Chapter 5
Sadie
If the church ladies wanted spectacle, they got it.
The annual Spring Firefighters & Foam Charity Car Wash is chaos before it even starts.
Folding tables sag under trays of lemon bars.
Hand-painted signs wobble in the breeze.
Children run in sticky circles around orange traffic cones.
Mrs. Dottie Henderson stands front and center like a five-foot general directing battle.
And Levi Kane is shirtless.
I stop mid-step in the church parking lot and forget how to function. My lips are still tingling from our KissCam performance yesterday and now this.
He’s leaning against Engine 3, a sponge in one hand, sunlight cutting across his shoulders like it was designed for him specifically. Water slicks down his chest. His turnout pants sit low on his hips. The muscles in his arms flex as he wrings out the sponge.
The whistle from somewhere near the bake sale booth is not subtle.
“Lord have mercy,” Mrs. Dottie breathes beside me. “That boy is raising money just by breathing.”
I swallow.
“He’s aware of that,” I mutter.
As if summoned by my internal crisis, Levi glances up and spots me. His mouth curves into a smirk. Slow. Dangerous.
He pushes off the engine and strolls toward me like this isn’t public torture.
“You’re late, Hotshot.”
“I’m supervising,” I reply smoothly. “Someone has to maintain professionalism.”
His gaze drags down my sundress. Then back up.
“Professional,” he repeats, low.
Heat flares under my skin. “You’re supposed to be washing cars.”
“I am.”
“You’re posing.”
He leans closer, voice dropping so only I can hear. “You’re staring.”
“I am not.”
His brow lifts.
I lift my chin.
“Okay,” I concede. “Maybe a little. It’s ninety degrees and you look like a firefighter calendar.”
He smirks. “You always did appreciate community service.”
The church ladies swarm past us carrying buckets of suds. The high school cheer team squeals at something near the front line. Music blasts from a portable speaker—some upbeat country song about trucks and heartbreak.
I grab the nearest hose before I say something reckless.
“Where do you want me?” I ask.
His eyes darken. “Careful.”
“For the car wash,” I clarify sweetly.
He nods toward a muddy pickup pulling into the lot. “Front left.”
I stride over, flip the nozzle, and blast the hood with water. The spray kicks back harder than I expect. It arcs sideways.
Directly onto Levi.
He doesn’t move as water drenches his chest, beads rolling down the sharp lines of his abs. His hair darkens, plastering slightly at his temples.
The cheer team goes feral.
“Oh my God,” someone shrieks.
I freeze as he stalks toward me.
“You did that on purpose,” he says calmly.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
I adjust my grip on the hose, trying not to laugh. “You were in the splash zone.”
He steps closer.
Too close.
His hand wraps around my wrist.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “That thing’s powerful.”
The nozzle jerks under the pressure and water sprays wildly, drenching both of us.
My dress clings instantly. Cold fabric sticks to my thighs, my waist, my chest.
The parking lot erupts in whistles.
“GET A ROOM!” someone yells.
I’m soaked. He’s soaked. And he’s still holding my wrist. Water runs down his collarbone and drips from his chin.
“This is dangerous,” he says, voice low enough that the words skim over my skin instead of through the air.
I meet his gaze, heart hammering. “Good thing I like playing with fire.”
His jaw tightens. The hose slips and sprays in a wide arc, catching Mrs. Dottie square in the shoulder. She gasps dramatically and clutches her pearls.
“I have been baptized!” She announces.
The crowd laughs.
Levi finally releases my wrist and reaches for the hose, shutting it off with practiced efficiency.
Silence falls in our little bubble. Water drips between us.
“You’re reckless,” he mutters.
“You’re shirtless at a church fundraiser.”
He leans in slightly. “You’re staring again.”
“Hard not to.”
“You enjoying the show?”
I tilt my head. “I’ve seen better.”
His eyes flash. “Oh?”
“You’re distracted,” I say lightly. “Your form’s off.”
He steps into my space again.
“Fix it,” he challenges.
My pulse stumbles. “You want me to what?”
“Correct my form.” His voice drops. “Since you’re supervising.”
I swallow.
“Bend slightly at the knees,” I say, forcing professionalism into my tone.
He obeys immediately.
“Widen your stance.”
He does.
I step closer before I can stop myself.
“Engage your core.”
He exhales slowly, abs tightening under the sunlight. My brain short-circuits. The crowd noise fades into a distant hum. He watches me like I’m the one being evaluated.
