She doesn’t argue, which tells me a lot. She’s in shock. Running on fumes.
I guide her away from the thickest part of the smoke. Jamila and the others rush past us, breaking into the kitchen side. We work like clockwork—hoses flaring, fans positioned, smoke pushed outward.
I catch the woman watching it all like she’s dreaming.
“You’re lucky,” I say as I kneel to check her over. “It could’ve been worse.”
“I just…” she starts, then falters. “I was trying to make coffee. And muffins. And then the back shorted. Something sparked.”
Her voice is raspy. Scratchy. Like she’s been breathing in smoke for longer than she realizes.
“You’re okay now,” I say, eyes sweeping over her for any sign of injury. “What’s your name?”
“Wren. Wren Aldridge.”
Aldridge. That explains the café. And the bone-deep look of heartbreak in her eyes.
“We’ve got you, Wren,” I tell her. “Paramedics are almost here.”
Right on cue, the ambulance pulls up. The back doors fling open, and Levi jogs out, EMT bag slung over one shoulder.
He’s one of my closest friends. Good guy. Steady. The kind you’d want in your corner.
He clocks Wren and whistles low. “Looks like you’ve had a hell of a morning.”
“I’m fine,” she says too fast.
Levi raises a brow. “You inhaled smoke. That’s not nothing. We’re taking you in for a check just to be safe.”
“I can’t—Pancake?—”
“She means the cat,” I say quickly.
Wren nods, clutching the big orange fluffball tighter. He doesn’t even try to struggle. Just rests his chin on her shoulder like he’s seen too much.
“I’ll take care of him,” I offer before I even think it through. “We’ll keep him safe at the station.”
Wren blinks at me, really looking at me for the first time. Her eyes are moss green. Rich, deep, full of the kind of exhaustion that isn’t just from smoke.
Her sweater smells faintly of something sweet—amber and sugared peach, with just a hint of warm clove. It hits hard. Unnervingly hard.
“Are you sure?” she asks, uncertain.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “We’ve got a decent setup. He’ll be alright.”
She hesitates, then nods slowly. Levi coaxes her toward the ambulance. She’s swaying a little, legs unsteady, but he helps her.
The door shuts behind her, and just like that, she’s gone—carried off by Levi and the med crew, probably still coughing smoke and confusion into the sterile air of that ambulance.
I’m left standing in the shell of her grandmother’s café, heart thudding like I’ve just run through a burning house, even though the worst of the fire’s already out.
Pancake’s still in my arms, his fur singed slightly on one side but otherwise intact. The little guy’s glaring up at me like it’s my fault this happened. Or maybe he’s just had a rough night. I get it.
I crouch down and whisper, “You did good, buddy. She’s safe. You both are.”
He lets out a grumpy meow and butts his head against my chest, tail twitching. He smells like her.
I don’t even like cats. But this one? I hold onto him.
