Page 3 of Smokin' Situation

She wasn’t wrong, I could have. But I didn’t. And now I was going to force myself through it so I could come back home and pass out before my shift at the bar tomorrow night.

“But I didn’t,” I sang, heading toward my room to pull on my clothes for the day. Hazel had recently designed a new logo for the distillery to prepare for the expansion of the restaurant, so it was the first time I was debuting it to the town on my new cropped T-shirt and baseball cap.

Jay had also invested in all new signage for the event, which was stashed in the bed of my truck along with the pop-up shelter and cases of whiskey that I was sure would be empty by the end of the day.

While Butterfly Ridge and Sage Springs were your typical quaint little mountain tourist towns, the locals also liked to socialize and foster community spirit. I was sure I’d have just as many locals paying me a visit today as the tourists here for the fourth.

Reese was in her bedroom when I came back out, clearly ready to crash for the day until her next shift started later in the afternoon.

I’d donned my battle armor in the form of a cropped, short-sleeved plaid shirt pulled over the distillery tee artfully tied beneath my cleavage, showing off a sliver of my stomach above a pair of high-waisted denim shorts. I’d begrudgingly thrown on mybeat-up brown leather cowboy boots, leaning into the country girl look. My long brown hair was split into two braids, the distillery cap covering the top of my head, thankful it’d provide a bit of protection from the brutal sun.

I would be under a shelter for most of the day, but I’d still slathered myself in sunscreen. My diet may have left a lot to be desired, but I took sun care seriously.

The drive into Butterfly Ridge was short, but the hair on the back of my neck prickled when I crossed the ridge and headed toward town. It felt like there was something in the air lately, some sense of foreboding that change was on the horizon, and it heightened my already tense mood. I was sure I was just being overly dramatic because I was sleep deprived, but I’d also felt like this driving into Sage Springs multiple times before—usually followed by an awful night at the bar.

Pulling into the parking lot a few blocks from the city center, I followed the hand signals of the volunteer firefighters who’d been assigned to act as security for the festival. After I’d pulled into a parking space, I took a deep breath as I prepared myself for the chaos of trying to set up for an event.

A knock on my driver’s side window startled me, and I was met with a set of striking dark blue eyes peeking up at me from beneath the brim of a Sage Springs Fire Department hat. There was something almost familiar about them, but he was not someone I recognized. As my eyes traveled down his face to the tight navy-blue shirt stretched across his strong pecs, I knew I would have remembered this man if I’d seen him before.

Hitting the button to roll down my automatic window, I took a deep breath and plastered on the fake smile I used as my dailymask.

“If you fold back the cover on your truck bed, we can unload everything. Once you give us your booth number, we can deliver it all.” His curt response showed it was all business with this one, he didn’t even say hello. Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the back of my truck.

I shut off the engine, opening the door and hopping out. Mr. Super Serious Firefighter and a few of his coworkers had already opened the back hatch of the truck bed and started loading cases of whiskey onto a small trailer attached to the back of a gator truck.

“Please be careful with those, they’re full of glass bottles.”

Three sets of eyes shot in my direction, and I stood there awkwardly while they did the typical male sweep of my outfit before they finally settled on my face. One set of familiar hazel eyes twinkled mischievously as my sister’s former best friend grinned at me, but we’d mutually decided years ago that it was easier to pretend we didn’t know each other than face the wrath of my sister.

“But thank you,” I hastily added before I nervously rattled off the number of the booth Jay had been assigned. Feeling useless while they did the heavy lifting, I folded back the tonneau cover over my truck bed and pulled out the small, wheeled cart I kept in there. I could use it to load up the signage and marketing materials while they got the alcohol transported for me.

A large set of hands met mine, the contact startling me as I pulled the case holding the six-foot collapsible standing sign out of the back, preparing to hoist it into the wagon. “I can get this. We’re here to help, ma’am.”

“Well, first of all, don’t call me ma’am,” I responded, trying not to react when the calluses on his palm grazed the back of my hand, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m in my early thirties, not my sixties.”

He didn’t react, taking the bag out of my hands and pulling the long strap over his shoulder.

“And second, I’m a perfectly capable adult. I can handle carrying some signage.”

But he didn’t respond, just continuing to unload items from the back of the truck and transferring them into my cart and another one he pulled over from the pop-up tent set up in the corner of the parking lot for the volunteers.

“Not a talker, huh?” I mused after I settled the cover back into place and locked the clamps before I slammed the tailgate, dusting my hands off on my shorts.

When I looked back up, I was met with an impassive stare, the imposing firefighter waiting for me with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was dressed almost head to toe in dark colors, navy blue tactical pants tucked into black combat boots and a long-sleeved tech shirt covering his upper half.

Before I could think about the other way my words could be misinterpreted, I blurted out the first thing his outfit made me think. “Aren’t you hot?”

His eyes widened, and one eyebrow disappeared underneath his hat, his head tipping to the side, but he still didn’t open his mouth to respond. If he wasn’t so insistent on being helpful, his imposing stature would have been intimidating.

“I mean, how can you stand to wear that?” I asked, gesturing at his outfit. It was supposed to get up into the high eighties today, which was hot for late June at this elevation. We mountain folk enjoyed our mild summers because we had such brutal winters on the other end. “Not that it doesn’t look good, but I’d be suffocating covered head to toe. It’s already warming up and this afternoon the temps are supposed to be in the…”

“It’s my uniform, ma’am.”

His voice was gruff, but I could tell he was amused, the slight quirk at the corner of his lips giving him away.

“I know, but everyone else is wearing shorts and short-sleeved T-shirts. You’re covered head to toe in dark colors; you’re going to bake once the sun comes out.” It had already started emerging from the treetops in the distance, a warm orange glow filling the sky even though it was barely six in the morning.

“I’ll be fine. I’d rather be warm than end up with a nasty sunburn.”

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