Merriment and Mayhem (Under the Mistletoe collection)

Chapter One

9 11. Where is your emergency? ”

“ 215 Juniper Lane, Port Angeles. I need you to send the fire department. ”

“ What’s your emergency? ”

“ There’s smoke coming from next door. A lot of it. I—hell, I think my neighbor’s house is on fire. ”

Everleigh Dangerfield sputtered and coughed, choking on the thick cloud of acrid smoke clinging to the kitchen ceiling.

Soft and chewy gingerbread cookies, the handwritten recipe card read. A simple, foolproof take on a holiday classic.

Foolproof, her ass.

If Grandma Dangerfield could see Everleigh now, she’d be shaking her head. Not even in town for forty-eight hours and already the house looked like a bomb had gone off, whatever dry chemical they put inside fire extinguishers blanketing the kitchen, scorch marks halfway up the wall, the oven nothing more than a burned-out box. At the center of it all, Everleigh stood on her tiptoes, sweating and swearing, balanced precariously on the tiny beamlike strip of counter between the stove and refrigerator. Frantically, she flapped a tea towel in front of the smoke detector.

Over the incessant chirping came the banging of a heavy fist against the front door.

“Port Angeles Fire Department!” someone shouted. “We got a call about a potential fire at this address?”

Everleigh whimpered. Great. She wasn’t even wearing pants . “It’s open!”

Another knock followed, this one louder and more urgent, rattling the door against the frame. “Fire department! Anyone home?”

Fuck. Honestly? She blew a strand of pink hair out of her face and pitched her voice louder. “I said that it’s— eep! ”

Her heart lurched into her throat, her sock-covered feet slipping on the melamine countertop, arms pinwheeling uselessly at her sides. Tense from the top of her head down to her toes, Everleigh braced for impact as the floor rushed up to meet her.

Over the roar of blood in her ears came the sound of pounding footsteps. A split second later, two strong arms cocooned her, catching her midair, cushioning her fall.

She tipped her head back to get a look at the—she assumed—firefighter who’d spared her at least a few bruises, and promptly forgot how to speak the moment her gaze locked with his.

Holy shit. Everleigh wasn’t usually one to swoon over a pretty face, but if ever there was an exception to be made, the guy cradling her against the broad expanse of his chest was it. His black helmet had slipped, dark, tousled hair falling haphazardly across his forehead, a charmingly boyish counterpoint to the hard line of his jaw, the prominent cleft in his chin, the slightly crooked bridge of his nose. Inky lashes framed eyes a color of blue Everleigh had never seen before, not outside of a postcard-worthy picture taken somewhere far, far away, where the beaches were covered in white sand instead of driftwood and the waters were crystal clear.

“Nice catch,” she rasped, breathless in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke still lingering in the air.

Those aqua eyes swept over Everleigh from her head down to her sock-covered feet and— Really? Her cheeks prickled with heat. The white crew socks she had on featured the infamous Elf on the Shelf, grinding on a candy cane like a stripper pole. Santa’s little ho, ho, ho, they read.

Deep dimples bracketed his mouth when he grinned. “I’d say.”

She sucked in a deep breath. This close, and even with the stench of smoke stuck in her nose, she could smell him. Clean and faintly soapy with just a hint of warm sweat beneath. She wanted to press her nose against the skin of his neck and breathe him in.

Behind them, a throat cleared, snapping Everleigh out of her lusty reverie. Since when did she find sweat attractive? A total stranger’s sweat at that. Chalking the bizarre desire up to stress-induced, temporary insanity, Everleigh craned her neck, trying to see over his shoulder.

In the doorway, a man with a copper crew cut and an abundance of freckles stood arm to arm with a tall East Asian woman with long, dark hair that hung in a neat braid over her shoulder. On her other side was a broad-shouldered Black woman whose red helmet set her apart from the others. Otherwise, they were dressed identically in standard turnout gear—a black coat and cargo pant set adorned with reflective stripes and heavy-duty-looking leather boots. PAFD 33, their helmets all read.

The firefighter cradling Everleigh in his arms set her down on her feet, one hand lingering on the small of her back for a moment as if making sure she wasn’t going to topple over. He glanced at the woman in the red helmet—the fire captain, Everleigh presumed—and his smile turned a touch sheepish. “Looks like the fire’s out, Cap.”

She shot him a look full of fond exasperation. “It would appear so, Brantley.”

Brantley. Was that a first name or a last name? Before Everleigh could ask, the captain turned to her with a placid smile. “Hi, I’m Captain Keegan. Are you all right? Any burns or injuries we need to take a look at?”

