“It’s my job. Literally,” Quinn returned.

  “Hey, Kenan,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mind getting me a coffee?”

  “You going to tip me?” he teased.

  “Did Quinn?”

  My brother’s laughter rumbled through the line. “No, she did not. If you say please. I was actually going to go from here to the winery. So swinging by Spill the Beans is on my way.”

  “Please,” I said with a flourish.

  “You got it. I’ll see you in a few.”

  I thanked Quinn and ended that call. After that, I started to look at my email, but my cell phone vibrated on my desk again. I glanced down, surprised to see my brother Wyatt’s name flash on the screen.

  Wyatt, Griffin, and McKenna were the youngest of us. Until Jake died, it had felt like there were three groups of us. Jake, Rhys, and me as the three oldest. Then Adam and Kenan who were just shy of two years younger than me. Then Griffin and Wyatt were another two years behind them with McKenna the youngest by another year.

  As hotshot firefighters, Griffin and Wyatt happened to work up in Fairbanks on a crew with Deacon, Rhys’s best friend from high school. Wyatt and Griffin were close, but of the whole family, Wyatt kept himself at a distance. I could only hope someday I would find out why.

  I tapped my phone screen to answer. “Hey, Wyatt. Good to hear from you. What’s up?”

  “Hey, man. Just doing my occasional check-in. You know how I like to do that.”

  Wyatt and I shared the tendency to keep things light. “Oh, your monthly check-in,” I said dryly. “Things are pretty good here, if you’re wondering. Anytime you decide to take a break from fighting fires, I’ve got a job for you at the winery. My main brewing guy and his wife are having a baby. He let me know he might be moving to Juneau. If that happens, I’ll be looking for a new brewer.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Wyatt said without offering anything further.

  We chatted briefly, discussing entirely superficial issues. Then he said something that perked my ears up. “Oh, you remember Monica?”

  “My girlfriend from high school?”

  “Yeah, the only girlfriend I knew you to have. I mean, you date, but you and Monica were whatever serious was in high school.”

  I circled my hand in the air even though he couldn’t see. “Of course, I remember Monica. Nice enough girl until she screwed around on me.”

  “Oh yeah, she broke your heart,” Wyatt said.

  My laugh was dry. My feelings about Monica had been youthful. In hindsight, I thought the only thing she did was contribute to the cynicism that I already carried inside about whether or not romance was worth it.

  Family was worth it, but my memories of my father were so vague that I couldn’t even say for sure if he and my mom had a great marriage. I only recalled that he had been a good father and I loved him. Then he was gone, and our grandfather started making our lives hell.

  “What about Monica?” I prompted.

  “I ran into her at the grocery store. I guess she and her husband moved up here. Looks like she’s looking to get out of her marriage. They’ve got three kids, and she hit on me. I told her to take a hike.” Wyatt sounded legitimately annoyed.

  I rolled my eyes. “I guess she hasn’t changed her ways. So why are you telling me this?”

  I honestly hadn’t contemplated Monica since maybe high school when it all went down. Her family moved away after high school, so she wasn’t on my radar.

  “Because she told me to tell you hey and said she hopes you’re doing well.”

  “I guess if you see her again, you can give her my regards. You coming down for a visit anytime soon?”

  “Not sure. We’re still dealing with fires. I’ll make sure I’m there for Thanksgiving and Christmas if not sooner.”

  “Mom would love that.”

  “I’ll be there.” There was a sound in the background. “Gotta roll,” Wyatt said.

  We ended the call, and I briefly thought about Monica. We’d started dating in high school. It lasted for a whole year. I snorted to myself, realizing Wyatt was right. It was my longest relationship. My cynicism had already been deeply seated by that point. I’d seen the ugly way my grandfather had treated my grandmother and my mother’s lingering grief after losing our father. I’d been fending for myself, maybe serious about Monica. She’d gotten caught making out with another guy under the bleachers during lunch at school one day, and that had been that. Monica had attempted to reach out to me once after we broke up. She had come to Fireweed Harbor for a visit while she was in college. By then, I sensed she’d developed a level of awareness about my family’s situation that she didn’t have before. She’d tried to persuade me to give her a chance, but I hadn’t been interested, not even a little.

  By the time I was in college, I had discovered the benefits of casual relationships and enjoyed them thoroughly. At thirty-one years old now, I was busy with a rewarding career in my family’s business. I didn’t have much time to even consider relationships. These days, I had the occasional weekend fling in Juneau. I tried not to date in Fireweed Harbor, if only because the small town meant too many potential complications.

  I’d made that mistake once, only once, and still had to deal with those threads. A friendly acquaintance who worked at the bank had flirted with me over the years. It had been light and teasing and nothing more. I finally had a night with her. She was the one who’d laid out the ground rules, telling me she didn’t like things to get serious and she wanted to make sure I understood that. Come to find out, she later told me she only said that because she thought I wouldn’t even consider it otherwise. Ellen had come crying to me in my office a mere two weeks after our one night together, telling me she felt like I didn’t see the real her and all that we could have.

  That was three years ago. Whenever I saw her at the bank now, she still gave me the side-eye even though she was married with a kid.

