Ten years, and not a day went by that he didn't think of Lana Sweet.

And now that she was sitting across the table from him, Hank Logan couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

Thankfully, they weren’t alone together. Gathered around them were the guys from the station, members of Hank's own Alaska-based squad, and grateful Cedar Springs locals who had been invited out to celebrate the volunteers' defeat of an apartment fire that might have easily gotten the better of the town. Now, more than ever, Hank was aware of just how ill-prepared the Springs was to deal with the ever-creeping threat of immolation. And to think there was a wildfire still eating up redwoods in the distance . . . he would have personally found it a hard—if not impossible—occasion to celebrate, if it hadn't been for the surprise marriage proposal of one of his best squad members.

Hank studied the newly engaged couple as he cracked another beer. It was enough to distract him from watching Lana, at least for a few seconds at a time. Alex, the bride-to-be, was beaming from ear to ear, and her blue eyes sparkled brightly. She engaged enthusiastically with every new conversation, but she never averted her eyes from Landon for very long.

Landon sat to Hank's right, across from Alex, cutting his way into a burger. Seeing his crewmate’s broad grin, Hank realized the man had no idea he was actually attempting to eat his third burger with a knife and fork. Hank had never seen the guy’s cheeks so rosy. Landon was drunk.

But then, so was Hank.

The entirety of the long outdoor table hummed with activity. But the frenzy, the infectious laughter, had conspicuously passed two chairs by.

Hank didn't know whose bright idea it had been to seat him and Lana across from each other. There wasn't a soul among them who didn't know their history. Childhood sweethearts, heartbreakingly parted before they’d had a real shot . . . and who had been responsible for their parting?

Hank took another swig of beer. He needed it—because he clearly hadn't had enough alcohol yet to dull the ache of his guilt. When he’d left Lana ten years ago, he hadn't been able to explain why . . . and today was no different. Here she was, sitting three feet away from him with only a checkered cloth-covered picnic table between them, and he felt further from her than he had in Alaska.

But what was he supposed to say? How could he ever frame it in a way she would understand?

I'm the reason your brother's dead.

Hank felt the ice pooling in his belly from even thinking the words. It sure as shit wasn't the lukewarm beer he was guzzling. As a matter of fact, he was in danger of popping them open faster than Chase could pull reinforcements out of the truck bed.

I killed him. Michael. I killed your brother.

He was staring at her again when Lana looked up suddenly. Her eyes were as green as the day around them, greener than his memory gave them credit for. Ten years of thinking about Lana every day, and his devotional thoughts hadn't even done her justice. Her auburn hair caught the sun as her head moved, and Hank saw the stunning fire of her red highlights. Her gaze slid across his face and—

He looked away before their eyes could meet. He drank another swig. He wondered if he only imagined the huff of disappointment coming from her side of the table—because by the time he looked at her again (it was inevitable), Lana was once more staring at something interesting in her lap. Her hands, probably. He watched as she raised them—and realized she had been secreting a beer of her own. He'd lost track of how many she'd had as surely as he'd lost count of his own.

Sookie, Hank’s sister, sat beside Lana.

Glaring at Hank.

It wasn't an unusual state of affairs. He and Sook still had a long road ahead of them. Brother and sister, coming back from being estranged, finding their footing again, and . . . fuck, was there anyone present who didn't hate his guts? Maybe they only tolerated him because he was boss to half of them.

"Another beer, Chief?" Chase dropped down onto the bench beside Hank and held out a brown bottle.

It felt like being greeted by an old friend after a long absence . . . and he wasn't extending the thought to Chase. Hank drained his current drink in a single gulp and accepted the next round.

He watched as Alex dragged Lana out from the bench across from him and herded her back toward the house.

"So, how's it going?" Chase prodded. Hank belatedly registered the friendly elbow to his ribs and glared at it. Chase retracted it as quickly as if he feared a sudden amputation.

"What?"

"I mean with Lana! Come on, Chief, you've been staring at her all night. It would be creepy if it wasn't so obvious that she's equally into you."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about." But he wondered. Was Chase right in his observation? The younger firefighter wasn't exactly the first in line of those Hank might consider calling for love advice, but Chase's exploits with the opposite sex had made him infamous in their little Alaska town back home. Clearly, the other man had some sort of intuition when it came to this sort of thing.

He watched as Sookie passed an empty beer can to Chase, who momentarily broke from their conversation to crush it against his forehead with a jocular crow.

Well, maybe not intuition. Instinct was probably the better word for it.

Hank caught the cap of his own beer on the edge of the table and popped it open. "Show-off," he said.

"Look who's talking. Want me to grab you another beer so you can show off your trick to Lana?"

"I'm not kidding, Kingston. Leave it."

Chase clapped him on the shoulder as he rose. "You're way less threatening when you're drunk, Chief.” The younger man's grin was more lopsided than usual. “You're almost charming. You should use that to your advantage."

Hank took a long swig of beer and glared at nothing in particular. He didn't feel charming, but maybe he did feel a little drunk. He decided to stand as well, if only to test his balance.

He put out a hand to steady himself against the table and found it wasn't that bad.

The number of beers he’d consumed were beginning to make themselves felt in other ways. He went into the house to hunt for the bathroom . . . or at least, that's what he heard himself tell several people on his way inside. Really, he was looking for Lana.

He didn't find her. Maybe it was just as well. What the hell did he intend to say to her?

He finished in the bathroom and washed his hands. This time when he glared, it was his own reflection he fixed with the intensity of his glower. He shouldn't have come: not to Alex's—and not to Cedar Springs. What did he hope to gain?

It was obvious to him now, in that moment, alone with his defenses down, the reason he had come all this way.

He splashed the cold water from the faucet on his face and passed a hand over his dour expression. Folksy strains of bluegrass drifted through the cracked window from the garden's sound system. "I need a shave," he muttered to himself, took the towel, and dried off. He tossed it to the side and exited the bathroom. Heading out the back door again, he pulled the door open the same moment someone started pushing their way inside.

Lana. "Oh!" she yelped as she stumbled.

Hank reached out instinctively to catch her.

She grasped his forearms to keep herself stabilized, then looked up. He almost didn't dare breathe as he studied her. She ducked her head beneath his scrutiny. Her angelic features glowed softly with some inner light . . . or was he just so drunk he was imagining it? There wasn't a single sharp angle or feature on her. Everything about her was generous, accommodating.

Lovely.

"Sorry. I didn't know you went inside," Lana said. She extracted herself from his arms stepped back out the door. "I mean, not that I was looking for you . . . not that I was avoiding you . . . um—"

Hank let the door swing shut behind him as he joined her.

Lana didn't shrink from him, but she didn't seem to have an easier time talking, either. She broke off in the middle of her hard-won sentence to take a swig of her beer, tilting the bottle to finish the last of it.

Hank surprised himself by speaking. "Want to dance?"