All Fired Up (Hometown Heat 1)

He holds out the sunflowers—three gorgeous blossoms, each one as big as both of my hands put together, surrounded by decorative grass and tiny stalks of wheat. I accept the arrangement reverently, the sense that I’m accepting something more meaningful and precious than flowers making my stomach flutter all over again.

What does this mean?

Why is he bringing me flowers after avoiding me all week?

Why is he still smiling that heart-squeezing, panty-melting smile that makes me feel cozy and desperate to kiss him at the same time? Am I imagining the way the air thickens between us? Or does he feel it, too…this sweet, sexy tension that has my thighs itching beneath my stockings?

“Thank you,” I say instead of any of the other things racing through my head. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.” He holds my gaze with an intensity that makes my lips tingle and my body yearn to be closer to his. I’m dying to wrap my arms around his neck and feel my breasts flatten against his chest as he pulls me close. I want him to claim my ass in his big hands the way he used to and draw me up his body until my feet dangle off the ground and I’m helpless to do anything but—

“We should head inside,” Jake says, cutting into my steamy thoughts. “We don’t want to miss the first course.” He offers me his arm, proving he has the handsome manners to match his handsome face.

I slip my hand through the crook of his elbow, my fingers curling into the soft cotton of his gray sweater and the crisp folds of his dress shirt beneath.

It feels so good to touch him, electric and familiar at the same time and fantastic enough to ensure I can do nothing but offer a goofy smile to the woman who takes my coat and flowers at the coat check. Even when the young redhead thanks Jake for his service and shoots him a come-hither look as she presses our claim ticket into his hand, I only smile and relish the feel of Jake’s bicep beneath my fingers as he leads me through a second set of doors and down the passage to the dining hall.

I can’t fault the redhead for trying.

I mean, really. She’s not blind.

In black jeans, a white button-down, and gray V-neck sweater, Jake looks like he should be modeling business casual for Sexy Firefighter on His Day Off Magazine. He’s so drop-dead gorgeous it’s hard to believe he’s still single after two years. Respect for his grief aside, I can imagine the women of Bliss River have done their best to tempt Jake into rejoining the dating world.

But he’s still unattached, a fact I keep circling back around to as I wonder if maybe a second chance between us isn’t the craziest thing in the world.

If Jake were willing to settle for anything less than love that makes your heart race and your soul celebrate finding the way home, surely he would have hooked up with one of the many eligible women around town. He must be holding out for something more than a woman to warm his bed and look pretty on his arm at church. He must be looking for the real thing, the kind of love he had with his wife, the kind we had when we were young.

We were naïve and clueless in a lot of ways, but what we felt for each other was real.

One of the realest things I’ve ever known.

“Looks like your sister’s table is full,” Jake observes as we step into the hall and scoot off to one side, searching for a place to sit.

The space has been transformed into a redneck winter wonderland. Snowflakes dripping sequins hang from the ceiling, white tablecloths cover the circular tables, and at the middle of each table a centerpiece that looks like a snowman vomited up the contents of his stomach bobs and sparkles, a mass of paper snowflakes, metallic silly string, and silver pipe cleaners. It’s gaudy as hell, but fun and romantic, too.

Or maybe everything just feels romantic right now…

“Want to see if there’s room at Jamison’s table?” Jake asks, motioning to the far corner of the room where a table of firefighters and their dates are already seated, digging into their soups and salads. “Looks like there are two empty chairs. They aren’t together, but I bet people wouldn’t mind shifting over.”

I hum contemplatively, even though I have absolutely no intention of spending this evening wedged between the Hansen brothers. I don’t want to risk Jamison being a jerk again, and I want Jake all to myself. Or as to myself as I can get at a table full of other people. “It looks like there are two together at Howard’s table. Let’s not bother Jamison and his friends.”