Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“Then what’s the problem?”
I dip her slightly in a smooth, controlled motion. Her breath leaves her in a soft gasp. The room disappears.
“It’s not about handling,” I say quietly, hovering inches above her mouth. “It’s about what happens if I don’t stop.”
Her eyes darken. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Heat flares through me. I bring her upright slowly, deliberately. “You say that now.”
“I’ve said worse.”
“You always do.”
She smiles faintly. “You liked it.”
“I loved it.”
The admission shocks both of us. We fall back into rhythm instinctively. The music builds toward its final crescendo. She rests her forehead lightly against my chest for a split second before lifting her gaze again.
“You don’t get to make decisions for me anymore,” she says.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m protecting what we have left.”
“What do we have left?”
I hesitate. Then answer honestly. “Everything.”
Her breath trembles.
“That’s terrifying,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
Mrs. Dottie claps as the song ends. “Perfect!” she declares. “Passionate but tasteful.”
Tasteful.
If she had any idea.
Sadie pulls her hand from mine slowly. The absence feels immediate. Mrs. Dottie bustles off to retrieve lemonade. We stand there alone for a beat.
“Why now?” Sadie asks quietly.
“Why what?”
“Why tell me that?”
“Because you asked.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“I’d still be standing here wishing I’d gone to see you.”
Her eyes soften.
“You should’ve,” she says.
“I know.”
Silence hums between us.
Then she lifts her chin slightly.
“We still have sixty days,” she reminds me.
“Of pretending.”
“Of surviving charity season.”
I step closer again.
“Sixty days,” I repeat.
“And no real feelings.”
I study her. “Too late.”
Her breath catches. “Levi.”
“You wanted honesty.”
“I did.”
“Then here it is.”
The slow burn between us shifts—deeper now, heavier with truth.
She swallows. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.” Her fingers brush mine briefly, intentionally. “Because if you walk away again,” she says softly, “I won’t wait this time.”
The warning lands squarely. I nod once. “I won’t.”
The firehouse doors open in the distance and Sawyer’s voice echoes, “Are we dancing or proposing in there?”
Sadie laughs softly. “Guess we’re believable.”
I watch her walk toward the hallway, confident, steady, sunlight catching in her hair. The slow burn isn’t slow anymore. It’s building.
And this time?
I’m not standing on the sidelines while she builds a life without me.
Chapter 9
Sadie
The Mountain Debutante Ball is a ridiculous tradition.
It’s Devil’s Peak’s excuse to dress grown women in satin sashes and auction off dinner dates for charity while the church ladies pretend it’s wholesome.
I volunteer backstage because that feels safe. Clipboards. Safety pins. Emergency hairspray. Not center stage under a chandelier while half the town evaluates my “bid value.”
“Sadie, darling, hold this,” Mrs. Dottie says, shoving a bouquet of fake peonies into my hands as I help zip up a nervous twenty-two-year-old named Marlene.
“I’m not participating,” I remind her.
“You’re assisting.”
Marlene sways on her heels.
“You okay?” I ask.
She looks green. “I don’t feel—”
She bolts for the bathroom.
Mrs. Dottie gasps. “Oh heavens.”
“I’ll go check on her,” I offer.
Before I can move, Mrs. Dottie grabs my elbow.
“You’re roughly the same size.”
My stomach drops. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sadie Marshall,” she hisses, already tugging a sash over my shoulder. “This is for the children.”
“For the children?”
“For the firehouse roof repairs.”
“That feels like manipulation.”
“It is.”
She pushes me toward the curtain. The band strikes up something dramatic and vaguely romantic. The announcer booms, “Next up, Miss Marlene Whitaker—”
Mrs. Dottie shoves me through the velvet curtain.
“Surprise substitution!” she calls brightly.
The stage lights blind me for a second. When my eyes adjust, I see them. The entire town. Rows of folding chairs. The firefighters clustered together near the bar.
And Levi.
He’s in a dark suit that makes him look like sin disguised as respectability. His tie is loosened slightly at the collar, like he’s already irritated.
His gaze locks on me instantly.
His jaw tightens.
The announcer recovers quickly. “Ladies and gentlemen, looks like we’ve got ourselves a special entry! Chief Marshall’s daughter herself, Miss Sadie Marshall!”
The crowd murmurs. I grip the bouquet harder.
“This is a joke,” I mutter into the mic stand.
The audience laughs like I’ve said something charming. Mrs. Dottie beams from the wings.
The announcer grins. “Let’s open the bidding at five hundred dollars for dinner with this fine young lady!”
Someone whistles. My face burns.
“Five hundred!” an older rancher calls.
Polite applause.
“Seven hundred!” someone else counters.
This is supposed to stay playful.
A harmless fundraiser.
Then one of the younger firefighters—Tyler again—leans back in his chair and calls out, “One thousand!”
The crowd reacts. My eyes flick to Levi. He hasn’t moved. But his shoulders have gone rigid. Tyler smirks in Levi’s direction.
Another firefighter pipes up. “Fifteen hundred!”
Laughter. The energy shifts. This isn’t about charity anymore. It’s about provoking Levi.
“Two thousand!” Tyler shouts again.
Gasps ripple through the room. I swallow hard.
Levi stands slowly.
The room quiets. His voice is calm. Controlled. “Two thousand.”
The crowd goes still.
I blink.
He didn’t raise it.
He matched it.
Tyler grins and shoots back, “Twenty-five hundred!”
Someone near the back whistles.
My pulse spikes.
This is spiraling.
Levi’s eyes never leave mine.
“Three thousand,” he says.
The room erupts into chatter. Tyler hesitates, glancing around like he’s realizing this isn’t funny anymore. Another firefighter—Mark—jumps in just to stoke the fire. “Thirty-five hundred!”