Chapter Two

The engine of his Cummins Diesel Dodge Ram growled as Ford depressed the gas pedal and rocketed down the back streets of town before slowing and cutting across to Main.

He nosed his truck into the alleyway between Maisy’s Bakery and Lottie’s fabric store, and sure enough, there was smoke.

Ford did a quick assessment.

Color: white. Volume: little. Velocity: low. Density: thin.

Charging in alone was never a good idea, but waiting until the fire went from small to large wasn’t a stellar idea, either.

He leaped out of the truck and grabbed his ax, along with his medic kit. Fires weren’t very common this time of year, so his bunker gear was in the firetruck.

His pulse skyrocketed when he heard a female voice yell, “Why won’t you open? I can’t put out the fire if you won’t let me in.”

The hacking cough that followed had him rushing toward the open door, Pyro hot on his heels.

A woman who looked like Maisy, yet not quite, stood in front of the oven. She batted at the spitting flames with a potholder as she rambled about her sister trusting her and the “shittiest day ever.”

Ford stepped between her and the oven, nudging her backward. The sweltering air seeped through his shirt and pressed heavy against his skin. Experience took the wheel, his focus narrowing to clearing the building. “Is anyone else inside?”

A cough burst from the brunette, followed by a wheeze. “No, it’s just me. Which is why—”

“I’ve got it from here, ma’am. Please exit the building.”

Pyro gently bit onto her pants and tugged, trying to coax her to safety.

Since she wasn’t doing as instructed, Ford nearly used his surge of adrenaline to scoop her up and rush her outside. But his brain had already launched into analytical mode, spinning over the facts as fast as his heart hammered in his chest.

There wasn’t anyone else in the bakery, and the fire was contained to the oven. Cutting off the source of heat will be the safest, fastest course of action for everyone.

Ford pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, focusing on inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. “Stand back.”

Pyro bumped the woman’s legs with his snout, herding her toward the open doorway, and she seemed to notice his dog for the first time. She backed away, giving Ford much-needed space.

The damn plug didn’t want to come free of the outlet, and a growing sense of urgency pounded away at the base of his skull. He gripped the handle of his ax and used the edge of the blade to pry the hard plastic free.

With the oxygen in the oven running short, a minor backdraft could turn into a big problem, so even if the door would open now, it wasn’t a good idea. At the risk of the blaze spreading and the bakery going up in flames, he couldn’t simply leave the oven be.

As soon as the temperature drops, I’ll deal with the fire.

A siren blared, growing louder and louder, and Ford put his hand on the woman’s back and rushed her outside.

Darius drove the firetruck up to the door, and he and Ford threw on their bunker gear. The thick gloves made it hard to get a solid grip but protected them from searing their skin. Getting the giant oven through the back door was like birthing an elephant, but eventually they managed to maneuver the appliance to the center of the alley, where they waited to see if it warranted dousing with the hose.

With the danger mostly dealt with, Ford went looking for the woman who’d been in the kitchen, attempting to put out the fire herself.

Pyro stood at her side, watching the commotion, ready to spring into action if needed. Sometimes Ford thought his dog was as big of an adrenaline junkie as he was, which wasn’t always great and had left them in tight spots before. Rest or regret, it was a question that’d haunted him more than he liked.

“Good boy,” Ford said, reaching through two layers of clothing, withdrawing a doggie treat, and giving it to Pyro.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said with a shake of her head. “I might’ve left the cupcakes in a little too long, but I don’t understand how they caught fire. Or why the door wouldn’t open.”

Ford finished patting Pyro’s head and straightened. “It was set to self-clean mode. It turns the temperature way up and torches anything inside so later you can just wipe away the ash.”

The woman’s smoke-streaked face paled. “And if there are two giant tins of cupcake batter inside?”

“They boil over and start a fire.”

Her body sagged, and Ford lurched forward and gripped her shoulders, worried her knees might give out. Pyro pranced around her legs, glancing from Ford to the woman, awaiting orders on how to help.

“She’ll be okay,” he reassured his dog. “Just experiencing a bit of shock.”

