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“I’m fine,” I say, coughing.
But I’m not fine. I’m not sure how to process what’s happening all around me. Or the fact that Owen Larrabee is back in town.
Or the fact that he is the one who saved my life.
When this happens in romance novels, like Yours Sincerely, the person who got saved now owes the other person a life debt.
But I’m not about to write fake love letters to a celebrity in hopes of him coming to a small-town 4th of July celebration—which was the somewhat far-fetched plot of that one.
“Peggy said they had to carry you out,” Mom says. “Were you unconscious?”
“No,” I say. “Not when he carried me out. I think I was taking too long. All I could save was my laptop and. . .” And my recording equipment and external hard drive.
I don’t say it. Not even my parents know I have a podcast.
My dad comes over to my other side. “Who do we have to thank for saving you?”
I scan the scene in front of me. Paramedics stand off to the side. Firefighters scurry around my yard, bringing things out—which floods me with gratitude and hope. They’re grabbing and saving what they can.
Neighbors take photos and videos and make phone calls. By morning, everyone in Harvest Hollow is going to know that the owner of the Book Smart Bookshop downtown lost her house.
“Emmy?” Mom asks. “We want to find the firefighter who pulled you out and thank him.”
“It was Owen,” I say absently.
“Mackenzie’s brother Owen?” Mom asks. “I thought he lived down south.”
“He’s back, apparently,” I say.
“Well, we need to find him.” Mom turns, scanning the crowd. “That boy saved my daughter. As far as I’m concerned, he is a bonafide hero.”
There’s a flash of a camera, and I see Jerry from the Harvest Times racing around in the crowd. He rushes over to me, out of breath as Mom takes off into the crowd, presumably to search for Owen.
I wish I could rush off and search for Owen and have him pick me up in his strong arms again.
Maybe without the burning destruction all around us this time.
I shake my head. History is repeating itself, all over again.
Gazing at and dreaming about him became something of a pastime in high school. And with this one, brief encounter (albeit an emotionally charged one), I’m right back there, pining away like an orthodontic schoolgirl.
If Owen was out of my league back then, he’s in a whole other solar system now.
“That’s cool with you, right, Emmy?”
Jerry’s been talking to me this entire time, and I have no idea what he said. He looks at me, expectant, eyes wide and excited. He lifts his camera and takes a photo of the paramedics standing near the open back doors of the ambulance.
“Can’t believe I was first on the scene,” he says. “Saw them carry you out and everything.” He shakes his head. “Nothing exciting ever happens here.”
“Happy to change that for you,” I groan.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—” he takes a step away.
I lift a hand as if to communicate that it’s fine. After all, I was thinking the same thing only a few minutes ago.
Mom rushes back over to me. “I can’t find him, but I will. I have to figure out a way to thank him.” She hugs me. “I’m just so, so grateful you’re okay.”
I tear up again.
