That scent was impossible to miss—crisp cedar with the faintest hint of tobacco, subtle but expensive. It was the kind of blend only a man at the top would have custom-made for his cigarettes.
But James and his crew—maybe it was the job, maybe just who they were—never smoked, never drank. His breath was always clean and cool, untouched by anything harsh. This smoky note felt completely out of place on him.
James paused for a second, caught off guard. Her nose was way too sharp.
Usually, he only ever smoked as Mr. Nelson—the version of himself that carried all the pressure, the responsibility. Even then, it was rare, and he always cleaned up before coming back. But today, rushing to see her, he’d forgotten.
He pressed his lips together, dark eyes fixed on hers, voice a little rough. “You don’t like the smell of smoke?”
Emmy nodded. “No, I don’t.”
What she didn’t say was that it was more than that—she hated it. Her grandpa had died from smoking, lung cancer stealing him away bit by bit. The helplessness of watching someone you love suffer like that—it was something she never wanted to feel again.
James saw the shadow cross her eyes and felt a pang deep inside.
He didn’t even think, just said, “Okay. If you don’t like it, I won’t smoke anymore.”
Still, Emmy couldn’t figure out why the scent lingered. Was it from someone else? Maybe someone had offered him one—what guy wouldn’t be curious about a luxury cigarette?
She let it go, slipping her hand through his arm. “Let’s go eat.”
It was after two, way past lunch, so the restaurant was almost empty. They found a booth by the window and sat down.
Almost immediately, a group of girls slid into the next booth, whispering and giggling.
“Oh my god, that firefighter is so hot.”
“Even in uniform, he looks like a model. Those legs. He’s huge!”
“Are they filming a movie around here or something? He’s better looking than most actors.”
Their voices were low, but Emmy heard every word. She glanced at James, sitting tall and straight, looking effortlessly put together.


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