“No, I ... I’m all good.” Everleigh shook her head and tugged on the hem of her oversize sleep shirt, making sure her ass was covered. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”

Overhead, the smoke detector continued to chirp obnoxiously.

Humming softly to herself, Captain Keegan stepped farther into the kitchen, regarding the aftermath of Everleigh’s adventure in baking with a baffled frown. “Can you tell me what exactly happened here?”

Everleigh looked pointedly between the oven and the now-empty fire extinguisher lying on its side in the middle of the floor. “Besides the obvious?”

“Even if we weren’t the ones to put out the fire, I’ll need to fill out an incident report,” the captain said. “Whatever details you can give would be a big help.”

Everleigh rubbed her eyes and sighed. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could start cleaning, and the sooner she could fall into bed and get to work repressing the memory of this very bad, no-good day. “I was baking. Cookies. Gingerbread cookies.”

The redheaded firefighter, whose coat had Miller stamped across the back, reached inside the oven and pulled out the charred baking sheet destined for the garbage.

Brantley whistled. “I’ve seen my fair share of kitchen disasters, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone screw up cookies this terribly. I mean”—he poked a vaguely briquette-looking lump on the pan with a gloved finger—“these are hockey pucks.”

Miller chuckled. “Like you’re one to talk, Probie.”

He pointed a finger in Miller’s face. “ Once , Wendy. I set off the fire alarm at the station one time, and you assholes never let me live—”

“ Boys, ” the woman with the braid—Chen, according to her coat—chided. She squinted at the pan, then looked at Everleigh, a twinkle in her dark eyes. “You ever heard of that show Nailed It! on Netflix?”

Her face burned and she averted her gaze, avoiding the curious eyes of the four firefighters whose undivided attention she had, whether she wanted it or not. “I’m not usually this hopeless in the kitchen, okay?”

Miller rifled around inside his pants’ pocket and pulled out an odd-looking wrench. He unfolded it, and with one hand gripping the top of her refrigerator, rose onto his toes, pressing the curved tip of the tool against the hush button on the smoke detector. After a few seconds, the chirping stopped, and Everleigh could hear herself think again.

“Unfortunately, I can’t write acutely hopeless down on the incident report,” Captain Keegan teased. “Any idea how the fire started? Was it spontaneous or ...?”

Everleigh cringed. “I’m pretty sure the baking sheet might’ve been too small.” Honestly, how was she supposed to know the cookies were going to spread like that? “And I think there might be something wrong with the oven.”

One minute, everything had been fine, and the next, Everleigh had smelled something burning. She’d rushed into the kitchen to discover thin wisps of black smoke seeping out from around the oven door and up through the burners on the stovetop. Like an idiot, she had panicked and done the one thing they told you not to do: open the oven.

From there, a series of unfortunate events had transpired, escalating in awfulness. The door was too hot to touch, and she couldn’t locate a single pot holder. The thought of kicking the oven closed hadn’t even occurred to her, frazzled as she was, this being the first fire Everleigh had encountered outside of campsites and candles and fireplaces. By the time she’d found the pot holders—for some reason, Grandma Dangerfield stored them in the spice drawer—the flames had started to lick at the bottom cabinets.

In keeping with the running theme of the night, the fire extinguisher hadn’t been in the kitchen, but Everleigh had vaguely remembered coming across it inside her grandmother’s closet. Her upstairs closet. The safety pin on the thing had been jammed, because of course it had, and by the time she had managed to yank it free, the fire had engulfed the bottom cabinets entirely, spreading rapidly up the wall and licking at the frilly lace curtains framing the window over the stove.

She was lucky it hadn’t been worse, honestly.

“If there wasn’t something wrong with it before, there definitely is now.” Firefighter Brantley ducked down and peered inside with a frown. “Oh, yeah. The element in here’s fried. This thing’s cooked.”

Miller chuckled. “Literally.”

Everleigh rolled her eyes. “No, I mean wrong , as in the broiler came on.”

“You’re saying it came on by itself?” Brantley asked, sounding skeptical.

She crossed her arms. “Mm-hmm.”

“Hmm.” He nodded slowly and lifted a hand, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Almost like it had a mind of its own.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Exactly.”

“So it wouldn’t have anything to do with that knob there”—he pointed at the stove—“being set to Broil , not Bake ?”

Miller did a piss-poor job of covering his laughter with a cough.

She shot him a weak glare, her heart not really in it, and swallowed hard. “I didn’t do that.”

She totally did that.

“Of course not.” Brantley’s lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. “I’m sure your sentient oven decided to set itself to broil specifically to sabotage you in your baking endeavor.”

