1. Harper #2
The problem with almost smiles, Harper decided, was that they made a woman curious.
A full smile gave information. An almost smile created questions, sparked curiosity.
Dangerous curiosity. Like what would it take to make Captain No-Fun actually laugh?
What would he look like with that stern mouth softened?
What would his hands feel like if they were not busy judging beverage equipment?
No.
Absolutely not.
She had an observatory event to finish, a festival to plan, and a reputation to rebuild. She did not have time to develop an attraction to a man who probably alphabetized emergency exits.
One of Logan’s crew carried the offending cocoa machine toward the service exit.
“Machine stays unplugged and out of use,” Logan said. “Rental company can inspect it. Don’t let them put it back in rotation tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to revive the cursed object.”
“Good.”
“Although I may invoice it for emotional damages.”
He looked at the table, then at the crowd, then back at her.
“How many people were here tonight?”
“Seventy-eight registered, eighty-three actual because Maple Peak considers RSVPs more of a decorative concept.”
“And you managed crowd flow?”
“Yes.”
“Emergency exits?”
“Marked, cleared, and included in the volunteer briefing.”
“First aid?”
“Station near the west doors.”
“Backup power?”
“For the presentation equipment, not for the cocoa machine, obviously, because it chose villainy.”
His eyes moved over her face, and for the first time, the disapproval eased into something closer to respect.
“You’re thorough.”
Harper’s grip tightened on the clipboard.
The compliment should not have mattered, but contrary to her reason, it did.
“Dangerously so,” she said lightly.
“Not dangerously,” he said. “That’s what I’m here to prevent.”
The words landed with more weight than they should have. Maybe because he said them plainly. Maybe because his voice did not flirt, and yet somehow he made prevention sound personal.
Harper swallowed.
Stella, who had the survival instincts of a woman recently engaged with Dr. Adrian Blackwood, wisely drifted away with a murmured excuse about guest surveys.
Coward.
Logan reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded page.
“What’s that?” Harper asked.
“Preliminary notice.”
“That sounds unfriendly.”
“It’s procedural.”
“Worse.”
He handed it to her.
Harper unfolded the page and scanned it. Her eyebrows rose.
“Firelight Festival safety review?”
“The town committee mentioned you’re coordinating it.”
“I am.”
“Bonfire, lantern walk, outdoor heaters, food vendors, string lights, and a children’s marshmallow station.”
“You say that like I’m planning a felony.”
“I say that like I read the proposal.”
“It’s a winter festival. Firelight is in the name.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
Harper lowered the page slowly. “Captain Pierce, are you telling me you’re going to personally inspect my festival?”
“Yes.”
“Personally.”
“Yes.”
“With your red pen and your charming optimism?”
“I don’t use a red pen.”
“Of course not. Too festive.”
His gaze held hers.
“I’ll need your full site map, vendor list, equipment rentals, electrical plan, emergency flow, volunteer assignments, and weather contingency.”
Harper stared at him.
Then she smiled.
It was no longer her event smile. It was much worse.
“Captain, if you wanted my phone number, you could have just asked.”
For one glorious second, Logan Pierce went still. Then his gaze sharpened.
“I’ll need that too.”
Heat climbed the back of Harper’s neck.
“For professional reasons,” he added.
“Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he said.
Neither of them moved.
Around them, the observatory event continued as if Harper Lane’s blood pressure had not just become a public safety concern.
Finally, Logan dipped his chin toward the dead cocoa station.
“No more haunted machines tonight.”
“No more unsolicited lectures tonight.”
“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“It is now.”
He gave her another almost-smile. This one was worse than the first.
“We’ll discuss it at the safety review, Sparks.’
The firefighter standing a few steps behind him coughed then almost choked.
Harper blinked.
“Sparks?”
His gaze flicked once to the cocoa machine, then back to her.
“Seems appropriate.”
“No, it does not.”
“It does from my side.”
“Your side lacks imagination.”
“My side lacks smoke damage.”
Harper opened her mouth. Then closed it.
That was annoying.
That was a good line.
Logan seemed to know it too.
He stepped back, helmet in hand, all broad shoulders and calm authority.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harper.”
The way he said tomorrow made it sound less like a calendar day and more like a threat.
Or a promise.
She didn’t know which.
Harper watched him walk toward the exit, where snow swirled briefly in the open doorway around his boots. Then he was gone, leaving behind the smell of winter air, overheated plastic and a problem she absolutely did not have time for.
Stella suddenly appeared beside her.
“So,” Stella said carefully.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say the cider table is running smoothly.”
Harper looked at her.
Stella smiled. “And also that Captain Pierce looked at you like he wanted to either arrest you or kiss you, or both.”
“He wants to inspect my festival.” She made a bad face.
“Romantic.”
“He called me Sparks.”
Stella’s smile turned wicked.
Harper pointed the clipboard at her. “Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“The face of a woman planning emotional interference.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
Stella glanced toward the exit. “For what it’s worth, you handled the smoke beautifully.”
Harper looked down at the folded safety review notice in her hand. Her pulse was still too fast. Her pride still stung. Her stomach still remembered exactly how it felt when Logan Pierce said her name.
“Thank you,” she said.
Stella squeezed her arm and returned to the guests.
Harper stood alone beside the temporarily retired cocoa station and forced herself to breathe.
Everything was fine. The event was fine. The machine was dead, but the guests were happy. The observatory had not burned down. Nobody was blaming her. Nobody was whispering that she was careless. Nobody was looking for someone young and convenient to sacrifice.
This was Maple Peak. This was a fresh start. And tomorrow, she would face one overly serious fire captain with a red pen he claimed not to use.
Harper looked down toward the exit.
Snow fell harder beyond the glass, softening the mountain night into something deceptively gentle.
She pressed the safety notice flat against her clipboard.
The Firelight Festival had lanterns, bonfires, heaters, food trucks, extension cords and at least three volunteers who thought of duct tape as a structural solution.
But Harper had a plan.
Several, actually.
And if Captain Logan Pierce thought he was going to walk into her event and take over because one cocoa machine had developed a flair for drama, he was about to learn something very important.
Harper Lane did not scare easily. Not anymore. Not from smoke. Not from blame. And definitely not from a man who called her Sparks like he had any idea what kind of fire he was playing with.
***