Page 78 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
We climb out of the car, his hand brushing mine intimately. And then we’re stepping into the familiar chaos of Ava’s café.
The bell above the door chimes, and the warmth hits us immediately; cinnamon, brewed coffee, the soft murmur of voices layered with laughter. Everyone’s already here. And the moment we walk in, they turn like a wave.
“Oh, look who finally made it,” Ava teases, arms crossed but grinning from behind the counter.
Rachel all but skips over, tugging me into a hug before aiming a wink at Noah. “Well, aren't you glowing?!.”
Noah groans under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face, and Margaret, never one to let a moment pass, adds, “He’s been glowing lately too. Must be all that... domestic bliss.”
Laughter ripples through the room. I feel my cheeks flush, but it’s different now. I don’t shrink from it. I don’t duck my head or try to disappear into the nearest potted plant.
Instead, I smile.
Because somewhere along the way, I’ve stopped minding the teasing. If anything… I’ve started to enjoy it. Letting people see us. Letting myself be seen. Letting Noah take care of us.
Noah slides an arm around my waist, grounding me, and presses a kiss to the side of my head, just like that. It doesn’t matter who is watching. He just does it.
We take our seats near the wide front windows. The children, Parker, Maddox, and Siobhan, are already playing nearby, tumbling over building blocks while Blaze keeps watch like an oversized nanny. The light pours in across the table, catching dust motes and coffee cups and paper folders spread wide.
I flip open the binder I brought, the one I spent all evening organizing. A color-coded list of fundraiser ideas. Vendor contacts. Theme options. Budget breakdowns. I even printedmood boards—something Emily will tease me for, but secretly love.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat and glancing up at the others: Emily, Rachel, Ava, Margaret… and three women I know mostly by name and reputation.
Elaine Carter, Tara’s mother, sits with quiet poise, fingers wrapped around a porcelain cup like it’s a precious artifact.
Beverly Simmons, the town’s self-appointed matchmaker-slash-bookstore clerk, is already flipping through one of the packets I handed out, murmuring little ohs and hmms to herself.
And then there’s Dottie Reynolds, sharp-eyed, spine-straight, arms folded like she’s waiting for someone to prove her wrong.
I nod at each of them, nervous for just a second. Then I find Noah’s gaze across the table.
He gives me the smallest nod.
And just like that, I remember…I belong here.
“I was thinking,” I start, spreading out the folder of ideas, “we could go with a garden party theme this time. String lights, live music, food trucks, maybe even a silent auction if we can pull it together in time…”
Their expressions shift, curious. Interested. And suddenly, the planner in me kicks in full force…like a light flipping on.
I dive into the ideas with Emily, Rachel, Ava, and Margaret, bouncing off their suggestions, adjusting notes, and sketching out timelines. Elaine adds a thoughtful comment here and there, and even Beverly chimes in with a few vintage-themed ideas she pulls from her endless vault of old romance novels.
And Dottie? Well. She watches. I can feel her gaze on me, assessing…but not unkind.
And all the while, this warmth keeps blooming in my chest.
It’s been a month since that night. A month since Noah looked at me like I was something worth staying for.
And he hasn’t let me down once.
Gifts. Late-night dinners. Grocery runs. Surprise flowers. Long walks with Parker and Blaze. Sex has been so good it’s become a kind of language between us. But it’s more than all that. It’s the way he’s always there for me. The way he listens. The way he holds space for me, even when I don’t know I need it.
And it’s terrifying.
Because for the first time in years, I feel myself slipping…. falling….not into danger, but into something far more dangerous.
Love.
Real, slow-burning, heart-thudding love.