Wow. “Says the guy who set off a fire alarm inside a damn firehouse,” she muttered, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

His smile broadened into a full-blown grin that did riotous things to Everleigh’s insides. “Maybe because it is ridiculous?”

She harrumphed, trying hard to tamp down the butterflies doing somersaults inside her stomach.

“Well, thank you for coming out,” she said, edging toward the front door. “I’m sorry for having wasted your time, but as you can see, I have the situation under control.”

As under control as possible, given the circumstances. She had a kitchen to clean and a new stove to find, cabinet doors to scrub and revarnish if not replace entirely; time was ticking, and the list of what she needed to do before she could put the house on the market was growing by the day.

Chen and Miller looked to their captain, who, with a tip of her chin, sent them outside, following at a slightly more sedate pace.

“One last thing.” Captain Keegan paused and pulled a small yellow notebook out of her pocket. “I need your name for the report.”

“It’s Everleigh. Everleigh Dangerfield.”

Captain Keegan jotted her name down with what looked like one of those tiny pencils they gave you when you played mini golf. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Dangerfield.” She tucked both the pencil and pad away. “You have a good night. Stay safe.”

“Thanks.” Everleigh hugged the door. “And again, sorry for the inconvenience.”

“All in a day’s work, Miss Dangerfield.” Pausing on the bottommost porch step, she turned and looked up at Everleigh, one corner of her mouth quirked in a slight smile. “My brother-in-law owns an appliance store in town. Olympic Appliances, just off Oak Street. Their Black Friday sale ended on Sunday, but tell him Lana sent you.”

Everleigh let out a huge breath and sagged against the door. Grandma Dangerfield’s life insurance had covered the funeral expenses and that was it. Everleigh’s job as a freelance UX designer paid well, but the cost of living in Seattle had risen exponentially over the last three years, with most of her paycheck going toward her rent and groceries and a rainy day fund. She really wasn’t looking forward to dipping into her savings account to pay for a new oven. A discount, no matter how small, would be a huge help. “Thank you!”

Captain Keegan waved and set off for the engine.

“Right behind you, Cap!” Brantley lingered at the threshold, and Everleigh couldn’t help but notice how much of the doorway he took up. She was bad with heights, but he was crane-her-neck-to-look-him-in-the-eye tall, especially when he was standing this close. Six four, six five, maybe, and he had the breadth to match. Broad shoulders and thick thighs hugged snugly by his turnouts.

Slowly, Everleigh dragged her eyes back up to his face, and it was a good thing she was holding on to the door because her knees instantly went weak.

He was staring down at her, watching her watch him, a cocky little smirk flirting at his lips that had no business being as attractive as it was. “Dangerfield, huh? Might as well just call you Trouble.”

Hilarious. “And I should call you what?” She lifted her gaze to his, looking up at him through her lashes. “Probie?”

“Nah, I haven’t been a probie in over a year. Miller just likes to give me grief ’cause he’s ... well, he’s Miller,” he said as if that explained everything.

She cocked a brow, fixing him with a look of faux irritation. “Seems to me like he’s not the only one good at giving someone a hard time.”

He winced, clearly mistaking her act for the real thing. “If I went too far with those cookie cracks—”

“You didn’t.” She had to bite back a smile at the look of relief that passed over his face, his shoulders relaxing as he exhaled. “It takes a lot more than a few jokes at the expense of my baking abilities to hurt my feelings.”

“ Lack of baking abilities, I think you mean,” he teased, chuckling when she scowled.

“You think you’re real cute, don’t you?”

In the blink of an eye, his smile turned sly. “Better question is, do you think I’m cute?”

Laughter sputtered from her, and she didn’t need a mirror to know she was blushing, that there was a hot flush spreading across her face like wildfire. “You know, I’m starting to think I’m the one who should be calling you Trouble.”

He dragged his plush bottom lip between his teeth, dimples making another appearance. “Trouble can be fun.”

As if the words weren’t suggestive enough, his gaze flickered to her mouth, then back to her eyes, leveling her with a stare that felt a lot like a challenge. Your move, the look dared.

Her heart raced, the temptation to say, Fuck it, and throw caution to the wind, be reckless for a change, almost overwhelming.

Trouble can be fun. Something only someone who’d never been burned before would say. Unlike her, who’d learned the hard way not to play with fire.

Everleigh swallowed hard and looked away, avoiding the question. “You know, you ... you probably have fires to put out and ... I don’t know, kittens to rescue from trees.” He laughed, a throaty rumble of a sound that sent a shiver down her spine, her thin shirt doing nothing to mask the way her nipples pebbled beneath. She crossed her arms, praying that if he noticed, he’d just think she was cold. She was standing in an open door without pants in December. “Don’t, uh, don’t let me keep you from ... from saving lives and stuff.”

