Page 51 of Reunited with the Hometown Hero
She bustles away, leaving me with the distinct impression of having been outmaneuvered by a master tactician. I'm still contemplating Eleanor's matchmaking efforts when a tall man in coveralls approaches, toolbox in hand.
"You're Riley, right? The journalist?" He sets down his toolbox, extending a hand. "Paul Davis, maintenance manager at The Haven. Eleanor said you might have an extension cord I could borrow."
"I don't think—" I begin, but Paul continues as if I hadn't spoken.
"Noah mentioned you're writing about our community revitalization. Great angle." He rummages through a nearby supply box. "This town's come a long way in five years."
"So I've heard." I lean against the auction table, recognizing an informative source when I see one. "You've been at The Haven throughout the transition?"
"Six years now." Paul locates an extension cord with a triumphant "Aha!" before continuing. "Came here after blowingout my knee. End of my pro baseball career, but beginning of something better, turns out."
"I understand Noah's cousin Hunter has transformed The Haven's culinary reputation."
"Hunter's the culinary genius, for sure." Paul nods, testing the cord's length. "But Noah's the one who convinced Lucas Reid to take a chance on farm-to-table rather than sell the whole property. Made the business case himself, brought in investors, the works."
This is new information. "Noah was involved with The Haven's revitalization?"
"Involved?" Paul laughs, echoing Martha Washington's earlier reaction. "The man practically saved it single-handedly. Denver Fire Department tried to poach him last year—offered him the deputy chief position, serious money, and prestige. He turned them down flat because we were in the middle of implementing the new emergency response system."
A familiar pattern emerges—Noah putting the community's needs before personal opportunity, making himself essential to Angel's Peak's survival and success. The weight of this realization settles heavily in my chest. How could I possibly compete with an entire town that depends on him?
"Anyway," Paul continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil, "better get this to the stage before Eleanor has my head. Nice meeting you, Riley."
As Paul departs, I find myself taking a mental inventory of all I've learned about Noah since returning. The rescue certification program. The business development initiatives. The turned-down job offers. The community that speaks of him with universal respect and affection.
The man I left behind has become someone I'm only beginning to understand—and someone with far deeper ties to this place than I ever anticipated.
"Deep thoughts?"
I startle at Noah's voice directly behind me. He stands close enough that I catch the scent of his soap, the same one that lingered on my skin after our night in the cabin.
"Just... processing information." I turn to face him, maintaining a professional distance despite the magnetic pull between us. "I've been learning a lot about your role in Angel's Peak's revival."
Something cautious enters his expression. "All good, I hope?"
"More than good. Impressive, actually." I hesitate, then add, "You never mentioned the Denver job offer."
"Ah." He rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture from our youth that indicates discomfort. "It wasn't relevant."
"Turning down a deputy chief position at a major metropolitan department seems pretty relevant."
"To what?" The direct question catches me off guard. "Riley, my career choices are just that—mine. I don't regret any of them."
"Even the ones that kept you here when you could have gone elsewhere?" The question emerges more vulnerable than intended.
His gaze softens. "Especially those. I stayed because I wanted to, not because I had to. There's a difference."
Before I can respond, Eleanor's voice rings out across the lawn. "Noah! We need those extra chairs from the storage closet."
"Duty calls." He hesitates, then adds, "Want to help? Those folding chairs are a two-person job."
Assisting seems safer than continuing our conversation, so I nod, following him into Mabel's through a side door that leads to a narrow hallway. The storage closet proves to be larger thanexpected, more of a small room than a closet, lined with shelves of supplies and stacks of furniture.
"The chairs are against the back wall.” Noah navigates through the cluttered space. I follow, acutely aware of how close we are in the confined area, how the door swings shut behind us, plunging us into dim light filtered through a small, dusty window.
Noah finds the chairs and begins extracting them from their stack. I move to help, our hands brushing in the process. The brief contact sends electricity racing up my arm, and I draw back too quickly, colliding with a shelf.
"Careful." Noah's hand steadies me, warm against my waist, lingering a moment longer than necessary. In the low light, his eyes appear darker, intent. "We wouldn't want you getting hurt."
