Page 6 of His Big Holiday Firefighter
Butter needs more time. Noah’s right about the temperature. (See, little firefighter? Trust your instincts.)
My hands shook slightly as I flipped through the cards.
Each card was a conversation in recipe form. My grandmother’s instructions were followed by questions,suggestions, and occasional jokes in what must be Noah’s handwriting. They’d documented their baking sessions together, creating a diary of shared discoveries and gentle teasing. A diary I never knew existed.
Nai Nai had written on one card, her characters flowing with obvious affection.Remember, sometimes the best recipes come from mistakes. Like certain tall firefighters nearly burning down my kitchen.
Below it, Noah had added in his distinctive scrawl.
ONE TIME. And I brought you flowers to apologize. Plus, the cookies still tasted good.
The bell above the front door chimed, startling me so badly I dropped the box. The cards scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. “Back here,” I called, my voice tight. I quickly gathered them up.
I didn’t want anyone else to see these intimate glimpses of a relationship I’d known nothing about. It felt private. Theirs. And now, somehow, mine.
“James?” Sarah’s voice carried through the bakery, sharp with professional enthusiasm. “I have another interested party—oh, there you are.”
I straightened up, clutching the recipe box perhaps a little too tightly. “Sarah. I thought we had a viewing scheduled for tomorrow.”
“They’re very eager.” She glanced around the storage room, her heels clicking on the old wooden floor. “And given the current market?—”
The bell chimed again. I heard heavy footsteps, a sound now familiar despite how short a time I’d known its owner. “James?” Noah’s voice, rougher than usual, scraped with smoke and exhaustion. “You still here?”
Sarah’s perfectly groomed eyebrows rose. A knowing look crossed her face. “I can come back...”
“No, it’s fine.” I set the recipe box down carefully, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumped at the sound of his voice. A stupid lie sprang to my lips. “We’re just practicing for the competition.”
Noah appeared in the doorway, still in his turnout gear, his face smudged with soot and winter-pale beneath it. He looked exhausted but somehow more solid, more real, than anyone I had ever seen. Our eyes met, and my stomach did a nervous little flip.
“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. It left a streak of soot, making the strands stand up in a way that made my fingers itch to smooth them down. “I wanted to check in before heading home. Make sure you didn’t burn any cookies without me.” The teasing was familiar, but his voice held an edge of something else. Maybe it was the same need that had driven me to the window every few minutes, listening for sirens.
Sarah looked between us, a smile playing at her lips that was far too perceptive for my comfort. “Well, I’ll leave you to your... practicing. Call me about that viewing.” Her tone suggested she knew exactly what kind of practicing wasn’t getting done.
I barely noticed her leave. I was too caught up in the way Noah seemed to fill the small space, bringing with him something that stirred feelings I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“You okay?” I asked quietly. His shoulders drooped slightly despite his attempt at a casual stance.
Noah’s smile was tired but genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes in that way that made my stomach flip all over again. “Yeah. Everyone got out safe. Just...” He gestured to his sooty appearance. “Long day. Hard to remember sometimes that we can’t save everything.”
“I found something.” I picked up the recipe box. I picked up the recipe box, needing to share this discovery with him. The need to understand this piece of his past—this part of mygrandmother’s life he’d shared and I hadn’t—surged through me. “You and my grandmother...”
“Ah.” His cheeks colored slightly under the soot, and he moved closer—close enough that I felt the lingering winter cold radiating from his gear. “Our experiment log. She said we needed to document everything, like actual scientists.” He reached out and his finger brushed one of the cards. “She used to let me come by after shifts sometimes. Said nobody should be alone after a hard day.”
The image hit me hard. Noah, younger and hurting, finding comfort in this kitchen while I was building my career hundreds of miles away. How many nights had he spent here, learning to create sweetness after seeing too much darkness? “She taught you everything?”
“Not everything.” Noah’s smile turned softer, more personal. His eyes met mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “She said some things you had to learn for yourself. Like how to tell when something’s worth staying for.”
The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with something I couldn’t name but felt in every heartbeat. Noah was close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, could count the freckles dusted across his nose.
“I should...” I gestured vaguely at the recipe box, but I didn’t move away. I couldn’t. Not when he was looking at me like that, like I was something precious and rare.
“Yeah.” He didn’t move either. Instead, he reached out slowly, his fingers brushing a bit of dust from my cheek. His hand was calloused but gentle against my skin, and I leaned into it before I could stop myself. His thumb traced the line of my cheekbone, and my eyes fluttered closed for just a moment.
Time stretched, fragile as spun sugar. When I opened my eyes again, his gaze had dropped to my mouth. I swayed forward slightly, drawn by some force I couldn’t resist.
My phone burst into life, the ringtone shattering the moment.
We jumped apart like startled teenagers, though his hand lingered for a heartbeat longer against my skin. A touch that felt like a promise or a question.
