Page 2 of His Big Holiday Firefighter (Bigger Is Best #2)
CHAPTER TWO
I arrived at the town meeting twenty minutes early, hoping to secure a seat near the exit.
Instead, I was ambushed by memories the second I walked into the community center.
The same ancient folding chairs were arranged in neat rows.
The same punch bowl sat on a card table by the door.
And the same construction paper snowflakes—probably made by the same third-grade class—hung from the ceiling.
The air smelled of pine garlands and sugar cookies, exactly as it had every December of my childhood.
“James Lee!” A plump woman in a reindeer sweater waved enthusiastically from near the refreshment table, nearly spilling her cup of punch.
“I was just telling everyone how much we’ve missed your grandmother’s almond cookies at the hospital bake sale.
No one else gets that perfect marzipan-to-cookie ratio. ”
I managed a polite smile, recognizing my mother’s old friend from the pharmacy. “Mrs. Wu. Nice to see you.”
“Such a shame about the bakery being closed. My Arthur says the whole town feels different without those morning smells of fresh bread. You know, just the other day?—”
“James!” Noah’s deep voice cut through the growing crowd, and my stomach did that annoying flip again. The firefighter was wearing a soft-looking forest green sweater that clung to flexing muscles as he waved me over. “I saved you a seat.”
I hesitated, but Mrs. Wu was already launching into a story about her arthritis and how Nai Nai’s ginger cookies used to help. I chose the lesser evil, excused myself, and escaped to where Noah sat in the middle row, conspicuously flanked by empty chairs.
“Thought you might need rescuing,” Noah said with a grin. “Mrs. Wu can talk for hours. Though she’s not wrong about those ginger cookies.”
“I didn’t need rescuing,” I replied, sitting with precise movements and trying to ignore how good Noah smelled. Ugh, what was it about this guy and why was I suddenly so obsessed? “I was being polite.”
“Right. That’s exactly what your face was saying.” His shoulder brushed mine as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, any thoughts on who you want for a partner?”
I stiffened, both at the question and at the way his proximity made my pulse jump. “I wasn’t planning on needing one. Is there a way to compete solo?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Noah’s breath was warm near my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “Besides, some of the best things happen by accident. Like your grandmother’s famous snickerdoodles—didn’t she tell you about the time she mixed up the cinnamon and?—”
“The nutmeg,” I finished, surprised. “How did you know that story?”
“She used to tell it whenever anyone complimented them. Which was often.” Noah’s smile turned softer, more personal. “She was proud of that mistake. Said sometimes the best recipes come from being willing to try something new.”
Before I could respond, or process the way Noah’s gentle tone made something warm unfurl in my chest, Mayor Thompson took the podium at the front of the room, her red blazer festive against the tinsel backdrop.
“Welcome, everyone! I’m so excited to announce this year’s paired teams for our Annual Christmas Cookie Competition! ”
My phone buzzed. Another message from Sarah: Buyer wants to view property tomorrow. Very motivated.
“Let’s get right to it. The first team,” Mayor Thompson continued, her voice bright with holiday cheer, “will be the Henderson sisters.”
I typed a quick reply: Available after 2pm.
“Team Two: Billy Martinez and Joanie Clarke.”
My phone buzzed again: Perfect. They’re very interested in maintaining the historic character.
“Team Three: James Lee and Noah Sullivan!”
My phone almost clattered to the floor. Noah caught it before it hit, his firefighter reflexes impressive. He handed it back with a grin.
“Looks like we’re partners.” Noah’s eyes danced with something that looked suspiciously like delight. “Must be fate.”
“Must be Mrs. Henderson’s idea of a joke,” I muttered. But, again, I couldn’t help but notice how Noah’s sweater stretched across his shoulders.
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur.
I was vaguely aware of rules being explained, deadlines being set, and Noah’s arm occasionally brushing mine when either of us moved.
Each accidental touch sent little jolts of awareness through me, making it impossible to focus on Mayor Thompson’s detailed explanation of judging criteria.
“So,” Noah said as we stood, gathering our coats. “When do you want to start practicing?”
I checked my phone. “I have a buyer viewing the bakery tomorrow at two.”
“Already?” Something flickered in Noah’s eyes—disappointment, maybe, or concern. “That’s... fast.”
