Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
To know that at least one person out there was beginning to care for him very much.
Maybe a little too much.
#FireSafetyMyAss #ToothbrushPacking #DieHardDeprived #ScaredShitless
17
#WANTSMORE
ADRIAN
The SERA Holiday Bonfire was exactly the kind of picture-perfect winter event that would make my followers weep with envy. Golden firelight danced against snow-laden pine boughs, rustic log benches were arranged in perfect Instagram-worthy circles, and the scent of woodsmoke and pine hung in the crisp evening air like nature’s own aromatherapy.
I reveled in wearing my own coat this time—a thrift shop favorite in navy wool with subtle copper threading that would photograph beautifully against the flames—and pulled out my phone to capture some establishing shots. The marshmallow roasting stations looked like something out of a holiday movie, complete with vintage-style wire baskets and glass jars of graham crackers that caught the firelight like amber.
“Flame-proof content for a flame-proof evening,” I murmured to myself. Vic had been thrilled about this fire safety sponsorship—apparently, there was huge money to be made in creating educational content that didn’t feel educational. And after seeing Fire Chief Judd Kincaid’s rugged headshot on the Legacy Fire Department website, I’d understood why.
The man was built like a lumberjack who moonlighted as a male model. All broad shoulders and serious jaw, with the kind of competent authority that made people want to follow his instructions. Even the fire safety ones.
But as I panned my phone across the gathering crowd, looking for the best lighting, my chest tightened with a familiar anxiety.
Maddox wasn’t here yet.
He’d asked me to grab a ride out here with someone else when a family portrait session had gone long. Now, I was second-guessing his explanation, wondering if he’d show up at all or if this afternoon’s easy phone conversation had been another one of his emotional false starts.
Before I could spiral, the fire chief met my eyes with a quirked eyebrow. I nodded and began recording.
“Alright, folks!” His deep voice cut through the chatter. “Gather round for your mandatory fun safety briefing!”
Judd stepped up onto a makeshift platform—actually just a wide slice of tree stump—and the crowd naturally gravitated toward him. He was even more impressive in person, all six-foot-something of him wrapped in official-looking navy gear that somehow made fire safety seem sexy.
“Rule number one,” he announced, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. “Don’t wave flaming marshmallows in your friends’ faces unless you want to meet me again—at the ER.”
A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. I refocused on my phone screen, caught off guard by how naturally charming he was. There was something disarming about his gruff earnestness, the way he managed to make fire safety feel like friendly advice from your favorite uncle rather than a lecture.
“Rule number two: if your marshmallow catches fire, don’t panic. Blow it out gently. Don’t wave it around like you’re conducting the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.” He demonstrated with a skewer, his expression deadpan. “This isn’t the Fourth of July.”
More laughter from the audience. I noticed several people—mostly women, but a few men, too—watching him with obvious appreciation. A couple near me whispered something about him being “the one who’s always showing up at Timber with random safety inspections,” which only made me more curious. Why did he and Alex seem to have it out for each other?
“And rule number three,” Judd continued, scanning the crowd with mock seriousness. “If anyone tries to convince you that s’mores taste better when you char the marshmallow to a crisp, they’re lying. That’s not rustic or old-school; that’s just bad technique.”
I was so focused on filming his surprisingly engaging safety talk that I didn’t notice the familiar presence behind me until a low voice murmured directly in my ear.
“Don’t fall for the chief. He’ll have you filling out safety inspection paperwork before taking you to bed.”
My skin prickled at Maddox’s proximity, the warmth of his breath against my neck. I turned to find him standing close enough that I could smell his soap and see the amusement dancing in his eyes. He looked relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before—no tension in his shoulders, no guarded expression. Just easy confidence and a hint of a smile that made my stomach flip.
“Jealous, Sullivan?” I whispered back, not bothering to hide my grin.
“Of a guy who’s more likely to have spare fire blankets in his bedside table than toys or lube? Hardly.” But his eyes stayed on me rather than the chief, and something warm unfurled in my chest.
Chief Kincaid wrapped up his talk to enthusiastic applause, and the crowd began dispersing toward the various activity stations. Maddox produced a thermos from his jacket pocket, unscrewing the cap to release the scent of cinnamon and something stronger.
“Spiked cider,” he explained, offering it to me. “Family recipe. Maya suggested you might need a little warming from the inside out.”