Page 19 of Bewitching the Firefighter

When the organizers of the National Digital Libraries Conference learned about Isla’s specialized methods, they invited her to speak at this year’s conference. Many of her former colleagues are present, including her old asshat of a boss who claimed her work as his own.

It didn’t pan out the way he intended. With Isla leaving, his historical work stalled. But my girl? This past year, she improved upon her methods, surpassing anything her boss has done in the last year. My girl even won an award from the Indigo Hills Chamber of Commerce, which is pretty damn impressive if you ask me.

Isla scans the crowd and finds us at the round table next to the one she’s stationed at with her boss and the lead children’s librarian. She catches my eye from the stage grins before continuing. Proud, I take in today’s outfit, a modern black pantsuit with a thin black belt. Its large gold buckle matches her earrings, simple yet professional. I can’t wait to peel it off her later.

As her voice fills the room, Levi leans over, elbowing me in the ribs. “You’ve got a weird look on your face, man. Get it together.” He chuckles quietly as Capri and Isla’s sister both shush him. She’s fortunate to have such supportive friends and family, and I’m damn lucky to be a part of it.

This last year has been the most amazing and settled of my life. Isla rented a house near mine, close to Lake Indigo. We walk in the park several nights a week and stay over at each other's place regularly. Her colleagues are supportive, each celebrating the others’ wins, and we spend time as much time with our families as we can.

Because the conference is in Dallas, Isla and I are going to stay overnight at her parents’ house tomorrow before heading back to Indigo Hills. While there, I plan to ask her dad for her hand in marriage. I already have the ring, a pear-shaped diamond flanked by two smaller pears set in platinum. I’m thinking he’ll say yes. We text all the time, especially when the Cowboys play.

I no longer work at Station 8 because I just don’t have the time. Lakehouse West is open now, having surpassed our expectations. On at least one of my days off, I’ll work whatever’s needed, sometimes more. It turns out the floating dining is booked in advance for special occasions. We leave one table open for same-day calls, but even that’s first-come, first-serve. Mason is even looking to open something in Austin, and with my profits from this restaurant, I’m in.

Thirty minutes fly by, and when Isla finishes her speech, thunderous applause breaks out across the room. She ducks her head slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before heading back to the table. There’s a twenty-minute break before the breakout sessions start, so we wait for her to make her way back.

I step back, waiting for Ila’s sister, Lincoln, and her parents to give hugs. When it’s my turn, I keep it chaste, grabbing her hand and kissing her cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Little Bit.” Then I lean toward her ear. “We’ll celebrate back in the room.”

“Looking forward to it.” Her cheeks are tinged with pink because of all the naughty things she knows I’ll do when we’re alone.

Isla Sutton is my world, and never once have I even thought about not being with her. When you take your time and get to know yourself, you finally know when the right person comes along. And for me, it is a tiny little spitfire of a librarian who isn’t afraid to challenge me, and who will sometimes put on a sexy little witch outfit when she’s feeling especially bewitching.

Want to find out what happens when Lincoln proposes to Isla? Just click this link for the bonus epilogue: Aubrey Kent's Newsletter Sign-Up.

I hope you enjoyed their story. Please consider leaving me a review.

xoxo,

Aubrey

***

Want to read Isla's cousin Capri's love story? What happens when billionaire Zane Wyatt tries to throw social media darling and single mom Capri Sutton off his ranch?

Find out in Influencing the Rancher, or keep reading for a Chapter 1 preview!

Chapter 1

Capri

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?”

A truck door slams somewhere behind the ranch’s barbed-wire fence, but I ignore the rugged voice. It’s the golden hour in the influencer world, the time of day right before sunset when the sun’s rays cast a warm, natural glow that’s ideal for photos. Ten minutes remain of this perfect Hill Country light before my shot is ruined, and I’m not about to waste them explaining myself to a man who has no say in how I run my business.

“Hey. Princess.” The cowboy raises one hand and snaps twice. “I’m talking to you.”

Did he really just snap his fingers at me? Even my four-year-old knows better.

I whip around to give the jerk a piece of my mind but am momentarily stunned into silence. The hottest man in the south stands at the ranch’s fencing, a tight white t-shirt showing off his tanned, sculpted muscles. Ink swirls down both of the stranger’s arms, the intricate designs eclectic and intriguing. You’ve seen a male before, Capri. Stop staring like he’s a dessert bar.

Unfortunately, my brain does not listen to reason. The guy’s faded jeans grip his physique in the yummiest of ways, and to top it off, he’s wearing a backward ball cap—my personal kryptonite—with blond wisps of hair peeking out from underneath. A short beard dusts his square jaw, and I am going to melt into a puddle right now.

Hot Guy’s eyes slowly rake over my body. Sure, my dark hair falls in waves past my shoulders, and okay, my skin has been called flawless, and fine, my curves have been known to make men forget their own names. Do I mind the attention? Not usually. Teenage me didn’t know there were members of the opposite sex who appreciate a voluptuous woman, and she’s still inside me somewhere celebrating.

As if clearing out rocks, Hot Guy shakes his head, then taps a worn cowboy boot on the bottom fence rail. “I’m waiting, Princess.”

Seriously?! Screw him and that deep, throaty voice. Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I throw up a hand and start counting with my fingers. “One, I’m not a dog, so snapping won’t work on me.” A hawk soars overhead and settles on a nearby post as if watching our exchange. “Two, thank you for recognizing a royal pedigree when you see one. My Tudor ancestors would be proud.” The bird of prey cocks its head, its beady eyes locked on us like it’s judging who’ll back down first. “Three, this side of the fence is county property. There are no laws prohibiting me from taking photos here.” It’s true. I always verify that no area bylaws will prohibit me from posting certain pictures to my socials.

Arms crossed over his chest, Hot Guy quirks an eyebrow at me, so I quirk an eyebrow right back. A movement catches my eye, so I turn.