“That’s business,” I said, more sharply than I intended, immediately regretting my tone when Noah’s smile dimmed. “We can practice after. Four o’clock?”
“I’ll bring my equipment.” Noah’s smile returned, but it seemed forced now. “Though I guess we could use the bakery’s...”
“I cleaned everything for the sale and packed up most of my grandmother’s things.” I ignored the pang of guilt at his obvious disappointment. “We can use the ovens, and I’ve still got some baking sheets at the shop, but otherwise, we’ll need whatever you can bring.”
Noah nodded slowly. “Right. Well, see you tomorrow, partner.”
The next afternoon found me aggressively stress-cleaning the already spotless counters while waiting for Noah.
The buyer’s viewing had gone well. Almost too well.
They’d loved the space, the location, the history.
They’d even offered to keep the name, as if that somehow made it better.
As if anything could make it better that I was selling the place where I’d first learned to love baking, where Nai Nai had first shown me how to make the perfect macaron.
The bell above the door chimed. I turned to find Noah navigating through the door with his arms full of supplies.
A light dusting of snow covered his shoulders and caught in his hair, making him look like some kind of sexy holiday poster boy.
His cheeks were pink from the cold, and his smile was warm enough to melt the remaining snowflakes in his hair.
“Sorry I’m late.” He navigated to the back of the shop and set everything on the counter. “Had to help Mrs. Wu’s cat out of a tree. Again. I tell you, that cat has the heart of an adventurer.”
I eyed the assortment of clearly well-used equipment, each piece obviously cared for despite its age. “You bake often?”
“Every chance I get.” Noah pulled a battered stand mixer out of one of the large totes he’d brought, with the careful reverence of someone handling a treasured possession. “Started teaching myself after my mom got sick. Nothing fancy, but…”
“That’s a KitchenAid 5-Plus,” I interrupted, surprised, and a little impressed. “That’s actually a decent model. Professional grade, if it’s maintained properly.”
Noah’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “Yeah? Found it at a garage sale, fixed it up myself. The motor was shot, but I rebuilt it. Had to watch about fifty YouTube videos and almost electrocuted myself twice, but—” He stopped, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. You probably don’t care about that.”
I cleared my throat, fighting an unexpected smile. “That’s actually impressive. Those motors are tricky. Most people wouldn’t even attempt that repair.”
“Thanks.” Noah’s smile did something warm to his entire face, crinkling those green eyes in a way that made my heart stutter. “So, what are we making?”
“I thought we’d start with something basic. Test our compatibility.” I pulled out my notebook, trying to sound professional rather than flustered. “A classic sugar cookie base with—what are you doing?”
Noah had pulled a plastic container from his bag. “Thought we might need some brain food.” He opened it to reveal perfectly uniform snickerdoodles. “Your grandmother’s recipe. Well, my attempt at it. I’ve been practicing for years, but they’re probably not…”
I just stared at the cookies. They looked exactly like Nai Nai’s, right down to the slightly uneven crackle pattern. The scent hit me first, that perfect blend of cinnamon and nutmeg that had always meant home.
“You don’t have to try them,” Noah said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know they won’t be as good as…”
I picked up a cookie and bit into it. The flavor hit me like a physical blow, in a good way. Childhood and home all at once. Each bite was a memory: me standing on a step stool beside Nai Nai, learning to measure spices, the way she’d always sneak me an extra cookie when my parents weren’t looking.
“These are perfect,” I said softly, awkwardly aware that my voice was rough with emotion.
If Noah noticed, he didn’t mention it.
“Really?” He stepped closer, eyes bright with hope. “I’ve been practicing for years, but I never thought…”
Our eyes met, and suddenly I was very aware of how close we were standing. That faint scent of cinnamon and wood smoke really seemed to follow him everywhere. It would be so easy to lean just slightly forward, to taste the spice on his lips.
The timer on my phone blared, making us both jump. There was a schedule to keep.
“Right.” I stepped back and tried to ignore the chill in the air without Noah’s warmth nearby. “We should get started. The competition’s just around the corner, and I want to win this... for Nai Nai.”
But as we began gathering ingredients, I noticed how naturally we moved around each other in the kitchen, like a dance we somehow already knew the steps to. He seemed to anticipate my needs before I voiced them, appearing with ingredients just as I reached for them.
I had to admit, there might be something to this partnership after all.