Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
She looks at me. The whole room looks at me. Great.
I clear my throat. “Before we get into… all that, we need to address safety considerations. Last year’s float nearly burst into flames because someone plugged a six-foot inflatable Santa into a faulty multi-outlet generator.”
Lucy blinks. “Safety considerations are important, of course, but maybe we could get through the overview first?”
“We can,” I say. “As long as everyone understands power limits, flame retardant requirements, and how many watts your decorations can handle without blowing out half the block.”
A few committee members groan. Someone mutters “Here we go again.”
Lucy just… smiles. Like I’m a puzzle she’s dying to solve.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Calder,” she says sweetly. “We’ll absolutely rely on your… expertise.”
I narrow my eyes. “You trying to say something?”
Her smile widens. “Not at all. Your expertise is very… thorough.”
The room snickers. Great. Perfect. A whole damn audience.
She flips a page in her binder, clears her throat, and launches into her plan.
It’s a disaster already.
“First,” she says, holding up a sketch, “the parade float. I’m envisioning a cozy gingerbread village theme with working lights, faux smoke curling from the chimneys, and children dressed like gumdrops—”
“No smoke.”
She pauses. “It’s faux smoke. Completely safe.”
“Nothing about that is completely safe.”
“It’s literally just vapor, Ash.”
“Vapor can set off alarms.”
“So can burnt toast,” she counters. “But we don’t ban breakfast.”
A ripple of laughter breaks across the room.
I clench my jaw.
Lucy lifts her chin, eyes sparkling like she’s enjoying this way too much. “Anyway, the float will be adorable.”
“Adorable doesn’t mean safe.”
“Safe doesn’t mean boring,” she fires back.
“Better boring than on fire.”
She places the sketch against her chest dramatically. “Why do you hate joy?”
“I don’t hate joy. I hate unnecessary risks.”
“Joy isn’t a risk,” she insists.
“With you?” I say before I can stop myself. “Feels like one.”
The room goes silent. Lucy freezes. Her cheeks flush a soft pink. Something flickers in her eyes—surprise, heat, something that slams low in my gut.
Damn it.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. I shouldn’t be looking at her like that.
But she keeps pushing.
“Are you calling me dangerous, Lieutenant Calder?”
Her voice runs down my spine like warm honey—slow, smooth, sweet, and absolutely lethal.
I sit forward in my chair. “I’m calling you impulsive. Messy. Distracting.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Distracting?”
Shit.
“Not what I—” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Just go on.”
She eyes me for several long, quiet seconds. Then—slowly—she turns back to the room.
But she knows exactly what I meant. And she’s glowing with it.
“Next,” she says, “the tree lighting.”
I brace myself.
“We’re going bigger this year,” she continues. “More lights. More garland. More sparkle.”
“No,” I say immediately.
“Yes,” she counters.
“Lucy, you can’t—”
“It’s Miss Snow.”
I stare at her. “You’re kidding.”
She lifts her chin. “We should keep this professional.”
My jaw ticks. “Fine. Miss Snow.”
Her eyes spark like a challenge.
“Wonderful,” she says, beaming. “Now. About the tree—”
“Too many lights overload the wiring,” I tell the room. “Last year we barely avoided a short.”
“That was because someone plugged in a space heater,” she says. “Not because of my lights.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s a hazard.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “You know what else is a hazard, Lieutenant Calder?”
“Enlighten me.”
“That attitude.”
A few volunteers laugh aloud.
I lean back, crossing my arms again. “Glad to know we’re blaming the firefighter instead of the faulty wiring.”
“We’re blaming the grumpy firefighter,” she corrects, “who won’t allow even the tiniest bit of Christmas magic.”
My teeth clench. “Magic doesn’t keep people safe.”
“No,” she agrees, stepping closer to the front of the room—and closer to me. “But it does make people happy.”
Her eyes meet mine. Something kicks in my chest.
“And I’m not going to apologize for wanting that,” she finishes softly.
I look away before I do something stupid. Like stare at her mouth. Or say something I’ll regret later.
“Let’s move on,” I mutter.
Lucy brightens like she just won a small battle. She probably did.
“Great,” she says. “The charity gala.”
Of course. The one event I always try to avoid.
She clicks to another page.
“We’ll need more volunteers for decor this year. And yes, before Ash says it—everything will be fire resistant.”
The crowd laughs again. I just… watch her.
The way her hair falls over her shoulder, catching the light. The way she gestures with her hands while she talks. The way her voice lifts when she gets excited, softening when she mentions kids, warming when she talks about community.
And for the first time since she opened her mouth, I realize:
She really does just want to make this town better. She wants people happy. Safe. Connected.
It messes with my head more than I want to admit.
She finishes her rundown. “Questions?”
Half the committee raises their hands at once.
She points to Mrs. Garland. The woman drones on about gingerbread house replicas for the kids’ table. Then Lucy says something I absolutely shouldn’t like:
“Oh! And we’re doing a candy workshop for Holly’s age group—”