This Love (Swift Mountain Fire & Rescue #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

ABBY

The café doesn’t belong to me in the same way a house belongs to a person.

It belongs to the mornings and the regulars who know which stool wobbles and which mug they like best.

It belongs to the quiet hour before I flip the sign to “open”, when the first rays of light make the whole world look beautiful and full of potential.

My name might be on the lease, but it isn’t mine. I’m its steward for the moment.

I make my way from table to table with a fresh pot of coffee, pausing when I reach the small round table by the front windows where Gigi and Selena are already settled. Steam curls up from their mugs, fogging the glass behind them.

They make quite a pair: the world-famous plus-size model who is new in town and the hometown girl who struck it big in the fashion world.

And now they’re here, claiming their space in the café’s history. It feels right.

“Refill?” I ask tilting the pot.

“Yes, please,” Selena says. “I can’t get enough of how good your coffee is. New York City has nothing on you.”

“She roasts half of it herself,” Gig brags on my behalf. “She’s a true artist and a visionary.”

I laugh, pouring with practiced expertise. “Says the woman who designs clothes people actually wear.”

Gigi scoffs. “That’s fifty-percent luck and fifty-percent stupidity.”

“I know for a fact it’s one-hundred percent your hard work.”

Her lips quirk in a half-grin. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” I say.

They’re both bundled up against the cool morning, their cheeks flushed from the walk over.

Gigi looks exactly like she always has—confident, expressive, like she’s never once doubted her place in the world.

Selena is still new enough to the town to take delight in the things we all find familiar and, frankly, boring.

I envy that, sometimes.

“How’s married life?” I ask Selena, setting the pot down.

“Surreal. Wonderful.” Her expression takes on a dreamy look. “Sometimes, it’s still a little disorienting. I sometimes think I’ll wake up in a hospital bed again and discovers this has all been a really lovely dream.”

“It’s real. I promise.” Gigi reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “My brother might be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s very much real. And really in love with you.”

The gesture is small but intimate, and something tightens in my chest.

I’m genuinely happy for them. I am. For their friendship. For the great loves they’ve both found.

But there’s a particular ache that comes from watching other people step into futures you once imagined for yourself but had to set aside.

“So,” Gigi says, leaning back in her chair, eyes flicking over my shoulder toward the counter before returning to me. “How are you holding up, really?”

I know what she’s asking. She always does.

“I’m good,” I say automatically. “Busy. Tired.”

“Those aren’t feelings,” Selena says gently.

I huff out a laugh. “They’re my default settings.”

They both watch me in a way that suggests they’re prepared to wait me out.

I glance toward the counter. Nancy, one of my part-time waitresses, is handling a small line at the register with practiced ease, chatting with a couple of early regulars. The café hums softly around us, alive but unhurried.

“I’m fine,” I repeat, quieter now. “Daisy is good. She’s doing good in school. Business is… good.”

For some of us, good is as good as it gets. We don’t all get wonderful. And that’s just… good.

“Gigi told me Daisy asked why you don’t date,” Selena says.

I shoot Gigi a look that silently tells her she’s a traitor.

She smirks unapologetically. “It came up.”

“She’s curious.” I sigh. “That’s all.”

“And?” Selena prompts.

“And I told her the truth,” I say. “That I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

That’s only partly true. But it’s the version I’ve lived with long enough that it almost feels real.

The truth is, I haven’t gone on a real date since Daisy was born. Not because I couldn’t. Not because no one has asked.

But the idea of letting someone into our carefully balanced life felt like tempting fate.

I’ve already lost love more than once. I know what it costs. I’m not willing to risk it again.

The bell over the front door jingles, cutting through the low murmur of conversation.

I don’t turn right away.

Something in my chest goes tight, instinctive and uninvited, like my body recognizes a presence my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

I see Gigi’s expression change first. The way her brows lift, just slightly. The way her gaze flicks past me, then back, cautious.

Selena follows her line of sight, curiosity blooming into something more alert.

That’s when I know. It’s him.

I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first heard he was back in town.

I turn slowly.

Brendon stands just inside the door, shoulders broader than I remember. His presence fills the small space. He’s dressed simply: heavy jacket, knit cap, dark jeans. But there’s a swagger and confidence that he naturally wears in the way he carries himself.

Brendon.

For a moment, time doesn’t matter. The café goes quiet. As if the world has sucked in a breath and doesn’t quite know how to let it out.

I stay where I am. Hands wrapped around the empty coffee pot. Feet rooted to the floor.

He doesn’t see me at first.

He steps up to the counter, nods at Nancy in greeting, and orders a coffee to go. His voice is low, calm, polite. Deep and familiar in a way that makes my stomach do a bellyflop.

Then he glances toward the windows.

Our eyes meet.

It’s brief.

For barely a second.

But it’s enough.

Emotion flickers across his face—surprise, recognition, then it shutters blank—before he looks away again, as if the moment never happened.

