Page 21 of Safety Hazard

The simple honesty in his words made my throat tight with emotion. “That’s… a very comprehensive assessment.”

“I learned from the best,” he replied, his smile returning. “Safety inspectors are very thorough, I’ve discovered.”

I laughed, settling back against his chest. Above us, the stars had emerged now that the fireworks had ended, countless points of light in the clear summer sky. In the distance, I could hear the sounds of the continuing celebration in town, but here in our private clearing, it was just the two of us—an unlikely pair brought together by fireworks and fate.

“We should probably head back,” I said eventually, though I made no move to leave the comfort of his arms. “People might notice we’re missing.”

Shep’s arms tightened around me. “Let them notice.” His voice held a possessive note that sent a pleasant shiver through me. “Besides, the Fire Chief and the Safety Inspector conferring privately about the fireworks display is completely professional.”

“Completely,” I agreed, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “Though I’m not sure this particular conferring position would pass professional standards review.”

His laugh vibrated through both our bodies. “Maybe not. But it certainly meets my standards.”

As we eventually gathered our clothes and dressed in companionable silence, I found myself mentally revising my list of life protocols. Where once I had lived by rigid structures and careful risk avoidance, I now found myself embracing a new rule: some risks—especially those involving amber-eyed werewolves with infectious laughs and protective hearts—were absolutely worth taking.

Chapter 10

“The west side evacuation route needs wider clearance,” I noted, making a precise checkmark on my clipboard. “Current width is insufficient for high-volume foot traffic in emergency scenarios.”

Mayor Thompson sighed, clearly trying to hide his exasperation. Two months into my new position as Liberty Lake’s official Safety Consultant, the town officials were still adjusting to my thorough approach.

“Mr. Matthews, the festival is tomorrow,” he reminded me, gesturing to the bustling preparations in the town square. “We can’t possibly redesign the layout now.”

“Not redesign,” I corrected, turning my clipboard so he could see my diagram. “Simply shift these three vendor booths approximately six feet east. That creates the necessary clearance while maintaining optimal customer flow.”

The Mayor studied my drawing with reluctant interest. “That… actually might work,” he admitted.

“Of course it will,” came a familiar voice from behind us. “Evan’s plans always work.”

I turned to find Shep approaching, dressed in his formal uniform for the town’s Harvest Festival planning meeting. The sight of him in those red suspenders still did unreasonable things to my heart rate, even after two months of waking up beside him every morning.

“Chief Blackwood,” I acknowledged professionally, though I couldn’t quite suppress my smile. “I was just explaining the evacuation route modifications to Mayor Thompson.”

Shep’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his own expression carefully neutral despite the heat in his gaze. “I’m sure your explanation was thorough, Mr. Matthews.”

The Mayor looked between us, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “You two are fooling exactly no one with this professional act,” he informed us. “The whole town knows you’re living together.”

I felt my cheeks heat slightly. Despite the openness with which Shep and I had conducted our relationship, I still maintained certain professional boundaries during official town business.

“Be that as it may,” I replied primly, “the evacuation routes still need adjustment.”

The Mayor threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine! Move the booths.” He pointed a finger at Shep. “But your boyfriend is helping with the heavy lifting.”

“Partner,” Shep corrected automatically. “And he doesn’t do heavy lifting. That’s what I’m for.”

I shot him a look that promised retribution for that comment later, which he acknowledged with a subtle wink. The Mayor, wisely choosing to ignore our exchange, wandered off to address other festival concerns.

“Partner, huh?” I asked once we were alone, allowing a touch of warmth into my voice.

Shep shrugged, stepping closer than was strictly professional. “Boyfriend sounds so… temporary. Don’t you think?”

The implication in his words sent a flutter through my stomach that I tried to ignore. Two months was still an absurdly short time to be having these kinds of feelings, these kinds of conversations—no matter what Shep said about werewolves “knowing” when they’d found their mates.

“I suppose it does,” I conceded, making a show of checking items off my list to hide my reaction.

His hand brushed against mine briefly, the contact sending a spark of electricity up my arm. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

I nodded, grateful for the change of subject. “Your place at seven?”