Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Whitney
I’m a confident woman. I’m smart, I’m very good at my job, and people find me physically attractive. But right now I feel like I just walked into a middle school cafeteria wearing all the wrong clothes and I’m about to slip on spilled ketchup.
This is not at all what I expected.
I’m your guy.
I know what he meant, but the phrase echoes through my body, pinging a whole lot of nerves I’d rather not have pinged right now.
In my world, men wear layers. Even the most impeccably cut suit covers everything from the neck down. Sure, sometimes a guy will take the coat off and roll his shirt sleeves up, showing off some forearm, but mostly it’s all left to the imagination.
Looking at Rob Byrne doesn’t tax my imagination one bit. A dark blue T-shirt bearing a CLFD logo hugs his body as though it was painted on him this morning. His dark uniform pants are snug, and his feet are shoved into old, unlaced leather work boots that are broken down in a way that makes me think he just steps in and out of them as necessary.
He has thick brown hair and really dark eyes, and there’s nothing about him that’s my type. Literally nothing. He’s also my boss’s brother-in-law.
I need to get this meeting back on track, so I lift my computer bag slightly. “Should we set up my access to documents pertaining to the Christmas fair? I have all of the most common programs and platforms on my laptop. Do you use Google Docs? Airtable?”
He snorts and then gestures up the stairs. “I have the information in my office if you want to see it.”
“It would probably be helpful.” His eyebrows shoot up at my dry tone, but my feet are freezing and starting to ache from standing on a cement floor in heels. But this man will be reporting on my performance to Donovan, even if it’s casually over a family dinner, and I force a smile. “After you?”
He hesitates and I know he’s thinking ladies first , but if I try to walk up those stairs with Rob Byrne eye-level with my ass, I’ll be so self-conscious, I’ll probably fall and take him down like a bowling pin.
He finally goes first, but he pauses on the second step. “Be careful on these stairs. I’m pretty sure they grabbed some old barn boards to build them back in the 1800s and never replaced them.”
“Unsafe stairs in a building dedicated to public safety? That’s a little ironic.” It’s probably for the best, though, because having to look where I’m stepping keeps me from staring at his ass all the way to the top.
“Replacing them is on the list, but every time a little money shakes loose from the budget, it goes to something more important. Equipment or training, usually.”
At the top of the stairs, he takes a right into a room that’s so cluttered, I might actually break out in hives. There’s a desk covered in papers and a computer that might be older than I am, and a table covered with…stuff. A narrow bed with a duffel bag on top. Does he sleep in here? A large window overlooking where the trucks are parked and a window over the table keeps the space from being claustrophobic, but it’s obvious the man spends a great deal of time in here.
After rummaging through a drawer in a gray metal filing cabinet that might be older than both of us combined, Rob turns and hands me a three-ring binder so fat and overstuffed with papers—many of them not in the rings—I have to use both hands to take it from him. It’s the kind of binder that has a clear vinyl sheet on top so a cover can be inserted, but it’s so tattered and taped, it’s hard to make out the words typed in a large font.
Charming Lake Christmas Fair.
I look up at him. Is that amusement I see around his eyes and mouth? He looks like he’s trying not to laugh at me. “What is this?”
“The Christmas Fair binder. You said seeing it would probably be helpful .”
I’m too horrified by the object in my hand to react to his unflattering imitation of me. “I meant something from this century.”
He leans back against the table and crosses his arms in a way that draws attention to the bulge of his biceps under his T-shirt sleeves. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re very judgmental?”
My cheeks burn, and I’m not sure if it’s from the insult or the extreme effort it takes me not to stare at his forearms. “I apologize for coming across that way. What I am is very good at my job and that’s due in large part to my excellent organizational skills and efficiency. This is…neither.”
I’m really making a horrible first impression, so I keep talking before he has the chance to throw me out. “I think a good use of my time right now would be taking this back to the inn and becoming familiar with the material, so I can have a clearer picture of the event, what goes into it, and how I can best assist you with the planning.”
He’s shaking his head before I even stop talking. “That’s not just a messy binder of information. It’s like an archive of sorts—a history of the event. Some of those notes are pretty old, and the people who wrote them aren’t with us anymore.”
The way Rob looks at the binder sends a strange and very unwelcome warmth through my body. When the lines of his face soften and a sentimental smile plays with the corners of his mouth, he’s even more handsome.
I need to get out of here—with or without the binder. Preferably with, though, because Donovan’s going to ask me how this went and I don’t want to tell him my dislike of holiday festivities and an inexplicable attraction to his brother-in-law threw me off and nothing got accomplished.
“I’ll take excellent care of it,” I promise. “I know I don’t really fit in here, but I can tell you I’m good at my job and right now, my job is to help you put on the Charming Lake Christmas Fair.”
He blows out a breath as he runs a hand through his thick hair. My fingers tighten on the binder. “Look, Whitney. This is my first time being in charge of the fair, and because Sophie—she ran it for at least the last fifteen years—asked me personally to take it over, I’m feeling the pressure. I know you’re good at your job because Donovan told me you are, but this isn’t about software and data and efficiency. The Christmas fair is about tradition and community and holiday festivity the Charming Lake way.”
Panic claws at my gut, but I do my best to give him a reassuring smile. I can’t lose this opportunity to work on something meaningful to the boss. “Maybe we’d make a good team, then, because between the two of us, we bring to the table everything we need to plan the best Christmas fair that Charming Lake has ever seen.”
After a long moment of silence broken only by my heart beating and the hum of the station’s HVAC system, Rob grins.
And yup, he’s even more attractive.
“You might be right,” he says, much to my relief. “But just to be clear, the fair is always supposed to be a little better than the year before, but also fundamentally the same.”
“Right. Tradition and nostalgia and all that,” I say. “Generational memories all blending together.”
“Just take good care of that,” he says, dipping his head toward the binder I’m still holding. “I’ll be around tomorrow all day, but you should know that I rarely get through anything without being called out.”
“You’re not the only one, are you?”
“I’m often the only one actually in the station, but we’re a volunteer department. If a call comes in that requires a full response, the rest of them will leave whatever they’re doing and show up.”
Suddenly I have so many questions I want to ask. Does he sleep here every night, or does he have a home he gets to visit occasionally? Is there a reason he chose to be a firefighter in his hometown? Does he secretly want to leave Charming Lake behind and join Boston Fire or some other city’s larger and presumably more exciting department?
Does he have a wife? A girlfriend? Kids?
“I’ll get started on this right away,” I say quickly, before I can go down that conversational road. “Thanks for this information, and I can see myself out.”
“Careful on the stairs,” he calls after me.
It’s hard to make a quick or graceful exit when navigating ancient barn boards in heels, but I make it to the bottom without humiliating—or hurting—myself. And then I force myself to walk across the cement floor to the exit door without looking back to see if Rob’s watching me through that window.