He takes his coffee. Says thanks. Turns and leaves.

The bell jingles cheerfully behind him. I stand there, frozen, long after the door closes.

“Well,” Gigi says softly. “That answers that.”

My throat feels tight. “Answers what?”

“That he’s really back.”

I swallow. “I’d heard a rumor.”

Gigi studies me. “You sure you’re okay?”

I force a smile that feels like it might crack if I push it any further. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because the past just walked into my café and left again without a word.

Because I built this life to survive him.

Because some loves don’t fade — they just wait.

After finishing their breakfasts, Gigi and Selena grab their bags, press quick kisses to my cheek, and promise to check in later. Gigi squeezes my hand a little tighter than necessary, her eyes searching my face like she’s trying to memorize it.

“Call me if you need anything,” she says. “Call me if you think you don’t.”

“I will,” I promise.

Selena lingers a moment longer. “You’re not alone,” she says quietly.

I nod, even though the words slide right past the ache settling deep in my chest.

The bell jingles again as they step out into the cold, the sound far too cheerful for the way my insides feel hollowed out.

I turn back toward the counter, forcing myself to breathe normally.

The café hums around me. Cups clink, the espresso machine hisses, someone laughs softly near the back.

Life, uninterrupted. Unbothered by the fact that the past just walked in, ordered a coffee, and left again like it never mattered.

I busy myself wiping down the counter I’ve already wiped twice, my movements precise and unnecessary. I tell myself it’s fine. That seeing him doesn’t change anything. That I have learned how to live with the absence of what I wanted once.

Still, my hands won’t quite stop shaking.

“You okay?” Nancy asks quietly, leaning toward me from behind the register.

“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “I’m just going to step into the back for a minute.”

She nods, already turning back to the next customer. The café doesn’t pause for my momentary existential crisis. It never has.

I slip into the back room and press my palms against the cool stainless steel prep table, bowing my head. For a long moment, I just stand there, breathing, counting the inhales the way I learned to when Daisy was a baby and sleep deprivation made everything feel too big.

Get through the moment. Then the next one.

That’s how I’ve survived the past ten years. It’s how I’ll survive the next ten minutes.

I straighten, smooth my apron, and step back out front.

The rush tapers off around midmorning, the regulars trickling out one by one. I keep glancing at the door, half-expecting him to come back. Half-dreading it.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

When the café empties, the quiet settles in heavier than before. The windows hum faintly with the cold.

I check the clock.

It’s too early to close. Too late to pretend I’m not rattled.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

For a split second, my heart leaps for a reason I refuse to examine.

Then I see the name on the screen.

Marla.

Daisy’s sitter.

I answer immediately. “Hi.”

“Abby?” Her voice sounds tight. “There’s been an accident.”

The words land like a blow to the chest.

“What kind of accident?” I ask, already reaching for my coat.

“There’s a fire,” she says quickly. “Not here—at the house down the street. Daisy was inside playing with her friend when it started, but the firefighters are here. She’s out now.”

The world narrows to a pinpoint.

“Is she hurt?”

“No,” Marla says. “She’s coughing a little, but they’ve got her on oxygen. She’s asking for you.”

“I’m on my way,” I say, already moving.

I hang up and don’t bother thinking. Thinking will come later, if I let it.

Filling in a startled Nancy quickly, I flip the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED, while she promises to finish cleaning before she locks up.

I grab my bag, shrug into my coat with clumsy hands, and race outside.

The café is peaceful as I leave, patiently for my return. Right now, there’s only one place I belong.

I run down the street.

The cold air burns my lungs as I sprint down the street, boots slipping slightly on packed snow. My breath comes fast and ragged, fear pounding through me with every step.

I don’t let myself imagine the worst. I don’t let myself think about what could have happened, what almost did.

I think of Daisy’s laugh. Her stubborn streak. The way she insists on wearing dresses with flowers even in the dead of winter.

My daughter. My whole world. The reason I stayed. The reason I learned how to build something solid when everything else fell apart.

The fire trucks come into view first, red lights flashing violently against the white landscape. Smoke curls up into the sky, dark and wrong and terrifying.

I slow only because my legs threaten to give out beneath me.

And then I see her.

Wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, her small face smudged with soot, oxygen mask slipping slightly as she talks animatedly to someone kneeling in front of her.

Relief hits so hard it steals my breath.

I rush forward, dropping to my knees in front of her, pulling her into my arms, pressing my face into her hair like I need proof she’s real.

“I’m here,” I whisper, over and over. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.”

She clings to me, then pulls back just enough to grin.

“Mom,” she says proudly, I want you to meet someone. She points past me. “This is the man who saved me.”

I turn.

And there he is.

Brendon.

Kneeling on the pavement, soot streaked across his jaw, his eyes fixed on my daughter with an intensity that makes my chest ache.

For a long moment, all I can do is stare at him.

At the man who once broke my heart.

At the man who just brought my whole damn world back to me.