Page 3 of His Big Holiday Firefighter
“Let’s get right to it. The first team,” Mayor Thompson continued, her voice bright with holiday cheer, “will be the Henderson sisters.”
I typed a quick reply:Available after 2pm.
“Team Two: Billy Martinez and Joanie Clarke.”
My phone buzzed again:Perfect. They’re very interested in maintaining the historic character.
“Team Three: James Lee and Noah Sullivan!”
My phone almost clattered to the floor. Noah caught it before it hit, his firefighter reflexes impressive. He handed it back with a grin.
“Looks like we’re partners.” Noah’s eyes danced with something that looked suspiciously like delight. “Must be fate.”
“Must be Mrs. Henderson’s idea of a joke,” I muttered. But, again, I couldn’t help but notice how Noah’s sweater stretched across his shoulders.
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. I was vaguely aware of rules being explained, deadlines being set, and Noah’s arm occasionally brushing mine when either of us moved. Each accidental touch sent little jolts of awareness through me, making it impossible to focus on Mayor Thompson’s detailed explanation of judging criteria.
“So,” Noah said as we stood, gathering our coats. “When do you want to start practicing?”
I checked my phone. “I have a buyer viewing the bakery tomorrow at two.”
“Already?” Something flickered in Noah’s eyes—disappointment, maybe, or concern. “That’s... fast.”
“That’s business,” I said, more sharply than I intended, immediately regretting my tone when Noah’s smile dimmed. “We can practice after. Four o’clock?”
“I’ll bring my equipment.” Noah’s smile returned, but it seemed forced now. “Though I guess we could use the bakery’s...”
“I cleaned everything for the sale and packed up most of my grandmother’s things.” I ignored the pang of guilt at his obvious disappointment. “We can use the ovens, and I’ve still got some baking sheets at the shop, but otherwise, we’ll need whatever you can bring.”
Noah nodded slowly. “Right. Well, see you tomorrow, partner.”
The next afternoonfound me aggressively stress-cleaning the already spotless counters while waiting for Noah.
The buyer’s viewing had gone well. Almost too well. They’d loved the space, the location, the history. They’d even offered to keep the name, as if that somehow made it better. As if anything could make it better that I was selling the place where I’d first learned to love baking, where Nai Nai had first shown me how to make the perfect macaron.
The bell above the door chimed. I turned to find Noah navigating through the door with his arms full of supplies. A light dusting of snow covered his shoulders and caught in his hair, making him look like some kind of sexy holiday poster boy.His cheeks were pink from the cold, and his smile was warm enough to melt the remaining snowflakes in his hair.
“Sorry I’m late.” He navigated to the back of the shop and set everything on the counter. “Had to help Mrs. Wu’s cat out of a tree. Again. I tell you, that cat has the heart of an adventurer.”
I eyed the assortment of clearly well-used equipment, each piece obviously cared for despite its age. “You bake often?”
“Every chance I get.” Noah pulled a battered stand mixer out of one of the large totes he’d brought, with the careful reverence of someone handling a treasured possession. “Started teaching myself after my mom got sick. Nothing fancy, but…”
“That’s a KitchenAid 5-Plus,” I interrupted, surprised, and a little impressed. “That’s actually a decent model. Professional grade, if it’s maintained properly.”
Noah’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “Yeah? Found it at a garage sale, fixed it up myself. The motor was shot, but I rebuilt it. Had to watch about fifty YouTube videos and almost electrocuted myself twice, but—” He stopped, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. You probably don’t care about that.”
I cleared my throat, fighting an unexpected smile. “That’s actually impressive. Those motors are tricky. Most people wouldn’t even attempt that repair.”
“Thanks.” Noah’s smile did something warm to his entire face, crinkling those green eyes in a way that made my heart stutter. “So, what are we making?”
“I thought we’d start with something basic. Test our compatibility.” I pulled out my notebook, trying to sound professional rather than flustered. “A classic sugar cookie base with—what are you doing?”
Noah had pulled a plastic container from his bag. “Thought we might need some brain food.” He opened it to reveal perfectly uniform snickerdoodles. “Your grandmother’s recipe. Well, myattempt at it. I’ve been practicing for years, but they’re probably not…”
I just stared at the cookies. They looked exactly like Nai Nai’s, right down to the slightly uneven crackle pattern. The scent hit me first, that perfect blend of cinnamon and nutmeg that had always meant home.
“You don’t have to try them,” Noah said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know they won’t be as good as…”
