Page 17 of Her Ohio Old Flame

The neighbors in Peaceful always came through. Even after all these years, some things hadn’t changed.

She crossed to the dining table, where a list of tasks she’d scribbled the night before sat waiting. Clean the house. Prepare the bedrooms. Replace the smoke-scented curtains in the living room. The list was endless, but it gave her direction.

Just as she picked up a pen to add another item, a distant wail broke the quiet morning. Asha froze, her hand hovering above the paper as the sound grew louder. Sirens.

She moved to the window, her pulse quickening as the firetruck barreled down the street, its lights flashing. Her breath hitched. Zane.

She curled her fingers around the windowsill as she watched the truck disappear around the corner, the sirens fading into the distance. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard, trying to push back the wave of worry that surged through her.

Her mind drifted to Zane’s face—the sharp determination in his eyes, the steady way he carried himself, even in the chaos of the hospital and her home. He wasn’t merely a firefighter; he was a rock, unshaken by the flames and destruction he faced daily.

“Godspeed,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the words carried the weight of her unspoken fears.

As the sirens faded into the distance, Asha leaned against the windowsill, the cool glass pressing into her fingertips. Her chest felt tight, the emotions too messy to name swirling inside her. She pressed her lips together, trying to push the thoughts of Zane away, but they clung stubbornly.

This wasn’t why she’d come back. She wasn’t planning to stay. Once her parents were stable, she’d go back to her life—the life she’d built far away from Peaceful, far away from the memories that still had the power to cut too deep.

Her problems with this town—no, with a person in this town—hadn’t magically disappeared simply because Zane had reappeared in her life. She couldn’t let herself get tangled up in him again. Not when she knew how it would end.

She couldn’t hurt Zane again.

She tightened her fingers on the windowsill, as if clinging to that thought would steady her, but the ache in her chest didn’t ease. Because, god, how she wanted to let go. Just for a moment. To burrow into his arms, feel the strength of his embrace, and let him carry the weight she’d been holding for so long.

But that wasn’t an option. Not then, not now, not ever.

Asha pushed away from the window, shaking her head as if it would dislodge the longing that had settled deep in her bones. She turned back to the kitchen and picked up the pen, forcing her focus back to the list in front of her.

Distance. That was what she needed.

Even as her heart whispered how much she wanted the opposite.

For a moment, she stood there, staring at the empty street, her thoughts a tangle of concern and something deeper. Zane had been a constant in her life over the past few days, stepping in without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Chapter Nine

On Sunday afternoon, Asha stood at Zane’s doorstep, clutching a warm casserole dish and debating her decision to visit him. During the past week, Zane had been a constant presence at her parents’ home, assisting with various tasks—from cleaning and repairing the kitchen, to mowing the lawn and fixing the leaky showerhead. His unwavering support had been invaluable, especially with her father now home but still weak, and her mother transferred to a rehabilitation center.

She was almost ready to retreat, when the door swung open.

Zane’s eyes, green in the sunlight, lit up as he spotted her before he lowered his gaze to her hands. A day’s worth of scruff shadowed his jaw, a shade darker than his tousled hair—a mix of sun-kissed gold and light brown that always seemed to defy categorization. His jeans were crisp, his shirt pristine and wrinkle-free, but his hair looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

“For me?” His lips curved into an easy smile.

She looked down, feeling awkward. “Um, yeah.” She pressed the dish into his hands. “I made you a tater-tot hotdish.”

“You remembered it’s my favorite?”

She nodded, her self-consciousness flaring under the intensity of his smile.

“Come in.” He stepped aside. “I just made some coffee. Want a cup?”

She hesitated for a beat, then nodded and entered his home.

Asha followed him into the house, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the aroma of the casserole. They settled at the breakfast table, sunlight streaming through the window.

“How are your parents doing?”

“About as good a could be expected at this time in their recovery, I suppose.” She cradled the warm mug between her hands, stealing glances over the rim at the gorgeous man on the other side of the breakfast table. “I’m grateful for your help, you know.”

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