“You’re flushed,” he says quietly.
“It’s hot.”
“It’s always hot around you.”
That does something reckless to my spine.
The hose lies coiled at our feet. The fire engine gleams behind him, water still dripping from the chrome.
He reaches up and brushes a damp strand of hair off my cheek and my breath catches.
“Sadie,” he says softly.
The way he says my name makes my stomach twist.
“Lieutenant Kane,” I reply automatically.
He smiles slightly. “Not here.”
“No?”
“Not when you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to set something on fire.”
My voice drops to match his. “Maybe I do.”
He steps closer again, crowd forgotten.
“You know this is part of the act, right?” he murmurs.
“Then act.”
His hand slides to my waist.
Not tentative.
Not questioning.
Possessive.
My fingers curl into his shoulders without permission from my brain.
The tension between us stretches thin.
“Levi,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“You’re supposed to be in control.”
“I am.”
“That doesn’t look like control.”
He leans in slowly.
The parking lot noise crashes back into focus—the squeal of brakes, the splash of water, someone yelling about a sponge.
But all I see is his mouth. His lips hover inches from mine. The heat between us shifts. Deepens.
“You want me to kiss you?” he asks quietly.
The honesty makes my knees weak.
“We’re performing,” I manage.
He smirks faintly. “That’s not what I asked.”
The crowd whistles again, sensing something. Mrs. Dottie fans herself aggressively. My pulse pounds in my ears.
“You’re impossible,” I whisper.
“And you’re soaked.” He glances down deliberately at the way my dress clings to me.
Heat floods my face.
“Eyes up,” I snap.
He doesn’t move. “Make me.”
I shouldn’t laugh but I do. “You are insufferable.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His thumb presses lightly into my hip, grounding me in a way that feels far too intimate for a church parking lot.
“Sadie,” he says again, voice rougher now.
“Yes.”
“If I kiss you right now, it’s not going to look fake.”
My heart stutters. “It didn’t last time either.”
His expression darkens at that. The KissCam moment hangs between us like a live wire.
The cheer team shrieks again as someone sprays foam into the air nearby.
Levi’s hand tightens slightly at my waist.
The space between our mouths shrinks to a breath and I want him to close it.
Not because of the church ladies.
Not because of the fake dating pact.
Because I miss him.
Because every time he touches me, something ancient and reckless wakes up inside my chest.
His nose brushes mine.
“Last chance,” he murmurs.
“For what?”
“To step back.”
I don’t. Instead, I whisper, “You’re hesitating.”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t mistake restraint for hesitation.”
He pulls me behind the fire engine in one smooth motion, out of the direct line of sight of half the parking lot.
The metal is warm against my back. He cages me there with one arm braced beside my head. The world narrows.
“You think this is a game?” he asks quietly.
“I proposed it.”
“You proposed fake.”
“And this isn’t?”
His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back. “No,” he says. “This isn’t.”
The air between us crackles.
“Then why are you still holding back?” I challenge.
His eyes flash. “Because once I stop, I don’t start pretending again.”
The words slam into me. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can feel it through the space between us.
“Levi—”
He leans in so close that I can feel the heat of his mouth without contact. The parking lot erupts in another round of applause at something unrelated, but it feels like it’s for us.
His lips hover a fraction from mine. My entire body hums. I want him to kiss me.
Not for the town.
Not for the gossip page.
For me.
For the girl who left.
For the boy who stayed.
He inhales sharply, like the scent of me is something dangerous and then he pulls back. His forehead rests briefly against mine.
“This is dangerous,” he repeats, voice rough.
My chest rises and falls too fast. “I know.”
He brushes his thumb along my jaw once. Soft. Then he steps away completely. Sunlight floods back in. The noise returns. He grabs the hose like nothing happened.
“Back to work,” he says evenly.
The crowd resumes its chaos. Mrs. Dottie sighs dramatically.
The cheer team whispers and points. And I stand there behind the fire engine, soaked and breathless, staring at the man who just almost kissed me again.
Something shifts inside me. Because this isn’t just fake dating anymore.
It isn’t playful banter or strategic affection.
It’s heat.
Real heat.
And the most terrifying part?
When he leaned in—I didn’t want him to stop.
Not for the town.
Not for the rules.
Not even for the past.
I wanted him to scorch me.
And that’s the moment I realize:
I’m not playing with fire.
I’m begging it to burn.