Page 3 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

“We’ll find her,” Lulu promises, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

But as I glance toward the ruins of my shop, the weight of uncertainty presses down harder.

“Where are you, B.?”

Chapter two

Mike

The smell of smoke still clings to my clothes as I stand near the fire truck, watching Becky huddle with her friends.

She’s shaking, her face pale beneath the smudges of soot. Her wide eyes flick toward the shop and back to the street like she’s searching for something—or someone.

I can’t stop looking at her.

There’s something about Becky.

Maybe it’s the way she tries to hold it together even when the weight of the world is pressing on her. Or maybe it’s her voice, soft and steady, even as she asked about the damage to her shop. Whatever it is, it’s got my attention—more than it should.

I’ve seen this kind of devastation before—fires tearing apart people’s lives—but tonight feels different. Personal. And I barely know her.

Before I can shake the thought, a man strolls up to her. Tall, wiry, with a confident stride that immediately sets me on edge. He’s got that slick kind of charm I can spot a mile away, and I don’t like the way his hand lingers on her arm. Becky stiffens,glancing toward me for a second, and something flashes across her face—relief? No, more like discomfort.

“Becky,” the man says, his voice oozing concern. “I just heard about the fire. Are you okay?”

Her answer is quiet, almost hesitant. “I’m fine, Paul.”

Paul. The name makes my jaw tighten. I’ve heard and seen enough to know he’s trouble.

“You sure?” he presses, stepping closer. “You look like you could use a break. Why don’t you let me help? I’ve got room at my place. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.”

“No,” Becky says quickly, her tone firm despite the tremble in her voice. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

Paul’s smile tightens. “Come on, Becky. You don’t have to be so stubborn. I can help you. I want to help you.”

I can’t stand it anymore. I step closer, clearing my throat loud enough to draw their attention. Paul turns, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees me. Becky looks up at me too, her expression unreadable.

“She said she’s got it covered,” I say evenly, my voice calm but firm.

Paul’s gaze flicks between us, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he looks at Becky—like she’s some kind of prize to be won—makes me want to plant myself between them. Eventually, he backs off, muttering something under his breath before walking away.

“You okay?” I ask Becky once he’s out of earshot.

She nods, but her shoulders are still tense. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice so soft I almost miss it.

Before I can respond, her friends pull her back into their circle, and I let them.

She’s safe with them. I need to head back to the station.

***

The firehouse is quiet when I get back, most of the crew wrapping up for the night.

The Junction Falls Firehouse is more than just a station—it’s a cornerstone of the community, a place where bravery meets camaraderie and where the town’s most dedicated gather, ready to protect and serve.

The station is located just a few blocks from the town square, close enough to respond quickly to emergencies but far enough from the bustle to allow for quiet moments of respite. A red-painted hydrant stands near the sidewalk, often serving as a meeting spot for kids who love to watch the fire trucks roll out on a call.

Stepping inside, the firehouse smells of leather, smoke, and fresh coffee—a mix of warmth and work. Past the garage, a set of double doors leads to the main living quarters, where we rest, eat, and wait for the next call.

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