Chapter 2
TWO
brENTON
The firehouse usually feels grounding after a long day. Today it feels like there’s too much happening.
“Hey,” Cruz calls from across the bay. “We are doing the first round of the Secret Santa swap later in the lounge. You putting yours in?”
I tighten my grip on the strap of my duty bag. “Yep. Already delivered.”
“Early.” He raises his eyebrows. “Someone’s excited.”
It was not excitement. It was panic wrapped in hopeful wrapping paper tied with a bow of poor decision-making. But that sounds dramatic, so I say nothing.
Cruz grins and goes back to rechecking the inventory list he’s scribbling on a clipboard. I drop my bag on the bench by my locker and lean against the cool metal door, exhaling slowly.
I did it.
I gave Greer her first gift.
And she liked it. I think she liked it. She looked fucking adorable this afternoon, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright. The little red envelope tucked into her bag.
Stop thinking about her, I tell myself, which works for approximately two seconds before her face floats back up, framed in snow and wreath ribbons, smiling even though she’s exhausted.
God. I’m in trouble.
My phone buzzes. A text from Rhodes.
RHODES: Wreath up. No injuries. Jovie says you are now allowed to operate ladders without adult supervision.
I huff out a laugh.
ME: Greer approved?
RHODES: She came outside right after you left. She looked happy. I think?
Happy. Good. I’ll take that. I pocket my phone and open my locker.
Inside, the familiar contents: gloves, spare shirt, challenge coins lined in a neat row, and the small envelope with my name on it. My Secret Santa gift. I haven’t opened it yet because I wanted a minute alone.
I take the envelope and tear it open carefully. Something metal slides into my palm.
I blink down at it.
An antique firefighter challenge coin.
Not one of the standard designs you can buy anywhere. This one is old. Polished smooth from years of being handled. A mountain silhouette on one side. The faded crest of the county on the other.
My chest goes tight.
Whoever drew my name knew. They knew I collect these. They knew I like the mountain designs, the ones that remind me of home. They knew this would hit in a place deeper than “cute Secret Santa fun.”
A folded paper slips out of the envelope. I unfold it with careful fingers.
For the moments you need grounding.
For the things that matter.
Happy first round.
—Your Secret Santa
Grounding.
For the things that matter.
I sit down heavily on the bench.
The coin is cool in my palm, solid and real, and somehow—I don’t know how—it feels like someone saw right through me in a way I’m not used to being seen.
I close my fist around it.
“Yo,” Cruz calls, walking over. “You good?”
I nod, clearing my throat. “Yeah. Fine.”
He peers at the coin in my hand. “Nice. That’s a fancy one. Who’s your Santa?”
“No idea,” I say, slipping it into my pocket, close to my heartbeat. “Someone observant.”
He shrugs. “At least you didn’t get socks.”
I force a chuckle, but my mind is already spinning in circles.
Greer is observant.
Greer is thoughtful.
Greer knows I like the mountain-range designs.
Greer once stood next to my locker during a community safety tour and asked what the coins meant.
But Greer wouldn’t have drawn me. There were too many names in the bowl. The odds are tiny. And even if she did—
No. That’s too dangerous of a path to entertain.
“Hey,” Cruz says, nudging me with an elbow. “Want to help me move the toy drive donations? Mason just called. He’s dropping off a big box from the lodge.”
Mason. So Holt was not guessing earlier. He really is ferrying things over. Which means—
“Greer organized it,” Cruz adds, confirming the thought before it fully forms. “Apparently the lodge staff pooled tips and bought out half the toy aisle.”
Of course she did.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing up from the bench. “Let’s go.”
We walk toward the lounge, where a few volunteers are sorting board games, plush animals, and craft kits into piles. Mason appears a minute later, arms wrapped around a huge cardboard box decorated with candy-cane stripes.
“Delivery for the firefighters,” he announces. “Handle with care. Contains at least twelve fragile feelings.”
Cruz laughs. I reach for the box.
