Page 5 of Ignited By My Mate

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t like that.

“Let me find you a place.”

Lark fidgets with the edge of the napkin, scanning the menu even though she hasn’t looked at it. I can tell she’s overwhelmed. Her uncertainty vibrates through the air.

And still… she’s here.

The server comes over, and we place our orders—coke and a BLT sandwich for her, coke and burger for me. Once we’re alone again, she leans back in the booth, arms crossed.

“It’s only for a few days,” I say, trying to convince her that this is a good idea. “I’ll show you around. Give you the local tour.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I hold my breath.

Then she reaches for her coke, takes a sip, and says, “Okay.”

I blink. “Yeah?”

“One week,” she repeats. “That’s all I’ve got. So… show me whatyou’vegot, fireman.”

I grin so hard it hurts.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already mine.

And I’ll spend every second of this week proving it to her.

THREE

Lark

The diner isstraight out of a Hallmark movie—red vinyl booths, hand-written pie specials on a chalkboard, and a server who calls everyone “hon.”

I study Harris as he sits across from me. He’s intense, like he’s memorizing every detail of my face. And okay—he’shot. Tall and broad with strong hands, sharp cheekbones, and eyes the color of honey warmed in sunlight. I try not to let his incredible smelldistract me. It’s not cologne. It’s him. Warm, woodsy, a little smoky. Like sunshine and forests and safety all rolled into one.

The server delivers our food, and I smile, popping a fry in my mouth. When she’s gone, I glance out the window. People move slowly here. No one’s rushing, no one’s honking. It’s a far cry from New York.

“So,” Harris says, “what made you pick Twisted Oak for your vacation?”

I smile a little, still watching the street. “Honestly? It was late, and I was overworked and overwhelmed. I searched for remote cabins and stumbled across a blog post about this place. It looked like something out of a snow globe. Peaceful. Quiet.”

“You wanted to escape.”

I look at him, surprised by how easily he reads between the lines. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

He nods slowly like he understands more than he’s letting on.

“What about you?” I ask. “You from here?”

“Born and raised.” He leans back in the booth, his arm resting on the top of the seat. “Left for a few years—did some training, saw a bit of the world—but this place always called me back.”

“Why?”

His gaze holds mine. “It’s home.”

Something in his voice gives me pause. He says the word “home” like it’s sacred.

The server returns with a refill on our drinks, sets them down, and disappears again.

I wrap my hands around the warm mug and take a sip. Harris hasn’t looked away.

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