She threw a hand over her face. “More like mortification and wishing the ground would open and swallow me whole.”

“Then Pyro and I would have to hack open the ground and come find you, and I think you’ll agree we’ve all had more than enough excitement for today.”

Her hand fell away as she tipped up her chin, and he got his first good look at her. Hair the same color he liked his coffee–one cream, two sugars; heart-shaped face streaked with gray and what he suspected were trails of mascara; and a slightly prominent nose that drew his attention to her irises, which were a deep shade of brown that almost melted into her dilated pupils.

He continued to gaze into the depths, searching for…he wasn’t even sure, but whatever it was, he was relatively certain he’d found it.

Pyro barked, awakening him from her spell. People were beginning to gather at the mouth of the alley, a mob of moths to a literal flame.

The woman ducked her head, a hand going up to shield the side of her face. “Oh, great. Why is the entire town showing up?”

“Probably saw the smoke, and if not, they heard or saw the firetruck. Not only is it giant and red with flashing lights, it comes out rarely enough to attract attention. Plus, there’s not a whole helluva lot to do in town. This here’ll probably make the front page of the paper.”

She groaned, and while he knew better than to say so, her disheveled appearance suggested she’d had as shitty of a day as she claimed. “I was trying to lay low.”

“Little tip: Uncertainty isn’t the place to hide out if you’re on the run. We also don’t do low-key very well.”

Her snort-laugh was part sob, but at least he’d teased out a hint of a smile. She stepped back, patting the messy bun on the top of her head and then frowning when she touched the section that stuck up like the red comb of a rooster.

With a huff, she let her arms flop down. “Thank you for your help…”

He extended a hand. “Ford. Ford McGuire.”

“How very James Bond of you with the introduction,” she said, slipping her small hand into his. As if he’d touched the end of a wire, a jolt coursed through his arm, and he had to force himself not to hold on past polite range.

A wet nose nudged the hand he’d dropped, and Ford patted his furry companion’s head. “And this is Pyro.”

Amusement flickered through her features, softening her exasperation and making him want to come up with more witty things to say. “A firefighter with a dog named Pyro?”

“I like to think I’m clever,” Ford said. “And you are…?”

“Violet!” Maisy pushed through the crowd, and the captivating firestarter in front of him dashed toward the woman who owned the bakery.

They collided in a hug, and the woman—Violet—began apologizing while Maisy asked if she was okay. There was also a comment about trying to do the safe thing and not start a fire before the conversation morphed into squeaky words he couldn’t decipher.

Easton approached, dressed in his police uniform. They nodded at each other, and Ford gave him a quick rundown. Given the hijinks they had pulled growing up, their friends often gave them shit about somehow ending up on the right side of the law. Having his buddy to help out on emergency jobs came in handy, and whenever they regaled the rest of the gang with their tales, they did the fishermen thing, their adventures growing larger with each retelling.

With Easton updated, they both fell silent, and Violet’s voice drifted above the din. “…not sure how I’ll afford it, but I’ll work on the nearest street corner to get you a new oven if this one is ruined.”

No stranger to exaggeration, Ford recognized the statement for what it was. The idea of the curvy Violet standing on the corner, however… Despite being on the up-and-up nowadays, he might not be able to refrain from swinging by.

Not that he’d ever had to pay for it, but it had been a long time, and… This just went down a weird path.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Maisy said, wrapping Violet in another hug. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“Yeah, but what if you’d been there? Or Isla?” Her voice pitched higher, panic coating the words. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

“She’s fine. Lottie, the woman who runs the craft store next door, is watching her while I get everything sorted out.”

“Okay, okay.” Violet wrung her hands together, and a fat tear tracked down her cheek.

Pressure grew underneath Ford’s ribs, his instinct to help kicking in, even though he’d never been very adept at dealing with female tears.

Pyro whimpered and glanced at him, silently asking how to console her. His dog had a better chance than Ford did, and at his nod, Pyro padded over and nudged her hand with his nose.

She let him sniff her before giving him a nice rubdown. “I forgot to thank you, didn’t I? You were trying to keep me safe, and I was too preoccupied to listen.”

