Chapter 7
Sadie
Ishould’ve known something was going to go wrong the moment Mrs. Dottie handed me a clipboard and said, “Interns handle inventory.”
Inventory, apparently, means crawling around the back hallway of the church gymnasium with Levi Kane while folding tables threaten to topple and half the town screams about raffle baskets.
Spring Fundraising Season is a full-contact sport.
“Why am I counting tablecloths?” I mutter, balancing on my toes to reach the top shelf in the storage closet. “I have a degree.”
Behind me, Levi’s voice is dry. “Use it to count.”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a fitted black firehouse T-shirt. His jaw’s shadowed. His hair’s slightly damp like he showered too fast before showing up.
He looks like trouble.
He looks like mine.
“Careful, Lieutenant,” I say sweetly. “You sound bossy.”
“I am bossy.”
“That’s debatable.”
His mouth twitches.
The closet smells like dust and old wood polish. It’s narrow, shelves lining both sides, barely enough room for two people to stand without brushing shoulders.
Which we are.
Brushing shoulders.
I shift sideways to grab a box of plastic forks. My hip bumps his thigh. He doesn’t move.
“You’re in my way,” I say.
“You’re in my town.”
My pulse jumps. I twist toward him fully. “Excuse me?”
He leans closer, not quite touching. “You left.”
The words are quiet. Not angry. Just true.
Before I can respond, someone in the hall shouts for more raffle tickets. I grab a bundle from the shelf and turn to squeeze past him toward the door. The lights flicker. The door slams. Then—click.
We’re standing in total darkness.
“Are you kidding me?” I whisper.
Silence.
Then Levi’s voice, low and steady. “Don’t move.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re about to walk into a mop bucket.”
I freeze. There’s shuffling. The faint scrape of his boots on linoleum. Then his hand finds my waist. Heat detonates under my skin. I hate that he has this effect on me.
“I said don’t move,” he murmurs.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
His palm tightens slightly, guiding me away from whatever obstacle I was about to trip over. The closet is pitch-black now, only a sliver of light cutting under the door. It’s small. Too small. Too warm.
And Levi’s hand is still on my waist. Neither of us lets go.
“We’re locked in,” I say softly.
“Yeah.”
“You think Mrs. Dottie did that on purpose?”
“Probably.”
I let out a quiet laugh. His thumb shifts slightly against the curve of my hip. It’s barely a movement. It feels like everything.
“Levi,” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
“You’re still holding me.”
“I know.”
The air thickens. His body is inches from mine now. I can feel the heat radiating off him. His breath brushes my temple.
“Comforting,” he says evenly.
“Feels possessive.”
His fingers tighten. “Maybe.”
My heart thunders.
“You still jealous?” I tease, trying to steady my voice. “About earlier?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Earlier, one of the younger firefighters—Tyler, I think—had handed me a stack of flyers and said, “Didn’t realize the chief’s daughter got even prettier at college.”
I’d laughed.
Levi had gone very still.
In the darkness, I tilt my chin up toward where I know his face is. “You looked like you wanted to set him on fire.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Jealousy?”
Silence stretches. Then his mouth brushes dangerously close to my ear. “I don’t share.”
The words slide down my spine like a match striking.
My breath catches.
“That wasn’t in the fake dating contract,” I whisper.
“I don’t care.”
The honesty hits harder than I expect.
“You don’t get to claim me,” I say, but it comes out softer than I intend.
His hand shifts higher on my waist, fingers spreading like he’s testing the boundary of my resolve.
“You keep pushing,” he says quietly, “and I will.”
The air between us changes. It’s not playful anymore. It’s loaded.
My palms press against his chest, mostly to keep from swaying into him.
“You don’t get territorial when we’re pretending.”
“Who said I’m pretending?”
The question lands heavy. My stomach flips.
“You said we had rules.”
“I said we had rules for public.”
“And this isn’t public?”
He shifts closer.
Now there’s no space between us at all.
“This,” he says low, “isn’t for the church ladies.”
The darkness sharpens everything. I can’t see his expression. I can only feel him—solid, steady, dangerously close.
“You’re jealous,” I whisper again, because it’s easier than admitting how much I like it.
“I don’t like other men looking at you like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like they’re calculating how to get you alone.”
My lips part. “And you’re not?”
His hand slides slightly higher, resting just below my ribs.
“I don’t calculate,” he says. “I decide.”
