He steps away. I watch him go down the walk, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he’s cold and spoiled for warmth.
I sleep badly. I keep waking to the sound of his voice saying things he’d never let himself say in the day.
At 2:11 a.m., my phone buzzes.
CLAY:You awake?
I am. It feels like a confession.EMBER:Yes.
Three dots. Then:
CLAY:Dreamed you were laughing in my kitchen.
My heart trips.EMBER:Was I loud?
CLAY:Yeah.
EMBER:Did you hate it?
A long pause. Then:
CLAY:No.
He doesn’t send anything else. He doesn’t have to. I touch the screen like I can touch him through it and then lie in the dark with my arm over my eyes and the stupidest smile on my mouth.
The town thinks this is pretend. Maybe it started that way.
But there’s nothing make-believe about the way I can still feel his hand at the small of my back, the way his forehead pressed to mine for one blasphemous second, the way his texts wake my skin.
He said he doesn’t do halves.
Good.
Neither do I.
Chapter Eight
Clay
The next time I see her, she’s standing beside the silent auction table like trouble poured into fitted flannel.
Ember.
The woman who’s been haunting my firehouse like smoke without a flame.
I’m posted up near the exit, arms crossed, pretending like I give two shits about tonight’s charity gala. I’d rather be elbows deep in engine grease or hoses than stuffed into a collared shirt with a clip-on tie choking my patience. But I promised Gabe I’d donate a “Fireman For A Day” experience, and now here I am—watching her finger hover over my auction sheet like it’s a detonator.
She glances around, hesitates, then scribbles a bid.
And just like that, the fuse is lit.
“You bid on me, firecracker?” I smirk an hour later, cornering her near the dessert table where she’s piling chocolate-covered strawberries like she’s hiding from a crime scene.
Her eyes widen. “It was an accident.”
“Sure it was.” I arch a brow, taking a deliberate step into her space. “You justaccidentallyoutbid Mayor Henley’s wife.”
She pops a strawberry in her mouth, cheeks flushed, chewing slowly. “You’re not even a real prize.”
