Page 35 of Kissing the Beach Town Fire Chief
Her cheeks flush, and for a moment she just looks at me, her hair tumbling loose in the sea breeze. That playful spark in her eyes softens into something else—something that makes my pulse trip over itself. Somewhere along the way, she stopped being just a part of my summers and became the part I can’t imagine losing. I’m still caught up in her when she turns and catches me staring. No point in looking away—I’m caught.
Her gaze flickers to my mouth, and my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. I want to close the distance, but I hold still. If she wants this, I want her to choose it.
And then, she does.
She leans in, slow enough to make me dizzy, and when her lips meet mine, the world falls away. Her kiss is soft, searching, almost reverent, and I let her set the pace. My hands slide into her hair, holding her like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this—because maybe I have.
When we break apart, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the salt air. I’m bracing for her to call it a mistake, but instead, she says softly, “I really like you, Ethan.”
I kiss her again before she can doubt it.
When I pull back, I murmur, “Does that feel like a kiss from someone who doesn’t like you back?” Her eyes widen, and I don’t give her a chance to answer. “Ami, I think about you all the time. You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and ‘like’ doesn’t even come close. You’ve become… everything.”
“Really?” she whispers.
“Really.”
Her smile is like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Me too, Ethan. You make me so happy.” We sit there until the sun melts into the horizon, wrapped up in each other, the waves at our feet, and the kind of perfect moment you don’t realize you’ve been waiting for until it’s yours.
Chapter nineteen
Ami
The day is finally here.
Election day.
From the moment the sun cracks over the horizon, Seabrook hums with a strange, nervous electricity, as though the whole town has been plugged into the same buzzing current. Even the gulls seem louder when I walk into the polling station this morning, their cries sharp against the brisk air, as if they know something is in the air too.
All the months of campaigning, the speeches on the boardwalk, the flyers that keep blowing down Main Street, the endless coffees Ethan drinks while he plans his forums—they all come to a head today.
And I can’t lie—part of me can’t wait.
The other part, though? It’s restless. Uneasy.
When I first hear these elections are coming, I imagine this day so differently. In my head, I’m standing with Aunt Maggie, hands linked, maybe even whispering jokes under our breathas we wait for results. We’re united, proud, and maybe a little nervous together.
Instead… she hasn’t spoken to me since the day she found out I was helping Ethan.
Not a text. Not a wave across the street. Not even one of her infamous “I’ll deal with you later” looks.
I’ve tried to explain myself—more than once—but she’s more stubborn than a mule that’s nailed its hooves to the ground. She just doesn’t want to hear it.
And the thought that she might lose tonight… and that she’ll have to go through it without me… it’s enough to make my heart ache.
The polling station is in an old high school gym this year—yet another “fresh start in a new location,” as the tradition goes. Every year they pick a new place, which sounds whimsical in theory but mostly just confuses people in practice.
Ethan and I both volunteer to help, and the moment the doors open, we’re swept into a tide of bustling voters. We point folks toward the right tables, fetch extra pens, reassure people that yes, their name really is on the list. At one point I run down the hall to track down a man who has accidentally wandered into the janitor’s closet instead of the voting booth.
We barely see each other all day. Ethan is cornered by his campaign team, checking voter counts, shaking hands, flashing the kind of smile that somehow manages to look both confident and like he hasn’t slept in two days. I catch his eye once across the room and try to mouth “good luck” before someone pulls him away again.
I want to grab his hand, or even just steal a quick kiss before the big moment, but there’s no chance. Not with so many people watching. Not when every move we make could be someone’s next piece of gossip.
By late afternoon, the crowd thins, the air thick with anticipation. The last voters trickle in under the dusky light from the high windows, their voices hushed as if the outcome is already tiptoeing in the corners.
That’s when I see her.
Aunt Maggie.