  Monica taught me a valuable lesson, and Ellen a different one. This train of thought led me straight to Fiona. She had so many warning signs around her that should’ve sent me running. I didn’t even want to contemplate why I shouldn’t act on my feelings. I simply wanted her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blake

  It was getting late, but the kitchen was still busy. I knew things would be winding down soon. I also knew the general routine even though David fully managed the restaurant. That had been the arrangement when I took over at the brewery and winery. I honestly didn’t want to run a restaurant. The only reason I crossed paths with the staff there so often was because it was in the same location as our production. I also enjoyed running the events for the brewery and winery.

  I told myself I was just doing my usual loop through the place when I circled the building, peering into the brewing area, which was quiet. Our main brewer, George, had a pencil tucked behind his ear and was staring at a notebook when I paused in the doorway.

  “What are you doing here so late?” I asked.

  He glanced over, flashing a quick smile. “I’m about to head out. I was just checking my notes for the upcoming schedule. You know I like to write everything down by hand.”

  “I do. Seeing as I do the same, I understand.”

  I waved as I continued, passing by the prep area where the kitchen staff got things ready for the following morning. Just as I expected, Fiona was there. She didn’t even notice me walking by because she was jotting something down on a notepad.

  I forced myself to keep moving. I stopped in to chat with David, telling myself that I was just doing what I would normally do. Maybe I was.

  A few minutes later, I passed back by the kitchen prep room and heard a muffled sob.

  I looked through the doorway. Fiona stood with her back to the door, holding her cell phone to her ear, her hand clenching it tightly. After another moment, she lowered the phone. I saw her shoulders shake. Protectiveness rose swiftly inside. It was all I could do not to cross the room and pull her into my arms. I didn’t even know what was wrong.

  With Fiona, none of my reactions made sense.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fiona

  I heard footsteps stop in the hallway and quickly slipped my phone into the pocket of my apron, pulling my sleeve down over the heel of my hand and dabbing at the tears damp on my cheeks. Blessedly, the footsteps resumed.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I walked toward the doorway and peered out. There was no one visible now. I walked back to where I’d been working, staring blindly at the small notebook where I was crossing off everything the brunch crew would need in the morning.

  I was already at the bottom of my list. I checked on the last item and crossed it off. I pulled my phone out, once again lifting it to my ear after tapping to play the voicemail.

  This is a message for Fiona Thompson. This is Gerald, I used to work with Johnny. I don’t know who you talked to, but you need to stay quiet.

  My heartbeat raced unsteadily, and I felt a little sick. I didn’t know Gerald. But I didn’t know a lot of things about Johnny’s life. I most definitely didn’t know what the hell this guy was talking about.

  When Johnny died, he and I had been broken up for two years. He helped out with bills because he was decent like that, but that was it. He knew I wanted nothing to do with the mess he’d gotten himself into.

  It felt as if all of my bad decisions had followed me to Alaska. I hadn’t been running from anything when I came here. Yet I had genuinely wanted a fresh start, a change of scenery in a place where I felt like I could make a life that wasn’t tainted by the mistakes I’d made when I was younger.

  I heard footsteps again and reflexively glanced over. Blake was walking by. He paused, his sharp gaze landing on me instantly. “You okay?”

  I wanted to run over and fling myself into his arms. Because I knew Blake was strong, and maybe he could make me forget everything.

  As he stood there, studying me for no more than a few seconds, it felt as if he could see right through me, into the fear flooding inside my chest. I managed to take a deep breath, telling myself to stay calm, and that it was nothing.

  I nodded, lifting my chin and straightening my shoulders as if I could will my fear away.

  “Yeah,” I finally replied.

  His eyes held mine through several echoing beats of my heart before he dipped his chin in acknowledgment. I sensed he didn’t believe me. But we were winding down in the kitchen after the rush of dinner. Although the crush of orders had ended, this part of the night was just as busy for me.

  I kept telling myself not to think about the fact that tonight was that night. The night when Blake said he would be waiting for me in his office if I wanted to find him. I must’ve replayed our two wild kisses, and then some, in my thoughts hundreds of times. I kept telling myself it wasn’t smart. It was downright reckless to walk to his office tonight after everybody left.

  Yet nothing in me was feeling sensible. My fierce need for him, pure and elemental, was riding roughshod over my ability to be sensible.

  He’s not technically your boss. David is.

  Hahahaha! My cynical mind taunted me.

  As if the universe was trying to play a joke on me, that evening I stopped by David’s office to check with him about some menu specials.

  Blake’s mother, Claire Cannon, happened to walk by, peering into the office and smiling at us. “I just wanted to say I loved the lemon halibut dish tonight.” She lifted her fingertips to her mouth, blowing a chef’s kiss.

  David chuckled, and I thanked her. After she left, I asked, “Is there any other feedback from the family about the changes we’ve made to the menu?”

  “They all love it, but you don’t answer to them. Keep that in mind.” When I wrinkled my nose and eyed him uncertainly, David added, “I appreciate that you care what they think, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t matter at all, but it can get overwhelming. The Cannons are a big family with a lot of opinions. Plus, McKenna is allergic to shellfish.”

