Page 15 of His Big Holiday Firefighter
“Maybe a few other things.” I reached up to brush some snow from his shoulder, letting my hand linger on the soft flannel.
The bell chimed again, sharp and insistent.
“James?” Sarah’s voice carried through the bakery, professional concern barely masking her frustration. “Your phone’s been off. The buyers are getting anxious?—”
“And they’re going to be disappointed.” I kept my eyes on Noah’s. “The bakery’s not for sale.”
Her heels clicked across the floor, then stopped abruptly when she reached the doorway between the front of the shop and the kitchen. “Oh.” A long pause filled with the steady hum of the ovens.
She assessed the two of us standing there, so close together. “I see.” Another pause, shorter this time. “Well. I suppose sometimes the best investments aren’t about money. Call me if you change your mind.”
The bell chimed as she left. Noah’s smile intensified. “You know,” he said, leaning closer until I could feel the warmth radiating from him, “‘I’m not selling.’ I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”
I felt a laugh bubble up inside me. “What if I said, ‘your crumb structure is perfect’? Would that be sexier?”
“Well...” Noah’s laugh was warm against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Possibly a first-place tie.”
After kissing, and kissing some more, we did eventually get around to competition prep. I found it hard to focus with Noah rolling up his sleeves and talking about proper lamination technique with the same intensity he brought to firefighting… and to pleasuring me.
We worked side by side, finalizing our competition game plan, finding our rhythm in this new reality where touches lingered and glances held sexy promises.
I watched his hands as they worked the dough. Those strong firefighter’s fingers were surprisingly delicate as they folded and shaped. Each movement was precise, filled with the same care he brought to everything he loved.
As evening approached and the winter light faded to blue, I noticed him growing quieter, his movements less confident. While we waited for a test batch to bake—a complex variation on Nai Nai’s signature spice cookies—I caught him staring at the old competition photos on the wall. Five years of her winning entries, each certificate featuring her proud smile.
“What if I’m not good enough?” His voice was barely audible, rough with vulnerability. “What if I let you down? Let her down?” The question seemed to hang in the air, heavy with all his unspoken fears.
I moved to stand beside him, our shoulders touching. “You know what Nai Nai would say about that?”
“What?”
“That you’re asking the wrong question.” I turned to face him, reaching up to touch his cheek, feeling the day’s stubble under my fingers. “It’s not about being good enough. It’s about being exactly who you are—the person who learned to bake because he wanted to make people happy. The person who knows that sometimes the most important ingredient isn’t in any recipe.”
His eyes were suspiciously bright in the warm kitchen light. “Yeah?” His voice was full of emotion. “What ingredient is that?”
Instead of answering, I pulled him into a sweet kiss that tasted of sugar and possibility and home. When we finally broke apart, the oven timer was chiming and snow was falling outside the windows. Everything was perfectly, wonderfully right.
“Love.” The word carried all the weight of my decision to stay, to choose this life, this man, this future. I removed the last tray of treats and placed them on the counter to cool. “As cheesy as it may sound, the ingredient is love.”
Noah smiled and pulled me closer until our foreheads touched. “In that case, I know we’re going to win.”
CHAPTER TEN
Noahand I arrived at the community center, our arms full of supplies and my breath a puff of white in the December air. The parking lot was already filling up with contestants and spectators, a low hum of excitement buzzing around us.
“Ready?” Noah asked softly as we approached the entrance. His voice carried that gentle steadiness that had become my anchor. His hand brushed my lower back, a touch that somehow was both grounding and electrifying.
Inside, the space had been transformed into a competitive baking arena. It wouldn’t put any television shows to shame, but I was still impressed. If there were two things Pine Ridge took seriously, it was Christmas and baking.
Individual stations were set up in a horseshoe pattern, each equipped with professional-grade equipment that gleamed under the bright lights. Holiday garlands and twinkling lights softened the typically utilitarian space. The air already carried the scent of competition, and the future reward of dozens of sweet holiday confections.
At the judges’ table sat Mrs. Henderson, resplendent in a colorfully bright holiday sweater that could probably be seen from space, and Mayor Thompson in her trademark red blazer.And, to my complete surprise, my former pastry instructor from culinary school.
“Chef Liu?” I blinked, my professional posture automatically straightening. “What are you doing here?” My brain caught up to my mouth. “Uh, wait, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m just surprised to see you.”
The elegant woman smiled, though her eyes remained as sharp as ever. “Your grandmother invited me every year. Sadly, I wasn’t able to attend. I thought it was time I finally accepted.” Her gaze took in how close Noah and I stood, how our movements unconsciously mirrored each other. “Good luck, you two.”
We found our station, put on the festive competition aprons that had been provided, and set up. We fell into the easy rhythm we’d perfected over the last few days. I measured ingredients with practiced precision while Noah preheated our ovens and organized our workspace. His firefighter’s efficiency translated perfectly to kitchen prep.
