Page 4 of Let it Sizzle
“She’s safe. Sleeping. I checked in on her just before you woke up.”
I nod and lean back against the couch, the blanket pooled in my lap now feeling more like armor than comfort. Levi stays beside me, not pushing, not asking, just there.
After a while, I whisper, “Thank you.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then—
“You don’t have to thank me. I meant it when I said I’d look out for you.”
The room is quiet except for the ticking of the clock and the low hum of the heater. And in that silence, something shifts inside me.
I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel brave. But I feel seen.
And somehow, that’s enough.
Chapter 1
Serena
8 years later
The town still looks the same.
That’s the first thing I notice as I pull off the highway and onto Main Street. It’s like time forgot Silvertown Hollow on purpose. The same crooked wooden sign, the same flower boxes outside the bakery, the same antique shop with the mannequin in the window that’s been wearing the same lace wedding dress since I was twelve. The only thing that’s changed is me.
And even then… not enough.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and exhale slowly as I pass the old firehouse, my eyes flicking to the red brick building. I don’t let myself look for him. Not yet.
The air still smells like pine and sawdust. The streetlights still hum after sunset. But I’m not sixteen anymore. And this time, I didn’t come back because I wanted to.
I came back because it’s time to make peace with my past.
After my father died last year—quietly, without drama or redemption—Byron and Samira wanted to sell the house, but there was always a reason to delay. I had too many deadlines; I simply couldn’t get away. Or maybe I just didn’t want to come back. Maybe I knew I’d find something too painful to face. But now, Byron’s convinced I need “closure,” whatever that means.So, here I am. Back in the place I ran from when I was seventeen. With boxes to sort, and a past I’m pretending not to remember.
First stop: the grocery store. I promised Byron I’d make my famous fish tacos, and despite how many years have passed, he still insists they taste better when I cook them. I don’t argue. He’s the only one who’s ever called my cooking famous, and I’ll take the win.
I pull into a parking spot close to the entrance—one of the few luxuries of being back in a town where parking lots aren’t a battlefield. As the engine quiets, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and pause.
Definitely not the scared girl who used to flinch at raised voices or hide behind her sketchpad. No, the woman staring back now? She’s soft in the right places, strong where it counts, and still standing after everything. I swipe on a fresh coat of rose-pink lip gloss, press my lips together with a quiet little pop, and toss the tube back into my bag. Time to grab the groceries… and maybe take back a little piece of the town that once broke me.
I grab some tortillas and tacos. I turn the corner into the produce aisle, distracted by the question of whether I should grab cilantro or skip it—Byron swears he’s allergic, but I’m convinced it’s just in his head. But as soon as I turn the corner, there’s that shift in the air.
It’s a strange, almost electric pull that makes the hairs on my arms stand up before I even realize why.
And then I see him.
Levi Mercer.
One hand is wrapped around a bag of charcoal, the other gripping a case of water like it weighs nothing. His fire department T-shirt stretches across those ridiculously broad shoulders, sleeves hugging biceps that look even bigger than I remember. His jaw is sharper now—more defined, more dangerous—like time didn’t wear him down, it sculpted him into something lethal.
There’s a streak of soot across his forearm, and I hate how badly I want to trace it with my fingers. He hasn’t seen me yet. But I can’t stop looking.
God, he’s… hot. And I don’t mean cute-boy-next-door hot. I mean every-woman’s-fantasy hot. Tall. Intense. Strong in that quietly terrifying way—the kind of strength that doesn’t need to raise its voice to command a room. The kind that once walked into my childhood house like he belonged there and saved me.
My heart does something stupid and traitorous in my chest. It thuds once, hard, like it remembers him before I do. The night he pulled me out of hell. The way he held my hand while my body shook. The way his arms wrapped around me like a promise I never got to keep. The safety I felt in him—raw, steady, unforgettable.
I haven’t felt it since. And I hate how much I’ve missed it. He turns. His eyes catch mine.
