Page 82 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
But now I know better.
It does matter. Because hiding one part of me means hiding all of me. And if Noah finds out like this—through whispers or worse, through Tara—I’ll lose him before I ever get the chance to explain.
I fold the envelope again, slower this time. The edges are soft now, worn from all the times I’ve taken it out, debated it, and tucked it away again.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirror. Same eyes, but something in them has shifted.
I’m not just running anymore. I’m rooted here. Which means I can’t keep hiding.
I slip the envelope back into my purse and square my shoulders. My hands are steadier now.
Because the truth is going to come out. Maybe not today, maybe not the way I planned—but secrets always find the light.
And when that moment comes, I want to be the one to tell it.
A soft knock sounds at the door.
“Kate?”
His voice is gentle, rough at the edges.
I quickly wipe my face and crack the door an inch. He’s standing there—worried, open, his hand braced on the frame like he’s holding himself back from barging in.
“You okay?”
I try to nod, but it wobbles. “Not really.”
His jaw tenses. I see it—the part of him that wants to go after Tara, to burn the whole place down if it’ll make me feel safe.
“She had no right—”
“I know,” I say, and my voice shakes despite everything I’m trying to hold together. “It’s not about her. I just… need a second.”
His gaze searches mine. Not pushing. Justthere.Steady in a way that makes something crack open inside me.
“Take your time,” he says softly. “I’ll cover for you.”
I nod my head. “I will. I just need to breathe a minute.”
He nods, slowly.
I manage a faint smile and close the door again. The room falls quiet.
I consider the envelope in my purse again.
Not yet.
Chapter twenty-two
Noah
Margaret nudges the door open with her hip, arms full of a cardboard box that smells faintly like sugar cookies and woodsmoke.
“Delivery for the fundraising elves,” she calls.
I’m across the bay, wiping down the table we’ve been using as a drop-off point. “You’re looking at the whole damn elf brigade,” I say, walking over. “Here, let me get that.”
She hands it off with a grunt. “This is the last of what came in from Ava’s. Couple envelopes, a tin of peanut brittle from Dottie; probably another passive-aggressive gift, and oneverygenerous check.”