  That wasn’t the first time David reminded me he ran the restaurant. So you see, David was on my side. He had no idea I was using his role as a reason to tell myself I didn’t answer to Blake.

  As these thoughts bounced through my mind, every time I thought about my phone, it felt like a hot coal in my pocket. Tucked away in my purse, I didn’t even want to look at it after that message earlier tonight. I told myself I didn’t need to check my phone. My mom knew to call the restaurant if she needed me. She also knew I was working late. This was my extra-late night when I didn’t even get home until after midnight.

  Time and again, I sensed Blake’s presence—when I saw him chatting with one of the guys who worked in the brewery as he was leaving and a while later when I heard David tease him for working too late as David left. It wasn’t unusual for Blake to work late. As far as I could tell, he was a workaholic.

  I had just about talked myself out of going to Blake’s office when I went into the break room to prepare to leave. The muted hum of the voices from the bar barely reached me. Once the restaurant stopped serving and customers filtered out, almost no one came back here until the bar closed at two o’clock. Two bartenders worked out front with a bar back helping them.

  They would all stay out front since the bar area was separate from the restaurant. With the beer and liquor storage in a room directly behind the bar, they didn’t even walk down this hallway in the evenings.

  I knew it was probably just Blake and me back here. That awareness alone sent shivers down my spine and goosebumps prickling over the surface of my skin. It was insane to even think about him.

  I went to my locker, the sound loud as I opened the metal door. I tossed my chef’s jacket into the laundry basket for the staff in the corner. When I saw my reflection in the small mirror on the inside of my locker, I hurried into the bathroom, splashing water on my face and washing my hands.

  Although I’d had a long afternoon and evening, I didn’t feel tired. Between that damned phone message and thinking about Blake, my entire nervous system was buzzing. When I walked back to my locker, I knew I had to check my phone, just in case.

  My thumb had a mind of its own, sliding across the screen and checking my messages quickly. I didn’t play the message again, but the transcription was there. Instantly, my mind started spinning, and that old anxiety and tangle of fear rose inside. It was from my days when Johnny was alive, and I had learned just how much trouble he was in.

  Before I could think better of it, I stuffed my phone in my purse and snatched it up, along with my jacket. Instead of my feet turning toward the staff entrance directly off the break room, I slipped out into the hallway, glancing furtively in both directions.

  My footsteps were light and swift down the hallway before I pushed through the swinging doors that delineated the brewery from the restaurant area. This was the production zone and where Blake’s office was. I couldn’t even hear the muted sounds of the bar from here.

  The hallway was mostly dark except for where light spilled out of one office. I could hear the rush of blood in my ears with every beat of my heart.

  I stopped maybe ten feet away from the doorway into Blake’s office. I tried to take a breath, but my lungs weren’t cooperating. The mere anticipation of walking through that doorway and what it might mean had need sinking its claws into me. My breath was shallow with my heartbeat galloping like a wild pony.

  Before I took another step, Blake appeared in the doorway. His eyes met mine, and I was instantly caught in his gaze. I couldn’t look away, and it felt as if a line connected us, snapping, crackling, and sending sparks shimmering into the air between us.

  He waited with one hand resting on the inside of the doorjamb. I sensed he paused to make sure this was my choice. My belly shimmied, sending a scatter of tingling sparks through me. I took one step and then another.

  Inside of a blazing-hot second, I stood in front of him. I could feel the heat of him, his strength emanating. The craving to lose myself in his strength and our desire, my awareness of the sense of protection he carried, all rose swiftly inside me again.

  His hand fell from where it had been resting, and he caught one of mine in his as he stepped back. “Come here,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

  Seconds later, we were inside his office, and he closed the door behind us, the sound of it clicking shut was loud in the quiet space. I had only been in here once before. My eyes arced about the space. His desk faced the doorway, with his chair behind it against the back wall. I knew a window to the side offered a view of trees.

  I suddenly worried about that window in the bright light. As if he could read my mind, Blake dropped my hand and turned. Taking three quick strides to the window, he tugged the shade down over it.

  I remained standing in front of the closed door, frozen in place. My body was alive and thrumming with a cacophony of sensations. Arousal was slick between my thighs, need prickled over my skin, and heat radiated through me.

  Blake returned to stand in front of me, reaching beyond my shoulder and flicking a light switch off. That left a lamp on the corner of his desk the only light. It felt as if we were all alone in the whole wide world.

  “Are you okay?” His tone was careful, and I knew he was asking about that moment earlier when he had walked in and caught me at the tail end of crying.

  I was, and I wasn’t, but it was nothing I could share with him. Yet the fact he cared widened the fissure opening in my heart. The feelings he elicited were confusing. I wanted to chalk it up to lust, to the tricky way the universe created chemistry between some people. Sometimes it was foolish, and sometimes it made no sense.

  For so many reasons, I shouldn’t want Blake Cannon. I definitely shouldn’t act on my desire for him. Yet something else shimmered between us, something deeper, a connection and a sense of knowing.

  “I’m okay,” I whispered.