Chapter 8
EIGHT
brENTON
I have fought house fires that rattled me less than the way Greer looked at me after I said I needed time.
I didn’t plan to say it. I didn’t even fully mean it. Not the way it sounded. But the second I saw her with that ornament, I was thrilled.
Then, I panicked.
Because I know what it means. I know she’ll know what it means. And… that terrifies me.
I know what it means when someone sees you like that. I know what it means to try to give them the same back.
And I know what it means to fail.
I’ve lived that.
So now I’m pacing inside the firehouse common room like a caged animal while Cruz watches me with his “you’ve lost your mind but I’m here for the show” face.
“You look like a man who either kissed someone he shouldn’t or didn’t kiss someone he should,” he says, flipping a pen through his fingers.
I drag both hands through my hair. Snow is still melting in it. I probably look wild. Correct assessment.
“Both,” I mutter.
Cruz nearly drops his pen. “BOTH?”
I groan. “Not helping.”
He immediately scoots to the edge of the table, eyes bright. “Start talking.”
“No.”
“Fine,” he says, leaning back. “Then I’ll just guess. Does her name rhyme with beer?”
I freeze.
His eyebrows jump. “Oh my God. It is Greer.”
“Shut up,” I hiss.
He grins like a man who has discovered buried treasure. “So you kissed the lodge’s event goddess. Did you break OSHA regulations doing it?”
“It was consensual,” I snap.
“That is not what OSHA cares about.”
“Cruz.”
He laughs, lifts both hands. “Fine. Continue. Why do you look like you’re regretting every life choice you’ve ever made?”
“I’m not regretting the kiss,” I say. “The opposite. That’s the damn problem.”
His grin softens into something real. “You like her.”
“I more than like her,” I admit, voice low. “And it’s happening too fast.”
He nods like he understands. “So what’s the issue? Greer’s great. You’re great. Just be great together.”
I pace again.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is absolutely that simple.”
“It isn’t,” I say, louder than I mean to. “My job doesn’t let me be the guy who shows up on time. It doesn’t let me be predictable. It doesn’t let me promise things and keep every promise.”
“And?” Cruz says. “That’s life.”
“Not for her,” I say, and the words scrape out of me. “She deserves someone who shows up when he says he will. Someone whose hours don’t get swallowed by emergencies. Someone who isn’t gone on holidays because a brush fire won’t wait.”
Cruz studies me for a long moment.
“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”
I stop pacing.
He crosses his arms. “You’re not disappointing people. You’re doing your job. A job that saves lives. There’s a difference.”
I swallow hard.
“Greer is smart enough to understand that,” he says. “And stubborn enough to argue with you about it for years.”
That gets a tiny smile out of me.
But the panic is still there. Heavy. Thick. A knot in my chest I can’t untangle.
Cruz reaches into his jacket pocket suddenly. “Speaking of knots—your Santa gift came. The third one.”
My pulse spikes.
He hands me a small wrapped package—brown paper, clean red string. Exactly like Greer’s.
My heart hits my ribs.
I untie the string slowly, trying not to shake.
Inside is—
A knitted beanie in deep navy. Simple. Soft. Warm.
Not store-bought.
Someone made this.
Someone careful. Thoughtful. Patient.
There’s a slip of paper tucked into the fold.
For when you forget to take care of yourself. You’re allowed warmth too.
My throat closes.
It feels like a hand on the back of my neck. A gentle one. The kind that stays even when you pretend you don’t need it.
“Whoa,” Cruz says quietly. “That’s…something.”
Something.
Something huge.
I sink down onto the bench.
Warmth spreads through me. Not heat—
Warmth.
The exact kind I crave but pretend I don’t.
Because who would think of me this way?
Who would choose softness for me?
Who would knit a beanie and write a line like that?
Greer.
The thought hits like lightning.
Everything about this gift feels like her. It’s protective and perceptive. It’s quietly tender in a way that wrecks me.
I set the beanie in my lap and stare at the note until the words blur.
“Brenton,” Cruz says gently. “You okay?”
“No,” I say honestly. “Not even close.”
He sits beside me. “Talk.”
I take a long, shaky breath.
“If this is from her…” I whisper. “If she drew my name…if she’s been thinking about me this way…writing these notes…choosing things that match me this perfectly…”
“Then what?” Cruz asks.
“Then I already messed up,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “I told her I needed time. I told her I wasn’t sure I could give her what she deserves.”
“And you meant that…” Cruz says slowly, “because you’re scared.”
I let out a laugh with no humor in it. “Terrified.”
“Do you want to lose her?”
“No,” I say instantly, so fast it surprises even me. “God, no.”
Cruz nods. “Then stop assuming she’s going to be disappointed in you. You’re not psychic. You’re just scared of being vulnerable.”
I cover my face with both hands.
He pats my shoulder. “Look. You don’t have to sprint. But you also don’t get to slam the brakes because you’re afraid of what it means if someone actually sees you.”
I drop my hands.
He’s right.
He’s annoyingly, painfully right.
Before I can respond, the station door opens with a gust of wind. The chief steps in.
“Brenton,” he says. “The Lodge called. They’ve got a situation. They need assistance outside. Path cleared. Guest safety.”
My entire body goes alert.
“What kind of situation?” I ask.
“Wind damage,” the chief says. “Tree leaning over one of the snowmobile sheds. Could fall.”
My stomach flips.
The snowmobile shed is near the lodge kitchen entrance. Where staff walk constantly.
Where Greer walks constantly.
“I’m on it,” I say.
The chief nods. “Take Cruz with you.”
Cruz grabs his jacket.
I shove the beanie into my pocket. As we head toward the truck, Cruz bumps my shoulder.
“You gonna talk to her?” he asks.
“In a minute,” I say. “After I deal with the tree.”
“And then?”
I inhale the freezing air, sharp and cold and grounding.
“And then,” I say quietly, “I stop pretending I don’t want her.”
He grins. “Good.”
We climb into the truck.
And all I can think as we speed toward the lodge is that if anything happened to her out there, I will lose my damn mind.
I need to get to her. Now.
Which is why my pulse spikes when the radio crackles just as we hit the lodge driveway:
DISPATCH: Further update—lodge staff member slipped near the shed. Possible injury. Need confirmation.
My blood turns to ice.
“Who slipped?” I demand.
No answer. Just static.
Cruz looks at me, eyes wide.
I slam my foot harder on the accelerator.