Manny Ortega, 62, retired wildland fire crew supervisor, had spent the eight years since his wife’s breast cancer death sticking rigidly to routines that left no room for chaos, let alone attraction. He’d built that wall on purpose: morning coffee on his porch overlooking the San Juan Mountains, three days a week volunteering at the local fire department’s youth training program, weekend hunting trips with old crewmates, no exceptions. His biggest flaw was a stubborn refusal to let himself have anything that felt like unearned joy, convinced any fun after losing Elara was a betrayal of the 27 years they’d had together.
The annual Del Norte chili cook-off was the only event he’d let slip into his schedule that didn’t fit the rigid mold, mostly because his green chile pork had won first place three years running and he wasn’t about to give up that title without a fight. He was wiping sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his faded Carhartt, the scent of roasted Hatch chiles and pine curling through the crisp October air, when he spotted Lila Mae Carter walking toward him, and his throat went dry. Lila was 58, ran the small herb shop on Main Street, and was his former crewmate Jake’s ex-wife, which meant she’d been firmly off limits for the entire 19 years he’d known her, even after Jake moved to Arizona with his new partner three years prior.
She was holding a mason jar of golden liquid in one hand, her silver-streaked chestnut hair pulled back with a tooled leather tie, a few loose strands blowing across her cheeks. She wore a faded plaid flannel tied around her waist, scuffed cowboy boots, and the hem of her denim dress brushed the top of her calves as she walked. When she stopped next to his folding table, her shoulder brushed his bicep, and he caught the faint scent of lavender and cedar salve, the kind she sold for sore muscles, the kind he’d bought from her shop a dozen times when his old fire injury flared up in his left knee. “Heard you entered that burn-your-tongue-off chili again,” she said, grinning, setting the jar down next to his crockpot. Her knuckles brushed his when he reached for it, and a jolt shot up his arm so sharp he almost dropped the jar. He’d spent months avoiding her specifically because of that exact reaction, the stupid, teenage flutter in his chest every time she laughed too loud at one of his bad jokes, every time she leaned in close to ask about his latest volunteer trip.
The conflict hit him square in the chest then, same as it always did: disgust at himself for even noticing her, for wanting something he’d decided he didn’t deserve, tangled up with a hot, sharp desire he hadn’t felt since Elara was alive. He stared at the jar of habanero-infused honey in his hand, and Lila laughed, soft and low, leaning in so close he could feel her breath on his jaw. “You gonna stand there holding that all day or you gonna taste it?” she said, and he swiped a finger across the top of the jar, licking the honey off. It was sweet first, then the heat bloomed slow across his tongue, warm enough to make his eyes water a little, perfect for his chili. He stirred a full spoonful into the crockpot, and Lila stayed, leaning against the table next to him, talking about the new batch of echinacea she was drying, the way her golden retriever had chewed through her favorite gardening gloves the week before, and he found himself leaning in too, his arm brushing hers every time he reached for a sample cup to hand to a passerby.
When the judges announced he’d won first place, a $200 cash prize and a $50 gift card to the diner on Main, Lila cheered loud enough that the people two tables over turned to look, wrapping her arms around his middle tight. He hesitated for half a second, then wrapped his arms around her too, and he was surprised at how soft she was, how her heart was beating fast against his chest, the way her hair smelled like sunshine and dried sage. When she pulled back, she was still close enough that he could count the faint freckles across her nose, and she didn’t look away when he held her gaze. “I’ve been waiting for you to stop being so damn stubborn for almost a year, Manny,” she said, quiet enough no one else could hear. “Jake called me last month, told me to stop wasting time. He said you’re the only guy he ever trusted not to mess it up with me.”
The wall he’d built for eight years crumbled right then, all the guilt and the fear and the stupid, self-imposed rules melting away faster than snow in June. He asked her to dinner at the diner that night, and she said yes, grinning so wide the corners of her eyes crinkled. He tucked the loose strand of hair blowing across her cheek behind her ear, his thumb brushing her jaw, and she leaned into the touch, warm and soft under his hand. They walked out of the fairgrounds together, the bluegrass band playing in the background fading behind them, their hands brushing every few steps until he laced his fingers through hers, calloused from decades of holding fire hoses and splitting wood, fitting perfectly against hers. He stopped to pluck a wild sunflower growing through the crack in the fence line, handing it to her, and she tucked it behind her ear, the bright yellow petals standing out against her chestnut hair. The sun dipped below the Rockies behind them, painting the sky streaks of tangerine and rose, and the crisp October air carried the faint scent of her lavender salve, sweet and warm, as they walked toward Main Street together.
