Page 80 of Flash Point

"Can we get Detective Whiskers extra hearts?" Natalie asked with the logic of someone who'd clearly been thinking about this. "He might need them for all his criminal activities."

"I think he's managing fine with the standard equipment," Erin said. "Though the criminal activities are definitely getting more sophisticated."

Near the far wall, Fire Chief McKenna Adams was deep in conversation with Mazey Snow, McKenna's girlfriend of three years who'd moved to Phoenix Ridge after wrapping her last film. Mazey caught sight of them and waved, her expression brightening.

"Erin! Perfect timing," Mazey called out. "McKenna was just telling me about the new fire safety protocols for film productions. I might need your expertise for my next project."

"Always happy to consult," Erin replied. "As long as nobody actually sets anything on fire."

"Where's the fun in that?" Mazey grinned, then immediately looked contrite when McKenna shot her a look. "Kidding! Safety first. Always."

They continued through the crowd, exchanging greetings and updates. Captain Cass Harris and Evelyn Ford were comparing notes about some new equipment protocol. Retired Fire Chief Becky Thompson and Dr. Lucinda Everett-Thompson were back from another of their extended travels, full of stories about hiking in New Zealand.

"The trails there make our mountains look like gentle suggestions," Becky was saying to a small gathered audience. "Though nothing beats coming home to Phoenix Ridge."

"Especially when there's an anniversary party waiting," Lucinda added, raising her glass toward Lavender across the room.

Lena found herself pausing to watch the easy interactions, the way conversations flowed between couples who'd found their rhythm, the comfortable mixing of professional colleagues and chosen family. Phoenix Ridge's LGBTQ+ community had rebuilt itself into something stronger after the fires, and evenings like this made that resilience visible.

"You're doing that thing again," Erin said quietly, appearing at her elbow with two glasses of wine.

"What thing?"

"Your detective face. Scanning the room like you're assessing threats."

Lena accepted the wine gratefully. "Old habits. Though I'm mostly just...noticing."

"Noticing what?"

"How normal this feels now." Lena took a sip of wine, considering her words. "Five years ago, if someone had told me I'd be at a community celebration holding hands with my girlfriend and talking about our cats, I'd have thought they were describing someone else's life."

"And what about now?"

"Now I can't imagine being anywhere else."

Before Erin could respond, the noise level in the café dropped as Lavender moved to the small raised area that served as a stage for open mic nights. She didn't need to call for attention; after twenty-five years, people knew when Lavender had something to say and paid attention.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Lavender began, her voice carrying easily through the space. "Twenty-five years ago, I opened this place because I wanted somewhere to belong and to exist unapologetically."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"I had no idea it would become what it is today," Lavender continued. "It’s become a place where love stories begin, where community is built, and where people find their chosen family. Where we've celebrated weddings and mourned losses and everything in between."

Lena felt Erin's hand find hers, their fingers intertwining automatically.

"Five years ago, this community faced someone who wanted to make us invisible, who thought fear could drive us back intohiding," Lavender's voice grew stronger. "Instead, we became more visible, more proud, more determined to love openly."

Scattered applause began and crescendoed into something warmer and more sustained.

"Tonight isn't just about celebrating a café's anniversary," Lavender said, her gaze moving across the familiar faces in the crowd. "It's so we can celebrate what we've built together. We’re celebrating the safety we've created, the love we've chosen, and the future we're making for the next generation."

She raised her glass, and every hand in the room followed suit.

"To twenty-five years of Phoenix Ridge, the place that taught us all what home can look like."

"To Phoenix Ridge," the room echoed, and Lena found herself saying the words along with everyone else, meaning them completely.

As conversations resumed and the celebration continued, Lena and Erin found themselves near the windows that looked out onto the street where they'd had their first real fight, their first kiss, their first glimpse of what they could become together.

"Not bad for mediocre coffee," Erin said, gesturing with her wine glass toward the animated crowd.

"The coffee's actually gotten much better," Lena replied. "Though don't tell Lavender I said that."

"Your secret's safe with me." Erin leaned against her slightly, a casual contact that spoke of years of comfort with each other's presence. "Think we'll still be coming to these things in another twenty-five years?"

Lena looked around the room at the community that had chosen to thrive instead of merely survive, the ordinary miracle of people loving openly in a place that celebrated rather than merely tolerated that love.

"I hope so," she said. "I really hope so."