Page 16 of Reunited with the Hometown Hero
The sticky note.
The very one that had been taped to the kettle in bold black marker: DO NOT USE.
He holds it between two fingers, his jaw flexing once before he crumples it into his fist.
My pulse stutters.
Noah stands slowly. "Rodriguez, Martinez—you're dismissed. Let Mabel know we've cleared the scene."
The firefighters exchange a look, then file out without comment, leaving behind a trail of fresh mountain air and ozone.
I back toward the hallway. "I'll, uh... start cleaning up?—"
“Stop." The tone in his voice freezes me mid-step.
He steps into my path, close enough that I have to tilt my chin to meet his eyes. There's no teasing in his expression now. Just pure, blistering worry wrapped around something harder.
Heat rushes to my face, but not from shame. No—it's the memory that does it. The very specific, vivid memory of the last time I screwed up in a kitchen—trying to make him pancakes in nothing but his flannel shirt and setting off every smoke alarm in his mother's house.
He stood in the doorway, hair wrecked from sleep, and just... looked at me. Not angry. Not amused. Something deeper. Like he was memorizing me—smoke-smudged and barefoot and completely his. Then he crossed the kitchen in two strides, lifted me onto the counter, and kissed me until I forgot the burnt pancakes, the shrieking alarm, and my own name.
Intense. Consuming. Like the rest of the world fell away when he touched me.
I look at him now—ten years older, broader, sharper around the edges—but that same focused intensity is still coiled just beneath the surface, and my body remembers exactly what falling for him felt like.
I swallow hard.
His gaze drops briefly to the mess behind me—the charred drapes, the foam-streaked floor, the scorched metal on the stove.
"You could've burned the whole place down, Riley. You know better. I'll be damned if Mabel lifts a finger to clean your mess. You want to act like this town doesn't matter to you?" He meets my eyes again. "Fine. But you're not leaving this kitchen until every last bit of that bad judgment is scrubbed off the tile. Clean this up, Riley.”
He presses the crumpled note into my palm, then steps back, giving me space. But not absolution.
"And next time…” His voice is low and rough, "read the goddamn signs, Riley. Before someone gets hurt."
The words should sting. Maybe they do. But it's the emotion behind them—tight-leashed worry wrapped in frustration—that catches me off guard. He's not mad that I was careless. He's shaken. It’s in the flicker behind his eyes and the taut line of his jaw.
We stand too close, the air charged and heavy with things we never said. My fingers curl around the note. It's still warm from his hand.
He starts to turn away, but I catch it—a subtle shift in his expression. A flicker of something raw in his eyes. Regret. Longing. The ghosts of ten years ago are swirling between us like the smoke. The words he just spoke cost him. More than he'll ever admit out loud.
My chest tightens. Because for one heartbeat, I remember exactly what it felt like to be his. To be cared for with intensity so fierce it frightened me. To be wanted so completely, I didn't know where he ended, and I began.
He clears his throat and scrubs a hand along the back of his neck, the tension bleeding off him like steam from a kettle.
"Almost forgot," he says, not looking at me. "The Summer Festival starts tomorrow. Local tradition to kick off tourist season."
I blink, thrown by the abrupt shift. "I heard. Sounds like good color for my article."
"Wear comfortable shoes—there's a lot of ground to cover." He adjusts his gear, his gaze still angled somewhere past my shoulder.
And just like that, he's gone. Boots echoing down the hallway, shoulders squared, jaw tight.
I'm left standing there, surrounded by the faint scent of smoke, bergamot, and sandalwood. And the knowledge that whatever this is between us... It's far from extinguished.
Noah's footsteps fade down the hall, and still, I don't move.
The crumpled note is still clenched in my hand—his frustration folded inside paper.