Guess I should put my nose against her palm. See if she’ll run her fingers through my hair. He’d likely stick out his tongue and pant just like Pyro was doing. Later tonight, he and his dog were going to discuss how he’d done most of the work and Pyro still got the lion’s share of the attention.

A purple flash hit Ford right in the eye, and he squatted next to the tire of the firetruck and retrieved the… Yikes. Lexi’s wedding binder must’ve scared him more than he’d thought, because he swore this was similar to the one that’d been tossed on his coffee table. Only crumpled and speckled with fat flakes of black ash.

“Noooo,” Violet shrieked, taking a leap at him and yanking whatever it was out of his hands. She flattened the bundle of papers and the glittery purple cover to her chest.

“Sorry. It’s just…private.” She bent and gathered several stray papers—a few of which had definitely been burned, not to mention the globs of plastic melted to them. “Anyway, sorry again for all the trouble, and thanks for your help. Again. Yeah, so…” She straightened with so much force the top of her head bumped his chin, rattling his teeth together.

“Ouch,” she said, rubbing her head and backing away as if he’d been responsible. “I’m going to go put this up.”

Earlier, he’d been hoping to coax a full smile out of her, but the one she flashed him had a manic edge to it. Talk about a whiplash in moods.

A big part of his recent dry spell came from his indifference to dating. He’d given up on serious relationships a handful of years ago. Yet after a search and rescue mission down south, casual dating had lost its appeal. Shallow interactions didn’t seem worth the effort, and his life didn’t allow time to pour into activities that left him unfulfilled.

But Violet… There was something undeniably intriguing about her.

Figures he’d go and experience his first spark in ages with a woman who appeared to be in the middle of planning a wedding.

Possibly even her own.

…

Violet stared into the charred depths of the oven along with Maisy, even though she had no idea how to tell if the damage was bad enough to require a new one.

Was that something you could determine by eyeballing it?

Guilt settled heavy in her gut, along with a righteous lump of unfairness that made her want to stomp her foot. She’d been trying to help and avoid a disaster, and, in what had become one of her classic moves, had only made things worse.

Much like the time she’d attempted to prove how fine she was and scheduled an engagement photoshoot two days after Benjamin moved out. Then she’d gone and had a breakdown that resulted in refunding the couple’s session and referring them to another photographer.

No wonder she was no longer inspired.

Hell, no wonder Benjamin hadn’t wanted to put a ring on it. On top of being the ditz he often teased her of being, she was a complete and utter mess. Something she was acutely aware of with the beefy firefighter standing a few yards away. He undoubtedly thought she was bonkers for ripping her binder out of his hands.

The idea of him flipping through her failed hopes and dreams, though?

Even now, it made her skin feel too tight.

Violet had taken her bedraggled binder and hidden it in one of the kitchen cupboards. Then she’d trudged back to the alley to face the disaster she’d caused.

And the sexy firefighter with a deep voice made for dirty words. Don’t even get her started on the defined scruffy jaw and ripped arms that were on display now that he’d taken off his firefighter coat.

His fellow firefighter was handsome as well, a few inches shorter than Ford but on the bulkier side. He was also sporting a gold wedding band that contrasted his umber skin. The scene called to mind firefighter fantasy scenarios—only in real life, mortification dented her ability to fully appreciate the eye candy.

If Violet didn’t think Ford and his dog would attempt to revive her, she’d pass out from embarrassment.

As if her half sister sensed she needed comforting, Maisy wrapped an arm around her. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

Violet sniffed loudly—it wasn’t like the guy standing on Maisy’s other side would look her way twice anyway, even on her best, most dolled-up day. “That’s so nice of you to say, but I’m the girl who can’t even put cupcakes in the oven.”

“Maisy’s right,” Ford said. “It happens all the time.”

There was that deep voice again. Her ears perked up, begging him to say more. The guy’s only flaw was his dark hair, which was chin length, irresistibly disheveled, and stood out against his fair skin.

Not that the longer, I-woke-up-this-way style didn’t suit him. It completed the whole hot country-boy look, adding to the notion that he caught fish with his bare hands and wrestled alligators for fun.