Heat floods my veins. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. “You don’t own me, Levi.”
“No,” he agrees quietly. “But I never stopped wanting to.”
That steals my breath completely.
I swallow.
“You don’t get to rewrite history just because you feel possessive in a closet.”
“I’m not rewriting anything.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He exhales slowly. “I’m trying not to drag you against this wall.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
His fingers flex against my waist. “Sadie,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, “you keep daring me.”
“I’m not daring you.”
“You show up in my town. You kiss me on a baseball field. You look at me like you remember every inch of me. That’s a dare.”
The darkness vibrates between us. My chest brushes his when I breathe.
“Maybe I do remember,” I whisper.
His hand stills. “Then stop acting surprised when I do too.”
My mind races. “You were the one who let me go.”
“You wanted out.”
“I wanted more.”
“You wanted the world.”
“I wanted you to fight for me.”
The words hang between us, raw and exposed. His grip softens.
“I was eighteen,” he says quietly. “I thought loving you meant not holding you back.”
“And I thought leaving meant you didn’t want me enough.”
Silence. Heavy. His forehead rests against mine in the dark.
“That’s not what it meant,” he says.
“Then what did it mean?”
“It meant I was scared I’d lose you either way.”
My throat tightens.
The air inside the closet feels thinner. His thumb brushes absentmindedly against my side, slow and grounding.
“I hated watching you leave,” he continues. “But I hated the idea of being the reason you stayed more.”
Emotion claws up my chest.
“You could’ve asked,” I whisper.
“I didn’t want to cage you.”
“I wasn’t asking for a cage.”
He exhales shakily. “You don’t get to rewrite that either.”
The door rattles suddenly from the outside. We both freeze.
A muffled voice. “Hello? Is someone in there?”
We don’t answer. Not yet. His hand is still on my waist. My fingers are still curled in his shirt. The moment stretches, fragile and electric.
“Levi,” I whisper, “if you keep touching me like that—”
“Like what?”
“Like you mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
The confession vibrates through me. Footsteps shuffle outside. The doorknob jiggles again.
“Hold on!” someone calls.
Levi leans closer.
“So don’t test me with other men,” he murmurs.
“I can talk to whoever I want.”
“Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re available.”
My heart slams. “And what am I?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Mine.”
The word detonates inside me.
Before I can respond, the door swings open.
Blinding fluorescent light floods the closet.
Levi jerks back half an inch.
We’re still close enough that anyone with eyes can see what was happening.
Standing in the doorway:
Mrs. Dottie.
Mrs. Henderson.
Mrs. Crenshaw.
And my father.
The fire chief.
All four of them stare.
Levi’s hand drops from my waist. My face burns.
Mrs. Dottie fans herself dramatically. “Well.”
Mrs. Henderson gasps. “I told you.”
My father’s eyes narrow.
“Explain,” he says calmly.
Levi steps forward immediately, shoulders squared.
“Door jammed,” he says evenly. “We were checking inventory.”
Mrs. Crenshaw sniffs. “Inventory looks very close these days.”
I cross my arms, trying to appear composed.
“We were stuck,” I say.
Mrs. Dottie beams. “Oh, honey, we could tell.”
Levi’s jaw tightens.
My father studies us both for a long moment.
“You two look flushed,” he says flatly.
“It’s hot in there,” Levi replies.
Mrs. Henderson clutches her pearls. “It looked hot in there.”
Heat crawls up my neck.
My father sighs.
“Get back to work,” he orders.
Levi nods once. “Yes, Chief.”
The church ladies exchange delighted looks. The gossip will spread before sunset. Levi steps aside so I can exit the closet first.
As I brush past him, our hands graze and he leans in just enough for me to hear. “Careful, Hotshot.”
“Why?”
“Next time,” he murmurs, voice low and sure, “I won’t stop at ‘mine.’”
My stomach flips. “Next time,” I shoot back softly, “don’t lock the door.”
He smirks. “Wasn’t me.”
Mrs. Dottie claps her hands excitedly behind us. “Oh, this is better than the raffle!”
I walk back toward the main hall, heart pounding, cheeks flushed, entire body humming with everything we didn’t finish in that closet.
Fake dating was supposed to be simple.
But the way he said I don’t share?
The way he said mine?
That wasn’t performance.
And when the door closes again someday—because I know it will—I’m not sure either of us will be walking out pretending we’re still playing by the rules.