“I got it,” I say. “Heavy?”
“Not physically,” Mason says, pretending to wipe sweat dramatically. “Emotionally, yes. Greer wrapped every single thing like she’s getting graded on technique. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying.”
That tracks.
“She did a good job,” I say.
He studies me for half a second, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “She usually does.”
I clear my throat. “How’s she doing? With the gala?”
“Running on caffeine and pure spite.” Mason hands me a sheet of paper. “But she’ll pull it off. She always does.”
I nod and carry the box to the table, setting it down. Mason gives a wave and slips back out the door into the cold.
Cruz whistles at the neat wrapping inside the box. “Man. The lodge does not play around.”
No, they don’t. Especially not Greer.
As we sort, my thoughts keep drifting back to her. The way she looked up at the wreath. The smile she gave me—it felt like sunlight hitting snow, quick and bright and too much.
Stop.
You’re her Secret Santa. You can’t screw this up by letting your feelings run wild before she even knows.
Except, if she’s the one giving me the gifts. If she is noticing me.
If this is mutual…
The thought is wishful. And, most likely, completely impossible.
“Brenton,” Cruz says suddenly. “You spacing out on me?”
“Yes,” I say honestly. “Sorry.”
He smirks. “You’re thinking about your Santa.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“And maybe your Santa is cute,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes and shove a plush reindeer into the correct pile.
He laughs. “Man, I love this season.”
The radio crackles overhead. We all look up.
DISPATCH: Station One, respond to a reported gas odor near Maple Ridge Road. Caller states strong smell outside cabin area. No confirmed leak.
Great.
Gas checks are never fun in the snow.
I shrug into my jacket and grab my gloves.
“Be right back,” I tell Cruz.
“Try not to freeze,” he calls after me.
Outside, the cold hits like a slap. Snow whirls in the wind. The truck idles nearby, headlights cutting through the swirling flakes.
As I climb in, I spot something through the blur of falling snow. The lodge — glowing warm across the street, wreath sparkling under the porch lights, guests bundled in scarves heading toward the entrance.
And Greer.
She steps outside for a breath of air, hugging her cardigan tight against the cold. She tilts her head back and lets the snow land on her cheeks. Her shoulders relax just a little.
Something inside me shifts.
She looks peaceful. She also looks tired as hell.
That’s not surprising, consider how hard she’s trying to give an entire town a perfect holiday.
And I want—no, I ache—to make things easier for her.
“Brenton!” Cruz calls from the driver’s seat. “You coming?”
I tear my gaze away and climb in.
The engine hums. Snow gathers on the windshield. The radio repeats the call location. I settle my hands on my knees, steadying my breath.
We pull away, tires crunching over thick snow.
I glance back once more, just long enough to see Greer turn around and step inside the warmth of the lodge.
Then I face forward.
Focus.
Duty first.
Feelings later.
Except the feelings are not staying politely in their lane. They’re spreading through me like heat from a match.
And when the truck turns the corner and Wilder Mountain Lodge vanishes from view, I close my eyes for a moment, the coin still warm in my pocket.
Because suddenly I can’t help but wonder… What if my Secret Santa is Greer? And what if I am already falling for her faster than I can stop?
And that thought is still burning when dispatch comes through again with a sharper tone:
DISPATCH: Update on Maple Ridge. Caller reports visible flickering from beneath porch. Possible electrical involvement. Proceed with caution.
Great.
Snowstorm. Electrical hazard. Remote cabin.
But even that isn’t what makes my stomach drop.
It’s the silent, gut-deep fear that jolts through me as we accelerate up the mountain—
Maple Ridge is less than a mile from the lodge. And if the hazard spreads…
Greer could be in danger.
The truck lights cut through the dark as we speed up the winding road.
And that is where this chapter ends—
with the snow thickening, the mountain darkening, and the realization settling in my chest with a weight I can’t ignore:
If anything happens near the lodge, I’m going to run to her. Every time.
I couldn’t stop myself, even if I tried.