No Damaged Goods

Crap. Crap. Crap!

Wincing, I duck down into my shoulders. “Mayyybe. Can we keep that between us, though? Oh, God.” I drop my face into my lumpy purple hand-knitted gloves. “This is so high school.”

“Don’t worry, Peace. I won’t tell the hunky fireman you got a crush.”

“Leo!” I sputter.

But I’m laughing, and he’s grinning, and it’s just nice.

It’s cool making a friend out here when I’ve avoided putting down roots for so long.

He lets out a hoarse laugh, then shakes his head. “He hasn’t been at the radio station all week because Andrea’s been grounded, I hear. Girl’s slipperier than her pet snake. If he takes his eyes off her, she’ll be gone like a cat in the night.”

“Wowza.” I wince. “I feel like I might’ve had something to do with that. I was there the night she almost set the inn on fire. Hid her out in my cabin until he came to get her.”

“Yeah? No wonder Blake hasn’t said a frigging word about you,” he laughs.

Ouch. I deflate.

“…Not even a little?”

“Well, he usually doesn’t talk about things that get under his skin,” Leo says, stroking his stubble, and I almost want to kick myself for the way that makes my heart jump. “You looked after his kid? If you’re really into him, that’s a big favor. He ought to appreciate it.”

I glance over my shoulder.

No fooling, this really does feel like high school, making sure my secret crush isn’t eavesdropping.

“He’s a good dad, isn’t he?” I ask tentatively.

I can’t help but remember that night. He’d pulled Andrea close and wrapped her in a hug that could’ve stopped time.

He’d been angry, sure, it wasn’t hard to see.

But it was the kind of protective fury that comes from a man who’s afraid someone he loves has done something reckless that could take her away forever.

And as he’d hugged her, the way his brows knit together and crumpled left an impression, all right.

I’m melting just thinking of it.

The warmth in his face was written so clearly, utterly real and unashamed, because he loves Andrea that much. That’s not something you find in most places.

Maybe Leo’s right and he doesn’t talk much about his feelings, but when his guard comes down, they come pouring out like a rushing waterfall.

“Hey. Earth to Peace.”

“Uh?” I blink, then shake myself, warmth chasing the chill from my cheeks. “Sorry. I drifted a little.”

“Somebody’s moonstruck.”

“Am not!” I splutter. “I don’t even know him. Not really.”

“Then you’d best get on that—”

He breaks off, eyes widening, his entire body going stiff as he stares past me and then bites off, “Oh, fuck.”

Too many things happen in the next ten seconds.

Leo bolts to his feet, digging his hand into his pocket and grabbing his phone. My stomach clutches nervously tight as I scramble to my feet after him, turning so fast I almost slip on the icy sidewalk, whirling to see what he’s looking at.

Then I see the thick plume of smoke billowing up from behind the candy shop.

Oh, no.

Oh, crap.

It’s like fire follows me everywhere, I swear.

But Leo’s already barking something into the phone, while I stand there helplessly, watching him charge across the street, waving his arm over his head. Inside the shop, several customers and the mahogany-haired woman and boy look up quickly before rushing to the door.

Suddenly, the street’s pure chaos.

People pour out of the candy store and every shop around, from the diner to whatever store is in the back. Looks like there’s a narrow alley, and the smoke could be coming from either building. Alarms shrill, doors fling open, people’s voices burst the quiet.

It’s all happening so fast.

I feel like I’m the only bit of stillness in the entire space, helpless and frozen, not knowing what to do.

It’s a relief, though, to see Leo ushering his wife and the boy outside, getting clear, even as the fat plume of greasy-looking, thick black smoke thickens.

Then the sound of sirens rips through the morning, drowning out the panicked voices. The crowd scatters like a flock of pigeons as a fire truck comes careening down main street, lights flashing.

And there they are—Blake, Justin, Rich, alongside two other men I don’t recognize. They move like a well-coordinated unit as they slew the fire truck across the mouth of the alley, screeching it to a halt.

In seconds, they’ve leaped down, Blake directing everyone with the commanding authority that makes him seem like he can handle anything.

His smooth, rolling voice urgent, demanding obedience, but calming.

Still promising everything will be okay.

The morning light flashes off the smooth gleam of his hair and the stark line of his temple as he directs his men to connect the hose to the hydrant on the corner while others gear up, shrugging into thick fire jackets.

The flames billow higher.

I can see them now, rising up past the back of the shop, and there are screams from inside. Somewhere. I think the building behind it—Jesus.