Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 32231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Gabe leans in close, stage-whispering, “That denial was a little too quick, Chief.”
“Shut up and eat,” Clay snaps, but he’s biting back a smile.
I unload containers, pretending not to notice the looks exchanged between the guys. Or the way Clay stands just a little too close. Like maybe if we lean far enough into this charade, it’ll become real.
But the fantasy only lasts until later that night.
Until the check clears.
And suddenly, everything feels different.
The insurance money from the fire hits my account, and with it, the suffocating weight of reality. I’m not stranded anymore. I can leave. Go anywhere. Start over—for real this time.
But the thought doesn’t thrill me.
It wrecks me.
Because for the first time in forever, I don’t want to run.
So I do the next best thing.
I sabotage.
He’s in the garage, working on a cabinet, the scent of cedar and sawdust clinging to the air. His muscles flex as he planes a board, shirt discarded, sweat glistening across his back. He doesn’t notice me until I speak.
“So... big day. I got my check.”
He pauses, blade halting mid-stroke.
“Yeah?” he says without turning.
“Yeah.”
Silence.
And then, “Guess that means you’ll be hittin’ the road.”
My chest pinches.
“Do you want me to?” I ask, softer than I mean to.
He straightens, brushes a hand through his hair, and finally looks at me. Those damn eyes. Burned whiskey and heat.
“You deserve more than this place,” he says, gesturing to the garage, the cabin, all of it.
“That’s not what I asked.”
He stiffens. “You deserve someone whole, Ember. Not a man built from ashes.”
My throat burns. “I’m not asking you to save me.”
His eyes flicker. “Then what the hell are you asking?”
“I’m asking you to see me,” I snap. “Not the charity case. Not the girl who can’t cook rice without setting off the fire alarm. Me.”
“I see you,” he says, voice breaking. “That’s the problem.”
And before I can stop him, before I can find the words to fix it—he’s gone.
Out the back door.
Into the smoke.
I spend the next day hollow.
I tell myself it was always fake. Always temporary.
But the lie doesn’t stick.
Because the truth is, I fell for a man who never asked me to be anything but me. Who carried my groceries, rubbed my back during the meeting with the insurance company, and kissed me like he needed air.
The fireman who never flinched at my fire and ashes.
So that night, I do something insane.
I light a candle in the kitchen. Just one. A soft flicker.
And I wait.
And wait.
And just when I’m about to give up, the door slams open.
Clay stands in the entryway, melting snow dripping from his shoulders, eyes wild.
“I tried,” he growls. “I tried to let you go. To do the noble thing.”
I rise slowly, heart hammering.
“But I can’t, Ember. I won’t. I don’t want to be noble. I want you.”
I blink, tears blurring the edges.
He stalks forward, water pooling at his boots. “You hear me? I want your mess. Your clay-covered hands. Your stupid salsa-ashtray. All of it.”
“You want me,” I whisper, stepping closer.
His hands grip my waist. “I want all of it. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”
I reach up, fingers threading through his damp hair.
“Then stop talking and prove it.”
And he does.
Oh, he does.
He kisses me like it’s the last breath he’ll ever take. Long and slow, sweet and demanding. He leaves me breathless, and just when I think he’s going to take me–he leads me to the couch, wraps me into his warm body, and tells me to sleep. That he’ll be there in the morning, that he has no plans on leaving ever again.
And God help me I believe him.
Chapter Ten
Clay
The first thing I smell is smoke.
Not the faint whiff from Ember’s favorite camp-scented candle, or the remnants of last night’s fireplace embers. No—this is acrid, thick, and wrong.
I jolt upright from her couch, bare feet thudding on the hardwood as I move to the front door.
The sky’s dark, but not from nightfall. Orange flickers lick up from the east window—Mrs. Vance’s house next door. Jesus.
“Shit,” I mutter, yanking the door open and sprinting across the yard. The fire’s already crawled up the front porch. Flames twist through busted boards and shattered windows.
“Mrs. Vance!” I shout, scanning for movement. No answer.
Behind me, Ember’s voice cracks through the air. “Clay!”
“Call it in!” I bark without looking back. “Stay here!”
She doesn’t respond, which is both typical and infuriating. I shove my shoulder into the front door—it creaks, groans, and gives way, heat blasting me in the face like a damn furnace.
“Mrs. Vance!” I cough, pulling my flannel over my nose. The smoke’s thick. The place is a maze of fire and half-collapsed beams, but I move fast—if she’s in here, she doesn’t have long.
I make it to the hall when a beam crashes from above.
It hits hard.
Pain explodes through my shoulder. The world tilts. Heat licks at my skin, but it’s the smoke that wins—it pulls me under, tight and fast like a fist around my throat.