Page 19 of Reunited with the Hometown Hero
He doesn't soften.
"Some of the edge he's carried around the last few years—it's not as sharp lately. That's all." Then his expression tightens slightly. “Whatever you're here for... Do your article. Get what you need and go. Don't mess with him, Riley. Not again."
And with that, he disappears into the crowd, leaving the warning in his wake like a lit match dropped at my feet.
I stand frozen, his words echoing in my mind. Is it possible Noah still...? No. Ten years is a lifetime. People change. Move on. I certainly have.
Haven't I?
As I approach the waterfront, Alpine Lake sparkles under the midday sun. A wooden stage floats twenty yards offshore, accessible by a narrow dock, where a band sets up equipment. Along the shore, colorful paddle boats shaped like swans and dragons await the upcoming race.
The crowd thickens as spectators gather along the shoreline. I stake out a spot near the judges' table, tugging out my camera and raising the lens like a shield between me and the rising tension in my chest.
Through the viewfinder, I find him.
Noah stands at the end of the dock, deep in conversation with two members of the safety crew in red shirts. His posture is relaxed, but there's no mistaking who's in charge. He's swapped his turnout gear for khaki shorts and a dark navy t-shirt that clings to his shoulders and biceps like it was stitched in place.
The cotton hugs his back when he gestures, drawing my gaze to muscles I don't remember being quite that... defined.
He's all grown up. Broader. Rougher. Hotter.
It should be illegal for a man to look that good in full sunlight, wind teasing through his dark hair, sunglasses pushed up into his hairline as he grins at something one of the crew says.
That grin—God help me—it was once mine.
Maybe it's the heat. Or the crowd. Or the fact that I haven't stopped thinking about the way he looked last night, storming into that kitchen like the world was ending, voice tight with worry, looking at me like I was the most reckless and precious thing he'd ever pulled out of a fire.
Standing there now, laughing in the sun, Noah Morgan looks like sin and salvation wrapped in a body built to ruin good intentions.
I lower the camera, my pulse kicking hard.
Professional. Distance, Riley. Keep your distance.
I repeat the words like a mantra... but they're already unraveling.
"Excuse me?" A harried-looking woman with a clipboard approaches. "Are you Riley Bennett? From the magazine?"
I lower my camera. "That's me."
"Oh, thank goodness." Relief floods her expression. "I'm Hannah Lewis, event coordinator. We've had a last-minute drop-out in the paddle boat race, and we need someone to fill in for the local team. James suggested you might be willing? For your article?"
My instinct is to decline. I'm here to observe, not participate. But Hannah's pleading expression and the journalistic opportunity to experience the event firsthand sway me.
"I haven't been in a paddle boat in years," I warn.
Hannah beams. "It's like riding a bike. Only wetter and more embarrassing when you fall." She hands me a life vest. "We launch in fifteen minutes."
Before I can reconsider, I'm being shepherded toward a purple dragon-shaped boat. Hannah chatters about the racerules—a simple circuit around the floating stage and back to shore—while helping me adjust my life vest.
"The tourist team is favored to win," she confides. "They're both kayak instructors from Colorado."
"Great." I eye our competition—a fit-looking couple already seated in a green swan boat. "No pressure."
"Just have fun with it. The real competition is tomorrow—this is the exhibition match. You're up next.” Hannah thrusts a life vest into my arms.
I blink at her. "Wait—I thought you were my partner."
She laughs, already backing away toward the dock. "Changed plans. They needed someone in Boat Three, and you were the last one to sign up. Don't worry, he's... capable."
