Page 2 of Ignited By My Mate

I grab the largest iced coffee they sell and bring it to the counter. The cashier—a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and a beehive of silver hair—smiles at me.

“Rough morning, hon?”

“You could say that,” I mutter, handing over a five. “I drove twelve hours to stay at a cabin that apparently burned down. Nobody told me. Now I’ve got no place to stay and no backup plan.”

She winces. “You must’ve booked one of the Everpine cabins. Fire tore through half of that property last week. Real mess. Nobody hurt, thank God, but most of the units are unusable.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been nice to know before I got here,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

She passes me my change. “You try calling the owner?”

“Voicemail,” I say bitterly. “I think I’ve been ghosted. By a building.”

She hums sympathetically. “There’s a motel down the road if you’re desperate. Or maybe talk to the sheriff. He might know someone renting a room. Or one of the fire guys. They’ve been all over that property since the blaze.”

“The fire guys?”

She nods toward the bulletin board by the window, where a flyer readsTWISTED OAK VOLUNTEER FIREHOUSE PANCAKE BREAKFAST – EVERY FIRST SATURDAY. “Good men. Sweet as pie. Maybe they can help.”

“Right. Because nothing says ‘relaxing vacation’ like chasing down a firefighter in the middle of a crisis,” I deadpan.

The woman chuckles. “You might be surprised, hon. This town has a way of working things out.”

“Thanks,” I say, gathering my things.

I step back outside with my iced coffee in hand, shielding my eyes from the midday sun. The heat curls off the pavement in shimmering waves, but the mountain breeze softens it. I glance around the quiet town, noting the low hum of life—people chatting on porches, a kid riding by on a bike with a dog chasing behind him, wind chimes singing on a nearby balcony.

It’s peaceful here. Slow.

I just need a place to sleep and time to regroup.

I sit on the hood of my car, sipping my drink, scrolling through my phone for local motels, when I feel the strangest thing. Like someone’s watching me.

Not in a creepy way. More like… something electric brushing over my skin.

I look up, and that’s when I see him.

He’s standing by the pump, filling a pickup truck the color of storm clouds. Broad shoulders, dark hair tousled like he ran a hand through it too many times, and a face that makes my mouth go dry. He’s wearing navy work pants and a black T-shirt with the wordsTWISTED OAK FIRE DEPARTMENTacross the chest, and he’s staring at me like I’ve just stepped out of his favorite dream.

And okay—he’s hot. Like, firefighter calendar hot. But there’s something more. Something intense. The way he’s looking at me is… unnerving.

Then he starts walking toward me.

No, not walking. Stalking. Like a predator zeroed in on prey.

My heart skips. Not from fear. From something else entirely.

He stops a few feet away, voice low and rough. “Are you okay?”

I blink at him. “Do I not look okay?”

He studies me, and I swear his eyes flash gold for half a second. “Not really. You look like your world just caught fire.”

I huff a laugh. “Close. My vacation cabin did. Burned to the ground. Apparently, no one thought to cancel my reservation.”

Understanding dawns on his features. “Everpine?”

“Yeah.”

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