And the woman I love just walked out of my life because I tried to protect her.
My house is going to feel empty tonight.
But at least she’ll be safe.
Even if she hates me for it.
Chapter 10
The Firecracker Returns
Ember
The sun hasn’t risen yet when I arrive at the community park, armed with coffee that’s already gone cold and a clipboard I’ve been clutching like a shield.
Three days since I walked out of Ryan’s house.
Two days of sleeping poorly at the Azalea Inn, surrounded by floral wallpaper and the ghost of what I gave up.
Two days of texting Ryan like my sanity depends on it—because it does. He’s avoided pushing me, which is what I asked for, although part of me wants to be back at his house.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, right on schedule.
Ryan: Morning, Firecracker. You at the site yet?
Me: Beat the sun. Very on-brand for my control-freak tendencies.
Ryan: That’s my girl. Coffee?
My chest aches at “my girl.” We haven’t seen each other in person since the fight. Only these texts, as a lifeline thrown across the distance I created.
Me: Cold. Tragic. Send reinforcements.
Ryan: On it.
I smile despite myself, tucking my phone away as the first vendor truck rumbles into the parking lot. Showtime.
By 7 AM, controlled chaos reigns. Tents go up in aligned measured grids. Tables materialize in color-coordinated clusters. The vintage fire truck gleams in its designated photo op spot, about seventeen feet from the entrance for optimal first-impression impact.
Everything is going according to plan.
Which is when Nic appears, looking particularly glowy for someone who should be helping me coordinate volunteer check-in.
“You’re late,” I say, consulting my timeline. “Are you okay? You look weird.”
“Weird good or weird bad?”
“Weird like you’re either about to throw up or tell me something.” I study her face. “Are you pregnant?”
Nic’s eyes go wide. “How did you?—”
“You’re glowing. Like, unnaturally. And you keep touching your stomach.” I gesture at her hand, which is indeed resting on her abdomen. “Also, you turned down coffee this morning, which has never happened in the history of our friendship.”
“Okay, Sherlock.” She laughs, pulling me aside. “Yes. I’m pregnant. Ten weeks. We told our families yesterday.”
I throw my arms around her, my clipboard clattering to the ground. “Nic! That’s amazing!”
“I know!” She’s crying now, happy tears streaming down her face. “And terrifying. And exciting. And—Em, everything’s changing.”
