Page 71 of Penalty Kiss
“Maybe someone saw the smoke or heard the alarm,” Tara murmurs.
And then the door bangs open.
“Fire department!” Scott Maddox’s voice barrels into the house, all authority and zero subtlety.
Boots thud across the hardwood, and through the haze comes the broad-shouldered shape of Scott Maddox in full gear. Helmet, turnout coat, gloves—he looks like the poster boy for “Firefighter of the Year.”
Behind him, two more crew fan out, already scanning for flames I’ve mostly murdered with the extinguisher.
Scott yanks off his helmet, coughs at the smoke, and stares at me—spatula still in one hand, fire extinguisher in the other. His grin spreads slow, wicked.
“Wilder,” he says, voice booming like he’s announcing my crime to the entire town. “I’ve seen you take down three-hundred-pound defensemen without blinking. How does soup defeat you?”
“Stew,” I correct, coughing through the haze. “Get it right. If I’m going down in flames, at least use the proper terminology.”
He steps closer, sniffing the air. “It smells like burnt despair.”
Laughter ripples through his crew. Tara bites her lip like she’s trying not to join them, but her shoulders are shaking. Traitor.
“Hey, what’s the difference between a hockey player and a firefighter?” I shoot back, because if I’m going to be the butt of this joke, I’m taking someone down with me.
“Don’t,” Scott warns light-heartedly, pointing a finger at me. “I’ve heard all your jokes.”
“The hockey player only gets burned for penalties,” Tara finishes, stepping between us with a smirk.
Scott groans, I laugh, because even in the middle of this disaster, Tara’s got my back—and my jokes.
“It’s not even that funny.”
Before Scott fires back, another voice cuts in—female, sharp with concern. “Is everyone okay?”
A woman in yoga pants and a tank top appears in the kitchen doorway—late-twenties, blond hair, concerned blue eyes.
"I'm Jamie," she says, looking between Tara and me. "I err… I just moved in next door. I'm the one who called the fire department when I heard the alarm going off."
"Thank you," Tara says immediately. "That was smart thinking."
Scott's entire demeanor shifts. Goes from casual firefighter to something more alert, more aware. "Jamie?"
"Scott?" Her voice carries surprise and something else—recognition? History?
The air between them crackles with the kind of tension that has nothing to do with house fires and everything to do with unfinished business.
"So you're back in town?" Scott asks, and there's a careful casualness to the question that screams volumes.
"Just moved in two days ago," Jamie replies, equally careful. "Didn't know you were still..."
"Still what?"
"Still here."
I glance at Tara. She’s watching the exchange like she’s got popcorn. We both know what we’re seeing—the first flicker of Cedar Falls’ next love story.
"Well," Scott clears his throat, professional mask sliding back into place. "Welcome back to Cedar Falls. Try to keep your new neighbors from burning the town down."
"Hey," I protest. "I resent that implication."
"You literally almost burned the place down," Tara points out, with the sweetest smile.
