Page 84 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
My stomach dips. The name we just said aloud now gleams in chrome letters ten feet away.
“Ava…”
She’s already staring.
“Noah,” she says slowly, “you don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think.” But my pulse is climbing.
That kind of money. That name. And now this car, humming like it owns the block.
I shift, hand resting on the edge of the counter, eyes on the car as it idles like it’s measuring the place. Like it’s not sure it should’ve come this far into a town like Porthaven.
Then the door opens.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” I reply.
I watch a man climb out looking like he owns the damn horizon. He’s tall. Clean-cut. Tailored charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. His coat clings to his frame like it was made for him, and it probably was. Silver threads at his temples. Designer sunglasses.
Even the way he shuts the car door has this… finality. As if his arrival should mean something. He takes a moment to survey the street, his chin lifting like the view disappoints him. Or like he expected this place to still be frozen in time.
Heads turn. Conversations falter. The air shifts, quiets, sharpens.
Ava mutters beside me, “Welcome to Porthaven.” She says, beneath her breath, and wipes her hands on her apron. “Let me see what he wants.”
I follow a step behind as she circles around the counter; she’s reaches the entry by the time he enters and Ava greets him, her voice cool but not unkind. “Can I help you?”
The man removes his sunglasses carefully and slips them into his coat pocket. “Yes,” he says, tone polished and effortless. “I was wondering if you could give me some direction.”
“Okay….” I can hear the curiosity
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
He glances around again, like checking the faces around. Then his eyes settle on us. “A woman. She lives around here. Katherine. She goes by Kate now. Has a little boy, five years old.”
My spine tightens, and the cold edge creeps in.
“I believe she teaches at a school around here,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
I take a step forward before I realize it. “What’s your name?”
“Richard Sinclair.” He offers a hand like it’s currency. I don’t shake it.
“And you say you’re looking for... Kate?”
“Yes.” His tone sharpens. “She’s my daughter.”
Ava’s eyes flick to mine. I feel her shift beside me.
“You said she has a little boy?” I ask.
“Parker,” he says, like testing the name on his tongue. “I need to see them.”
Something presses hard behind my ribs. I look at this man; the tailored coat, the hundred-grand car, the confident calm of someone who’susedto being listened to.
And then I think of Kate, hair tied up in a messy bun, hands stained with paint, making dinosaur-shaped sandwiches because Parker asked.
