In order to save more money, she’d moved out of her apartment as soon as the utilities had been restored at the bakery and moved into one of the two apartments on the upper floor of the bakery. She’d taken the front apartment, facing the street.

Hannah made her way around the small apartment kitchen as she finished piping white buttercream frosting to the last double-chocolate cupcake. She added some pastel, flower-shaped sprinkles before placing the cupcakes in a large white box. These cupcakes were a special thank you. And now it was time to deliver them.

She rushed to the bathroom. When she gazed in the mirror, she groaned. There was flour on her face and in her hair. She was a mess.

As she worked to clean herself, her thoughts turned to Ethan. She hadn’t seen him all week, not that she’d been expecting him to stop by the bakery. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was still in town. She hoped so…to properly thank him, of course.

She dried her freshly washed face and applied a light coating of makeup. With one more quick glance in the mirror and a fingertip of water to smooth an unruly strand of hair, she headed for the door with a box of cupcakes in hand.

One of the many things she loved about Bluestar was that everything was within walking or biking distance. The island was crescent-moon-shaped. A lighthouse marked each end of the six-mile-long stretch of land.

Before she knew it, she’d reached the fire station. It wasn’t anything fancy—not like those massive-looking fire stations they showed on television. This was a small, one-story building made of red brick with two white bay doors and a gray shingled roof. And a whistle tower mounted to the roof. When it blew, there wasn’t a soul in town that could sleep through the shrieking sound. Luckily, it rarely blew in the off-season. But when the tourists swarmed the island, anything was possible.

She’d visited this fire station countless times as a child. But not at all since her father died. She just couldn’t bring herself to go there…until now. After almost two years since his passing, it was well past time.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know every single person who volunteered there. They were neighbors, old classmates, and the kindest people you’d ever want to meet.

As she stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the building that had been around all of her life, she was hit with memories—memories of her father. She’d been daddy’s girl. And that meant she’d wanted to do what her father did. As a child, this fire station was like a second-home, as her father had been the fire chief.

She’d help clean and polish the bright red engine. She’d sat behind the wheel when she was so small her feet couldn’t touch the pedals, just so she could see what it would feel like to control such an enormous truck. Back then she’d been certain that one day she would be a firefighter and drive a fire truck.