Using those broad shoulders, he pushed off the doorjamb and stepped right into her space like he belonged there, standing close enough that she could smell him again. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. Against reason, like a moth drawn to a flame, Everleigh wanted him even closer. “I’m not working on Wednesday. You could let me take you out.” He grinned. “That way, you can keep me as long as you want.”

Everleigh’s breath left her body in a rush that had her slumping against the door. “You’re shameless, you know that?”

He ran his thumb along his bottom lip, studying her closely, as if cataloging every breath she didn’t take. “That’s not a no.”

Everleigh eyed the tape gun resting atop the stack of boxes set against the far wall and sighed. It wasn’t a yes, either.

He followed her gaze. “You moving in?”

“Out, technically. This house belonged to my grandmother.” She fingered the heart-shaped locket that hung from the gold chain around her neck and swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “She passed away last month.”

His brows drew together in a gentle frown. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Everleigh shifted her weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, not any better at accepting condolences now than she had been a decade ago. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I actually live in Seattle. I’m just in town to settle her affairs and get the house ready to list by the start of the year.”

She could probably pull off everything she needed to do in a week or two if she put her mind to it, but in addition to settling Grandma Dangerfield’s affairs, Everleigh wanted to give her a proper send-off full of merriment and cheer befitting the woman who had loved Christmas like no one else Everleigh had ever met.

Holiday decorations filled her attic, handsewn sachets of peppermint potpourri tucked carefully inside each drawer of the dresser she dedicated to storing her ugly Christmas sweaters. She had adored Hallmark movies and eggnog, Department 56 Christmas village sets, and hand-painted nutcrackers. Every year during the month of December, it was a given that her mantel would be cluttered with a collection of Advent calendars full of jams and gourmet chocolates and little bottles of booze, tiny samples of makeup and skin care she’d give to Everleigh.

As a final hurrah, this year, Everleigh was going to carry on all of Grandma’s fun and festive traditions. She’d bake cookies, or try, and she’d hang lights and buy a real tree that she’d hide a silly pickle in, even if there was no one around to look for it. She’d sing along to all the Christmas classics and drive around to look at the neighbor’s decorations and—hell, if the spirit moved her, she might even go to midnight mass.

He nodded slowly. “What you’re saying is you’ll be in town for the next few weeks?”

She tried to hide her wince. It didn’t take a genius to see where he was going with this. “Look, Brantley, you seem like—” She frowned when he chuckled. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing.” He smiled. “Only that Brantley’s my last name. It’s Griffin. Griffin Brantley.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded, studying him with fresh eyes now that she knew what to call him. “Okay, Griffin Brantley . You seem like a ... fun guy.” And maybe a year or two ago that would’ve been enough, but that was then, and this was now. “But I’m only in town for a few weeks, and I don’t do casual.”

Hookups and flings left her feeling empty more often than not these days. Everleigh was ... well, she wasn’t looking , but she wanted something real. Something she could hold on to. Someone to come home to. Build a life with and love as deeply as her grandparents had loved one another. Her parents, too.

“ Wow. ” He drew out the word with a teasing grin, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Cocky much?”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

He folded his arms across his chest, mirroring her stance. “Pretty bold of you to assume I want to sleep with you.”

She scoffed, her cheeks growing hot. “Okay, for starters, I never said anything about you wanting to sleep with me and—” Well ... he did, didn’t he? “You’re the one who asked me out.”

And flirted. Brazenly. Everleigh definitely hadn’t imagined that.

“Sure.” He dipped his chin. “You’re not from here, right?” He waited for her nod. “I figure it couldn’t hurt to have a friend who knows the best place to get a drink in town, could it?”

“A friend ?” If she sounded skeptical, it was because she was.

Griffin gave her an easy smile and shrugged. “Can’t have too many of those, can you?”

No, no she supposed not, but—

“Yo, Probie!” Miller shouted, one foot in the cab, the other braced on the running board of the rig. “Pileup on the 101 near Old Blyn Highway. Saddle up!”

“Catch you later, Trouble.” Griffin tossed her a cheeky smile over his shoulder and took off for the rig. “Hopefully not literally next time!”

Griffin Brantley would not be catching her later. Not literally, not figuratively. Not if she had anything to say about it.

Tonight’s brush with disaster was just that. As soon as the holiday dust had settled and the house was on the market, Everleigh’s ass was going to be on the first ferry back to Seattle, Port Angeles and all that it had to offer firmly in her rearview mirror. She had a plan, one that did not have room in it for a hotter-than-blazes firefighter.

A hotter-than-blazes firefighter that, with any luck, Everleigh would never cross paths with again.