Page 10 of His Big Holiday Firefighter (Bigger Is Best #2)

CHAPTER NINE

For the first time since Nai Nai’s passing, I flicked on the bakery’s lights before dawn, cutting through the winter darkness like a beacon.

I moved through the familiar space, bringing it back to life one switch, one machine, one memory at a time.

The ancient ovens hummed as they warmed, their heat chasing away the December chill and filling the air with the promise of irresistibly sweet treats.

Each surface I wiped down, each piece of equipment I uncovered, felt like waking up something that had only been sleeping, waiting for me.

I could almost hear my grandmother’s voice guiding me. First, we wake the ovens, little dumpling. They need time to stretch, just like people do.

The bell jingled just as the early sky lightened, casting pearl-gray light through the frosted windows. Noah stood in the doorway, arms full of competition supplies. His smile, when he saw me already covered in flour and wearing one of Nai Nai’s old aprons, could have lit up the whole town.

“You’re really doing this,” he said, setting down the things he’d brought with a reverent care. “You’re staying.”

I wiped my hands on my apron, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, someone has to defend Nai Nai’s title in the competition. And I hear my partner’s pretty good with butter.”

Noah crossed the kitchen in three strides, backing me against the counter with a gentle inevitability that made my breath catch. “Just butter?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were serious as they searched my face, looking for any hint of doubt.

“Maybe a few other things.” I reached up to brush some snow from his shoulder, letting my hand linger on the soft flannel.

The bell chimed again, sharp and insistent.

“James?” Sarah’s voice carried through the bakery, professional concern barely masking her frustration. “Your phone’s been off. The buyers are getting anxious?—”

“And they’re going to be disappointed.” I kept my eyes on Noah’s. “The bakery’s not for sale.”

Her heels clicked across the floor, then stopped abruptly when she reached the doorway between the front of the shop and the kitchen. “Oh.” A long pause filled with the steady hum of the ovens.

She assessed the two of us standing there, so close together. “I see.” Another pause, shorter this time. “Well. I suppose sometimes the best investments aren’t about money. Call me if you change your mind.”

The bell chimed as she left. Noah’s smile intensified. “You know,” he said, leaning closer until I could feel the warmth radiating from him, “‘I’m not selling.’ I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

I felt a laugh bubble up inside me. “What if I said, ‘your crumb structure is perfect’? Would that be sexier?”

“Well...” Noah’s laugh was warm against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Possibly a first-place tie.”

After kissing, and kissing some more, we did eventually get around to competition prep. I found it hard to focus with Noah rolling up his sleeves and talking about proper lamination technique with the same intensity he brought to firefighting… and to pleasuring me.

We worked side by side, finalizing our competition game plan, finding our rhythm in this new reality where touches lingered and glances held sexy promises.

I watched his hands as they worked the dough. Those strong firefighter’s fingers were surprisingly delicate as they folded and shaped. Each movement was precise, filled with the same care he brought to everything he loved.

As evening approached and the winter light faded to blue, I noticed him growing quieter, his movements less confident.

While we waited for a test batch to bake—a complex variation on Nai Nai’s signature spice cookies—I caught him staring at the old competition photos on the wall.

Five years of her winning entries, each certificate featuring her proud smile.

“What if I’m not good enough?” His voice was barely audible, rough with vulnerability. “What if I let you down? Let her down?” The question seemed to hang in the air, heavy with all his unspoken fears.

I moved to stand beside him, our shoulders touching. “You know what Nai Nai would say about that?”

“What?”

“That you’re asking the wrong question.” I turned to face him, reaching up to touch his cheek, feeling the day’s stubble under my fingers.

“It’s not about being good enough. It’s about being exactly who you are—the person who learned to bake because he wanted to make people happy.

The person who knows that sometimes the most important ingredient isn’t in any recipe. ”

His eyes were suspiciously bright in the warm kitchen light. “Yeah?” His voice was full of emotion. “What ingredient is that?”

Instead of answering, I pulled him into a sweet kiss that tasted of sugar and possibility and home. When we finally broke apart, the oven timer was chiming and snow was falling outside the windows. Everything was perfectly, wonderfully right.

“Love.” The word carried all the weight of my decision to stay, to choose this life, this man, this future. I removed the last tray of treats and placed them on the counter to cool. “As cheesy as it may sound, the ingredient is love.”

Noah smiled and pulled me closer until our foreheads touched. “In that case, I know we’re going to win.”