Fireman Dad. Betsy St. Amant

February birthday—her stomach churning at the realization of how quickly her baby boy was growing up. Time was flying fast—too fast. Kevin had been dead almost five years now, and she’d been back in her hometown of Orchid Hill, Louisiana, for a little over a year. Sometimes it seemed as if the last few years were nothing but a dream.

      Sometimes a nightmare.

      “I have a niece who is about to turn seven.” Jacob wrestled the jack into place and began to hike up the SUV. He grunted with the effort. “She goes to Orchid Hill Elementary.”

      “So does Owen.”

      Jacob grinned. “Small world.”

      “I’m not sure about that, but it’s definitely a small town.” Marissa looked away, her fingers zipping over the necklace chain as she pretended to study something over her shoulder. Did he have any idea the effect of those dimples? They were downright dangerous.

      She shouldn’t notice such things. Dating was not a priority—Owen remained planted at the top of that short list, which meant work lingered a close second in order to provide for her son. Thankfully business had been good. At least the recession didn’t seem to stop people from celebrating the milestones in their lives.

      A familiar tsunami of regret washed over Marissa, mingling with the wind that teased the loose hairs from her hastily applied clip. Happy as she was with Owen, Marissa couldn’t help the melancholy that sometimes took over when she was planning a wedding shower or anniversary party for a client. She and Kevin might not have had the happiest of marriages, and he might have put his firefighting career over his family to a fault—just like her father—but it was still hard to face the fact that she would likely never get to celebrate an anniversary again. As a single mom and a business owner, who had time for anything else?

      She tore her gaze away from the navy T-shirt stretching across Jacob’s broad shoulders. Nope, no point in noticing his dimples. Or his muscles. Or the way his dark hair curled over his forehead—

      Marissa jerked as the wrench clattered to the pavement. Jacob removed the flat tire and began to assemble the spare. “Be sure not to drive on this thing for very long—or very fast. The last thing you want is a blowout.”

      “No kidding.” Marissa shuddered. “Thank you again for your help. I’d have been stuck.” If not physically stuck, then financially—or emotionally if she’d been forced to cave and call her dad to bail her out.

      Jacob tightened the last of the lug nuts and stood, swiping his hands on the legs of his pants before placing the tools and the flat back into the hatch. “Think nothing of it. I’m glad to help a—what’d you call yourself? Damsel in distress?” He grinned, then shut the rear door and wiped sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

      Marissa’s business skills snapped back into effect at his tired gesture, and she motioned toward her office. “Come on inside, let me get you some water. It’s the least I can do.”

      “That sounds good.” Jacob fell into step beside her as they crossed the lot to her small, but functional, office space. He opened the door for her. “Ladies first.”

      Apparently chivalry wasn’t dead in Orchid Hill, after all. Marissa thanked him and hurried to grab a bottle of water from the dorm fridge she kept beside her desk. She handed it to him. “Have a seat.”

      “Nice place.” Jacob twisted the lid off the bottle and took a long sip as he looked around the open room, painted yellow with a mural of balloons and children on the far wall, and she couldn’t help but warm at the compliment. He paused to touch the top of a bobble-head clown on the bookshelf that held party theme books. “Festive. Olivia would love that.”

      “Olivia?” His girlfriend, probably. Good thing she decided to put thoughts of his dimples far away. Marissa sat down behind her desk, grateful to be back on her own turf. She might not know anything about changing tires, but she knew party planning. Maybe she could offer Jacob—and Olivia—a discount for his help.

      “Olivia is my niece.” Jacob took the chair across from her desk and finished his water with a quick swig.

      Niece. Not girlfriend. Marissa tried to ignore the relief that seeped into her stomach and nodded for him to go on.

      “That’s why I came to your store in the first place, actually,” Jacob continued.

      “So it wasn’t because you received my desperate SOS signal?” Marissa grinned, then regretted the way her heart thumped when Jacob smiled back, dimples on high alert.

      “I thought I heard something.” He laughed. “Seriously, though, I was hoping to hire you to plan my niece’s birthday party.”

      “Sounds good.” Marissa flipped open her leather day planner and fanned through the pages. Hopefully he wouldn’t choose the weeks coming up that she had blocked off for the upcoming fundraiser. A city budget cut had recently led to a decision to lay off six firemen, and members of Orchid Hill Church asked Marissa to organize a big fundraiser for the affected families. As the daughter of one fireman and the widow of another, Marissa could relate all too easily to the families involved and was glad someone had come up with a way to help.

      Even if her father, Fire Chief Lyle Brady, wasn’t nearly as thrilled by Marissa’s participation.

      Marissa tapped her calendar with her pen. “What date did you have in mind?”

      Jacob offered a sheepish shrug. “That’s where my next question comes in. It’s sort of short notice.”

      Marissa looked up. “How short?”

      “Less than three weeks away.”

      “How much less?” Marissa’s eyebrows rose.

      Jacob’s lips twisted to the side. “Four days?”

      She couldn’t help but laugh. “The party is supposed to be in two weeks and three days?”

      “Hey, you’re quick with math.” He winked, and her stomach flipped with regret at the thought of disappointing him. She had a policy about last-minute parties—she didn’t take them. But how could she turn him down when he had just done her a huge favor with her car?

      She drew a deep breath. It was business, nothing personal. Surely he would understand. “I wish I could, but I have a policy against short notices. It takes time away from Owen.” She gestured to the framed photo on her cherry credenza, where Owen struck a muscle-man pose for the camera. Feeling wistful, she admired his silky blond hair that matched her own. “Being a single mom is rough enough without working overtime.” That was the understatement of the century.

      “I’m sure it does.”

      Why Marissa wanted to share more with him, she didn’t know. She swallowed. “I’m a widow.”

      Jacob’s sky blue eyes met hers, full of compassion and something else she couldn’t identify. Respect? Admiration? “I’m sorry to hear that.”

      Marissa lifted one shoulder in a shrug and forced a small smile. “It all happened a long time ago.” More like a lifetime.

      Jacob nodded slowly. “Listen, Marissa. Normally I would accept your reasons and leave it at that, but I’m sort of desperate. I want my niece to have the celebration she deserves.” His expression tightened. “Olivia’s family has had a rough couple of weeks, and their budget is tight, to put it mildly. I don’t want that to affect her birthday. They’ve all been through enough.”

      Marissa’s resolve weakened. Handsome, charming and a family man. She shouldn’t be following that train of thought, but it chugged into her head regardless as she stared at her day planner. Maybe she could squeeze in one birthday party for a deserving little girl—but no, she didn’t even have a location nailed down yet for the fundraiser. If she overbooked herself now, that event would suffer, and the families of the firemen would be even more disappointed than they already were.

      She clicked her ballpoint pen on and off, debating,