Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“Stay close,” he orders.
“I’m literally three inches away.”
“Closer.”
I huff. “Maybe just carry me, then.”
He stops walking and turns slowly.
“Don’t tempt me,” he says.
A shudder of pleasure runs through me at the thought.
The drive is a blur of snow and tension.
Inside the truck, the heater blasts warm air. Snow ricochets off the windshield. The world outside disappears into blinding white. Ash keeps one hand on the wheel, the other on the console—but close enough that if I moved even an inch, my fingers would brush his. We drive in thick, electric silence.
“Ash?” I ask softly.
“Hm.”
“Why did you really come?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
“I want this one.”
His grip tightens on the wheel. “Fine,” he mutters. “Because I couldn’t sit at the firehouse wondering if you were okay.”
“Ash—”
“Because the storm got worse faster than it should have, and I panicked.”
“You panicked?”
“I said don’t repeat it.” I bite my lip.
“And,” he adds quietly, “because I didn’t want you scared and alone.”
My chest aches. “Ash…”
“Lucy.” His voice drops again. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I want to.”
“Then wait until we’re inside.”
The wind howls. The tension in the truck crackles so thick I could reach out and touch it. And for the first time since moving to Devil’s Peak, I realize something terrifying: I trust him.
With everything.
We pull into the parking lot and Ash kills the engine twenty minutes later. Snow swirls under the floodlights. He turns to me. “Inside,” he says softly. “Come on.”
He opens his door, then rounds to my side before I can even manage the handle. Gentlemanly. Bossy. Both. He scoops the duffel off the seat before I can reach for it.
“Ash,” I protest, “I can carry my own bag.”
“Don’t care.”
“You are—”
“Don’t say impossible again,” he warns, voice low. “It’ll start a fight we don’t have time for.”
My cheeks burn. He leads me inside, warm air hitting us immediately. The firehouse is dim, most of the crew on call or already out on storm duty. His hand stays at the small of my back.
“Where am I… sleeping?” I ask.
Ash hesitates. Then points upstairs.
“You can take my room."
My throat closes.
“And you?” I whisper.
“I’ll take the couch.”
“That’s not fair.”
His eyes darken. “I’m not sleeping in a bed while you’re down here alone. Not happening.” My breath shivers out. He steps closer, his voice lowering until it’s barely a growl. “You’re safe here, Lucy.”
I nod.
He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The silence stretches between us—tight, charged, dangerous.
Finally, he whispers:
“If you need anything… anything at all… you come find me.”
“Ash…”
“Say you will.”
“I will,” I breathe.
His jaw flexes again—like he’s barely holding something in.
“Good.”
He pulls back.
Leaves the room.
And I stand there, pulse racing, heart pounding, knowing—
The storm outside is nothing compared to the one raging between us.
Chapter Fifteen
Ash
Holly is safe.
That’s the first thing that steadies me as I pull the firehouse door open and usher Lucy inside ahead of me. My niece is at a Christmas sleepover two blocks away, surrounded by sugar cookies, glitter glue, and parents who adore her.
And that leaves me here.
At the firehouse.
In the dark.
During a storm.
With Lucy Snow.
She steps into the main bay, hugging her jacket tighter, looking around like she’s never been somewhere this empty. Usually the place is buzzing—sirens, alarms, chatter, boots clanging, radios crackling.
Tonight it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
She turns toward me, headlamp off now, hair falling loose around her shoulders from where she pushed her hood back. Snowflakes cling to the ends, catching the overhead lights like tiny stars.
And my brain just… stops.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Where am I sleeping?”
A muscle jumps in my jaw.
I should’ve prepared for this. I should’ve set boundaries. Thought logically. Remembered who I am and what I’m responsible for.
Instead I say, “My room.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Your room?”
“It’s the warmest,” I mutter, heading toward the stairs before I can change my mind. “Best mattress. Heated vent works faster in there.”
“You programmed your HVAC for your bedroom?” she asks, following behind me.
“It’s not quite a bedroom,” I growl. “It’s a single bed.”
“A fancy bed?”
“I didn’t say fancy.”
“You implied fancy.”
I turn sharply enough she nearly collides with me. “Lucy.”
She blinks up at me, innocent as a cat that just stole something off the counter.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“Anything.”
She smiles—sweet, dangerous, made of trouble. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You exist,” I say. “That’s more than enough.”
Her breath hitches. She tries to hide it.
Fails.
I swear under my breath and force myself up the stairs before I do something stupid.
My room is small—barely bigger than a walk-in closet.
Single bed. Metal frame. Dark gray linens. One nightstand. A hook for my turnout pants. A door that doesn’t quite latch.
Nothing in here is comfortable except the mattress. I always end up waking up here after a long shift. Holly sneaks in sometimes for naps. It’s quiet. Familiar.
Safe.
But it is absolutely not safe right now.
Lucy steps inside and does a slow turn, taking in the space. “Wow. Your decorating style is… minimal.”