Yep, it was a good thing she didn’t go for dark-haired guys with fair skin, because clearly that was the only thing standing in her way. Ugh, could this day get any worse?

At least the crowd at the mouth of the alley had thinned, most of the looky-loos deciding the exciting part had already come and gone. “Wait,” she said, scrunching up her forehead. “You said the firetruck doesn’t come out very often.”

Ford gave her a curled-lip smile that had her thinking of the old-school Elvis movies her bubbie used to watch. “Not very often. When there is a fire, it’s either a controlled burn that got out of control or an electrical house fire caused by appliances. Toasters, blenders…” He patted the blackened machine next to them. “Ovens.”

“While it looks a little worse for wear, I don’t think the heating element is damaged,” Maisy said. “And if it’s done-zo, I have insurance for this very reason.”

In an attempt to placate Maisy, Violet nodded, but she could hear her ex in her head. Classic Violet. You’ve got a bullet-point wedding and life plan, but you go to the store and fail to get the one thing you went there for.

Countless times she’d put dinner on to cook, only to forget about the food entirely. Benjamin would get so frustrated, calling the burned meals a waste and complaining about the townhouse perpetually smelling of smoke.

You’re the most disorganized organized person I know, he’d told her on a regular basis.

Violet’s lungs contracted. Part of the reason she insisted on organization was to help manage her ADHD. Scattered attention and the inability to focus were the better-known symptoms, but the other side of the coin was becoming so immersed in activities she enjoyed that she became oblivious to everything else.

As hard as she tried, she’d constantly get lost in photo editing or adding inspiration pictures to her wedding binder. What seemed like minutes turned into hours, and she’d emerge from the soothing world inside her head to one filled with chaos, confusion, and, worst of all—Benjamin’s disappointment.

That’d fuel her anxiety, and from there, it was almost impossible to do anything right.

Eventually the firefighters and cop dispersed, and Maisy locked up the bakery. She handed Violet the house keys and told her to go on ahead and make herself at home while she picked up Isla.

After dumping her bags in the spare room and hitting the shower, Violet felt halfway human again.

As soon as she walked into the living room, Maisy gestured to the two glasses of wine she’d poured. Instead of choosing one, Violet waved her fingers in the classic gimme motion. “First things first. I’ve been waiting to snuggle my niece all day.”

Isla was warm, smelled of baby oil, and had on darling onesie pajamas with a star on the bum.

Violet settled on the couch, laying her niece on her lap before reaching for the wine and taking a sip. She returned the glass to its coaster and then ran a knuckle over Isla’s chubby cheek. “One day, when you’re older, Auntie Violet will tell you what not to do with your life—she happens to be an expert on the subject.”

“Stop. People who have it all together are boring, not to mention annoying.” Maisy raised her wineglass into the air. “And think about it this way. The rest of your stay can only go up from here.”

“Are you still sure you can handle me for that long?”

Maisy cocked her head as if she’d asked a preposterous question. “Everyone makes mistakes, Vi. Do you know how many pastries I’ve maimed in my bakery? I’ve tried weird combinations that’ve made me wish I didn’t have taste buds. After every disappointment, though, I dump the batter and try again. That’s how I came up with my three-berry hazelnut torte, which is famous round these parts. And in case you don’t remember, I begged you to come visit.”

It’d surprised Violet, how vehement her half sister had been about staying with her. In the past, she’d felt like Maisy—and the entire Hurst clan, really—was only going through the motions, doing the “proper” thing by her.

“Well, I’m going to do my best to avoid causing any more fiascos,” Violet said. “And if I never see a firetruck again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Are you sure about that? You and Ford seemed to have some”—Maisy peered down her nose at Violet—“dare I say, sparks?”

Violet closed her eyes, as if that’d help her go back in time and undo being such a disaster in front of the guy. “The only thing sparking was the oven, but seriously, did he have to be so hot? And did I have to be so not?”

“You looked…” Maisy grimaced and patted Violet’s knee. “Let’s go with charmingly disheveled.”

Violet groaned. “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve given up men.”

