Page 81 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
“I have a list of potential vendors for lighting,” I say. “There’s this one I remember, they handled my…uh….this high-end party in New York. The name’s Wickham & Reed. They do those exclusive garden installations with the chandelier lights and floral arches. Very… very visual-forward.”
Emily’s head tilts. “Wickham & Reed?”
“Oh,” Beverly pipes up, brows rising. “That’s not a vendor you justcome across. They only do society events. Galas. I’ve read about them inTown & Country.”
Dottie narrows her eyes. “You’ve worked with them before?”
I freeze. My stomach clenches.
“I….uh….no. I uh... found them online. Pinterest, maybe,” I lie quickly, brushing my hair behind my ear. “They have a beautiful website.”
Their eyes stay on me a moment too long.
I can feel it happening. The subtle shift. The suspicion. I offer a weak smile.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing back my chair. “I need the restroom.”
I don’t remember standing. Don’t remember walking.
The door closes behind me with a soft thud, sealing me in quiet.
The silence presses in, thick and humming with the echo of Tara’s words.
I grip the sink with both hands, knuckles white, willing myself not to fall apart. But the tears sting anyway—burning the backs of my eyes, hot and humiliating.
Josie died carrying his child.You don’t belong here.She’s hiding something.
God, she didn’t even have to know the truth to gut me that cleanly.
I stare at my reflection. My makeup’s still intact, my hair mostly in place—but it’s a mask. A thin layer of polish over the panic roiling beneath.
I don’t look like someone who belongs here. I look like someone pretending.
Pretending to be normal.Pretending to be worthy of Noah.Pretending I can keep this secret without it all exploding in my face.
I draw a shaky breath and reach into my purse. The envelope’s still there. Still heavy with everything I haven’t said.
A check. A lie. A lifeline.
I pull it out and unfold it. My real name stares back at me in looping cursive.
Katherine Sinclair
I told myself it was just a donation. That it didn’t matter. But that’s only half true.
The truth is, I wanted to help. Because this town—this sleepy, windswept, imperfect little place—has given me more peace in a few months than I ever had growing up behind locked gates and curated smiles.
And I love it. The café, the firehouse, the women who hug first and ask questions later. I love Parker’s laughter echoing through Ava’s back garden. I love the way Noah holds my hand like he’s not afraid of who I’ve been. Like maybe, just maybe, he sees who I want to be. I’ve fallen for it all.
Almost as hard as I’ve fallen for him.
And this check… it wasn’t aboutbuyingmy place here.
It was aboutcontributingto something that finally feels like home.
But I couldn’t sign it as Kate Montgomery. Not without raising questions. Not without exposing the past I’ve worked so hard to leave behind. So I used the name I swore I’d never write again. Not to be seen—but to stay hidden
I thought if I kept it quiet, anonymous, it wouldn’t really matter.
