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)
“Kiss me,” I whisper before my brain can catch up.
His reaction is immediate—a rough inhale, a soft curse breathed into my cheek—but he still doesn’t close the distance.
He pulls back an inch, jaw clenched hard. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if I do, I won’t stop.”
Something dangerously warm spreads through my chest.
“Ash…”
He steps back another inch. Then another. His hands fall from my waist, leaving cold air where his heat had seared into me. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking like he’s fighting a demon.
“Lucy, I swear to God,” he mutters, “you’re gonna be the end of me.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes,” he cuts in, low, intense. “You did.”
He stares at me like he’s memorizing my face, then turns away, bracing both hands against the side of the float to steady himself.
The wind whips again. This time, the float doesn’t budge. But I do.
I sink onto the edge, heart hammering, legs trembling, lips tingling with a kiss that didn’t happen—but almost did. Ash exhales hard, still facing away.
“I need to… I need a minute,” he says, voice shredded.
I nod, because I need a minute too. Or maybe an hour. Or maybe a lifetime.
The wind howls again, rattling the decorations, flinging glitter off into the sky. But I barely hear it over the sound of my own heart.
And Ash Calder, still gripping the float like it’s the only thing keeping him from doing the one thing we’re both drowning in—turning around, grabbing me, pulling me in, and finally, finally, kissing me.
Chapter Nineteen
Ash
If the firehouse has ever smelled this clean, I don’t remember it.
Someone scrubbed the bay floors till they shine. Garlands hang from the rafters. Strings of white lights arc across the truck bays like constellations. The ladder truck is parked outside, making room for tables, a dance floor, and a stage where the mayor is currently giving a speech I’m not listening to.
I should be listening.
I’m the department liaison for the festival, which means I should be paying attention, shaking hands, and pretending to enjoy this whole production.
But all I can think about—all I can feel—is the small tremor running under my skin as I wait for her to walk in.
Lucy.
Hell. Even her name hits like a match strike.
I tug at my collar, suddenly too hot under the string lights. The bay door is cracked for airflow, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. I’m wired, restless, pacing the edge of the room like a man waiting for something he shouldn’t want as badly as he does.
“Relax,” Talon mutters, elbowing me as he helps set out hot cocoa cups. “You look like you’re prepping for a rescue.”
“This is relaxing,” I lie.
He snorts. “Sure. And I’m Santa Claus.”
Before I can fire back, the door opens. The world tilts. Lucy steps inside.
Red dress with a deep neckline that makes my pulse punch hard against my ribs. Soft fabric that molds to her waist and flares at her hips. Her hair pulled back just enough to show the line of her neck—and damn if that doesn’t finish me.
I forget how to breathe.
She pauses in the doorway like she’s unsure she belongs here, scanning the crowd, cheeks pink from the cold. Then her eyes land on me. That’s it. That’s the moment. Because her breath catches too.
She walks toward me, small steps, tentative, like she’s worried the floor might give out beneath her. Maybe it does. Maybe it’s just me who feels the ground slide.
“Wow,” Talon whispers behind me. “You’re dead.”
I ignore him. I meet her halfway, because waiting even two more seconds feels impossible.
“Hi,” she says, voice soft, nerves fluttering under it.
“Lucy.”
Her name comes out low, rough. Too rough. I clear my throat, try again. “You look…”
No good words exist. Not for this.
She lets out a shaky laugh. “You too. You, um—clean up well.”
“I showered,” I say.
She laughs harder, and damn if that doesn’t make me want to drag her somewhere dark and kiss her until I forget the rest of the world exists.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, forcing the words out evenly.
“Hot cocoa.” She gestures toward the refreshment table. “It smells amazing.”
We walk there together, close but not touching, the space between us full of things we haven’t said. Every time her dress brushes her leg, my gaze darts down. Every time she glances up through her lashes, it knocks the air out of me.
She takes a cup and lifts it to her lips. I watch her mouth—too long. Too nakedly. And she notices.
Her cheeks flush deeper. “You good?”
Not even slightly.
“You shouldn’t wear that dress,” I say.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
I drag a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Not—you look incredible. Too incredible. It’s distracting.”
Her eyes widen, pupils blooming. “Distracting.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She sips from her cup, hiding a smile.
Good? I swallow hard.
Someone starts music. Gentle, holiday-themed. Couples drift to the dance floor, swaying under the lights. The whole atmosphere softens, warm, hazy. Lucy watches them, her expression dreamy.