“That’s what I say about chocolate every day, but you’ll notice my hips aren’t getting any smaller.” The flicker of glee in Maisy’s expression gave Violet more than a flicker of apprehension. “I knew you liked guys with dark hair.”

Shower-damp strands tickled Violet’s neck and cheeks as she shook her head. “I don’t—and it’s not just the hair, remember? Sure, I can recognize certain dark-haired, fair-skinned members of the male species aren’t exactly difficult to look at. Doesn’t change the fact that they’re not my type.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Isla began to wiggle and fuss, and Violet sat her up and peered into her big blue eyes. Using two fingers, she formed a curl with the tuft of hair on top of her niece’s head. “You, on the other hand, rock the dark hair and ivory skin. Yes you do.” She kissed Isla’s plump cheek. “Mwah, mwah, mwah. Are you ready for lots of cuddling and cheek pinching? Maybe a late-night party where we drink way too much milk and crash out on the couch?”

Isla opened her mouth as if she had a ready response. She cooed, and Violet’s heart melted, along with the stress of the day. If she’d followed the first draft of her life plan, she’d have one, if not two kids by now. But every time she’d brought up the idea of a baby, Benjamin went with his famous “sure, someday” answer.

In this day and age, I don’t need a man to have a baby. Just his sperm, and I can get that without dating, so ha!

Naturally she’d want a donor who was big and strong and brave. Sorta like Ford the Firefighter, who’d charged in, known what to do, and been kind to her, even when she’d acted so irrational.

She highly doubted those type of guys frequented sperm banks. But before she ended up with a bullet-point plan and binder filled with possible names, baby gear, and nurseries she loved, she supposed she should get her life—namely her career—in order.

First, I’ll refill my creative well by helping Maisy decorate the bakery, and then I’ll see where I’m at and make a plan from there.

Violet placed her niece on her shoulder and snuggled her close, and in this moment, her life didn’t seem like such a mess. She was guilty of piling one bad thing on top of another until every setback weighed her down and crushed her spirits.

Being arrested during her lowest point certainly hadn’t helped, but that was another rearview-window item she hoped to leave in the dust.

Maisy propped her elbow on the back of the couch, and then tears brimmed her eyes. “I missed out, Vi. We could’ve had so much fun together when you stayed with us during the summers, but I was so pissed my dad had cheated on my mom and that we couldn’t just move on because…”

“Because of me,” Violet finished, her voice cracking.

“I’m afraid I was a selfish, horrible kid. I’d always wanted a sister, and then I had one, and instead of embracing you, I kept my distance.”

As children, it’d been hard not to compare. Maisy had a pert little nose, gorgeous blue eyes, and delicate eyebrows that didn’t need constant taming. She had Dad’s love in spades, and Violet remembered wondering what it would be like to have a full-time father who bragged about her over dinner, the way Dad did about Maisy and his son, Mason. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. With Travis gone, our phone calls are the only reason I haven’t lost my mind. I love Isla, but the rest of my family is always busy as usual, and I miss adult conversation. I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she swiped it away. “I’d like to try to make up for the time we lost and take a second shot at being sisters in the more classic definition.”

A lump formed in Violet’s throat. “Honestly, I’ve been lonely, too. I’d be happy to steal your Barbies and borrow your clothes without asking and…whatever else sisters do.”

Maisy laughed and gently hugged Violet, bringing Isla into the group hug as well. “Thank you for being here.”

Although Violet wanted to point out that she’d only brought calamity into her life, she decided now wasn’t the time for self-deprecation. While the inevitability of awkward run-ins with her father and his wife sent Violet’s nerves into riot mode, she focused on the affection that was flowing over her, slowly mending old wounds.

It was nice to feel like she had a sister, not simply because of shared DNA but by choice. Which made that “half” part of Maisy’s title unnecessary.

A sister and a niece, a place to stay, and a bakery to decorate.

The sense of purpose Violet had been missing as of late buoyed her up, giving her a much-needed dose of optimism, no positive spin required. Maybe one day in the not too distant future, she could manage to finally put the past where it belonged.