Around us, the world is full of laughter and light—but all I can feel is her .
“This is nice,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.”
She glances over at me, her eyes reflecting the colors overhead. “About last night—”
“I’ve been thinking about it too.”
She nods. “It was impulsive. Showing up with the cake, I mean.”
“For what it’s worth, it was the best surprise I’ve ever gotten.”
She smiles, then sobers. “Then why do I feel like you’re holding something back?”
Because I am.
I want to tell her. I want to come clean, right now, under this sky full of fireworks. But I don’t.
I’m a selfish man, and I don’t want to spoil this perfect night.
Instead, I lift my hand to her face, gently brushing her cheek with my knuckles. “I just have a lot on my mind… like how breathtakingly beautiful you are.”
Her breath catches. “You think I’m beautiful?”
I smile. “Beautiful and amazing and—”
She doesn’t answer with words. She just leans in, slow and sure, and presses her lips to mine.
Her lips are warm and soft, and she tastes sweeter than the most decadent dessert—just as I knew she would.
I wrap my arms around her, deepening the kiss as fireworks explode overhead in gold and crimson bursts. The night pulses with color and heat, but I barely notice. I’m too focused on the woman in my arms and the way she’s unraveling me with one perfect kiss.
When we finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, she laughs softly.
“Wow,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say.
She rests her forehead against mine for a second, and I let myself hold onto the moment, marveling at the bliss that I’ve found in this small mountain town, with her in my arms.