Page 11 of His Big Holiday Firefighter
Noah closed the distance between us in two strides, cupping my face in his hands. His touch was gentle, warming my cold skin. “Being scared is okay,” he said softly, his breath visible in the cold air between us. “Running away isn’t.”
This kiss was different from our first—slower, deeper. I melted into it, pulling him closer.
Everything else fell away. The cold, the fear, the uncertainty.
Leaving only this moment, this choice, this love.
“Just in case it isn’t obvious, I’m falling for you too,” Noah murmured against my mouth. His thumbs traced my cheekbones. “But being with a guy like me, a firefighter, isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Every time I go into a burning building, that’s a risk. But I can promise I’ll always try to come home. To you, if you’ll let me.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket—Sarah, probably wondering why I hadn’t signed the papers. For the first time since arriving in Pine Ridge, I knew exactly what to do.
I pulled out the phone and turned it off.
Noah’s smile, when it came, was brighter than all the Christmas lights in town. “Does this mean you’re staying?”
“I’m staying.” The words felt like coming home. “Someone has to make sure you don’t keep running around with cups of coffee, terrorizing the citizenry of this quiet little town.”
Noah laughed, pulling me close again. “Only happened once. And look how well that turned out.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You really don’t haveto walk me home,” Noah said, his voice still rough from smoke as we made our way through the increasingly heavy snowfall. “I’m fine.”
“I know I don’t have to.” My grip tightened on his gloved hand. “I want to.”
The streets of Pine Ridge were eerily quiet, muffled by the thick blanket of snow that continued to fall in fat, lazy flakes. Streetlights created halos in the white air, casting everything in a soft, dreamlike glow. Or maybe that was just how I was seeing the world now—everything transformed by the simple act of finally choosing to stay.
Noah led me down Main Street toward Sullivan’s Hardware, his uncle’s business that had been a fixture in Pine Ridge for decades. I’d walked past it countless times since returning, but had never really looked up at the second floor. Now, Noah guided me to a narrow staircase on the building’s side, snow crunching beneath our boots.
“It’s nothing fancy.” He fumbled slightly with his keys. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice that made something warm unfurl in my chest.
He pushed the door open and ushered me inside. We took off our coats and hung them on a rack by the door.
The apartment was spacious, with high ceilings and windows that looked out over the snowy town square. It wasn’t what I’d expected—certainly not a sparsely decorated stereotypical bachelor pad, but something warmer, more lived-in.
Practical furniture was arranged facing a flat screen TV in the open living area. I imagined Noah inviting over his friends from the fire station on game day, and cooking up a small feast for them.
A bookshelf stood against one wall, and from what I could see was filled with firefighting manuals, cookbooks, and well-worn novels. The kitchen was small but clearly well-used, with professional-grade baking equipment sitting proudly alongside more everyday items.
Noah switched on the lights of a cute little artificial Christmas tree that sat on the kitchen island. “Home sweet home.” He watched my face carefully as I took it all in.
I wandered to a collection of framed photos on a side table. My breath caught when I spotted one of Noah and my grandmother, both covered in flour and laughing at something off-camera.
She looked so alive, so joyful.
“That was from last Christmas.” Noah came to stand beside me. “We were trying to perfect a croquembouche. It, uh, didn’t go well.”
“She looks happy,” I said, my voice thick.
“She was.” Noah’s hand found the small of my back, warm and steady. “She talked about you all the time, you know. She was so proud of you.”
I swallowed hard, setting the photo down carefully. When I turned, Noah’s face was still smudged with soot, dark shadowsunder his eyes betraying his exhaustion. His movements, usually so fluid and confident, were stiff, like every muscle ached.
“You need a shower.”
Noah’s lips quirked. “I’m fine, really. Just a normal day.”
“You just ran into a burning building. Multiple times.” I crossed my arms, channeling my grandmother’s no-nonsense tone. “Shower. I’m not negotiating.”
