Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 24365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Her gaze drops to my shoulder. To the old scar peeking above my collar where the jacket dips.
“Does it still hurt?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say honestly.
She looks up. “Physically or…?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Bold question for a woman who owes me cookies.”
She exhales, half-laugh, half-sigh. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re nosy.”
“Curious.”
“Persistent.”
“Caveman,” she says suddenly, tasting the word like it belongs in her mouth.
I stiffen. “Trouble.”
She steps in just a fraction more. My back brushes the worktable behind me. I hadn’t realized I’d moved.
The space between us tightens. Narrows. I’m aware of my height, my weight, the way her eyes flicker when she realizes exactly how close we are. I could take control of this moment. Cage her in with my body. End the questions with something physical she wouldn’t forget.
I want to.
Bad.
Instead, I lean back just enough to breathe.
“Go make art,” I say. “Teach your kids. Flood your studio again.”
She frowns. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She studies me for a long beat, like she’s deciding whether to push or retreat. Finally, she nods.
“Okay,” she says. “For now. Might stop by every day just to see that grumpy look on your face.”
I smirk. “Long as you bring cookies I’ll hold you to that.”
She turns to leave, then pauses.
“For what it’s worth,” she adds, glancing back over her shoulder, “you don’t look broken. You look… guarded.”
I watch her walk away, color against snow, light against shadow.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t hate that she sees me.
I hate that I want her to keep looking.
Chapter Four
Ember
I pick the corner booth at The Devil’s Brew on purpose—the one with my back to the wall, half-hidden by a crooked evergreen garland that smells faintly like pine and burnt espresso. My laptop is open, my to-do list is endless, and if I keep my head down long enough, I can pretend I’m invisible.
Orders to confirm. Brushes to restock. A message from a mom asking if her kid can use glitter again because “it sparks joy.”
It does. It also sparks chaos. I approve it anyway.
I’m three sips into my tea when I hear his voice.
Low. Rough. Familiar already.
“Don’t look at me like that, Cole.”
My shoulders lock.
I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. Boone Lawson’s voice has a gravity to it—like it drags the room closer whether you want it or not.
Captain Saxon Cole laughs, deep and knowing. “I’m not looking at you any kind of way. I’m just asking how the new neighbor situation’s going.”
The other guy sitting with them snorts. “By ‘asking,’ he means we’re dying to hear how long it took before she pissed you off.”
“Or how long before you smiled. I’ve got twenty bucks on never.” A third one snorts.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“She’s trouble–a pretty neighbor from hell,” Boone grunts. Pretty neighbor from hell. I assume that’s me. “You’re all idiots.”
“That’s not a denial.” Saxon laughs.
“It’s a none of your business.”
“You hear that Ash? I think that’s an affirmative,” Saxon says.
The one I assume is Ash replies: “Sounds like a yes to me.”
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I absolutely should put my headphones in. I absolutely should not be enjoying this.
“Whatchya think, Axel? Yes or yes?”
Boone growls. “Enough you nosy fucks. You’re worse than every old, gossipin’ grandma in this town.”
Axel’s voice drops conspiratorially. “Town’s already buzzing, man. Something about paint, plumbing, and you looking like you hadn’t seen color before.”
Boone scoffs. “She flooded her own studio.”
“That bad?”
“She cried.”
There’s a pause.
Then Ash says, carefully, “And?”
“And nothing,” Boone snaps. “I fixed it. End of story.”
Saxon hums. “Funny. You don’t usually volunteer for anything involving people.”
I finally slide one earbud in. Then the other. The music starts—soft, instrumental—but it doesn’t drown them out. Not really.
Axel chuckles. “She call you an asshole yet?”
Silence.
Oh. That landed.
Boone mutters, “I’m not answering that.”
Ash laughs outright. “She’s gonna crack you.”
“Or burn you down,” Saxon adds.
Boone’s voice goes quiet. “Don’t bet on it.”
Something in my chest twists. Not pity. Not worry.
Recognition.
I shut my laptop, slide it into my bag, and tell myself I’m leaving because I’ve finished my work—not because I’ve heard enough.
I stand. Turn. And walk straight into a wall.
A warm, solid, very human wall.
Boone’s chest is right there. Broad. Unmoving. I gasp and grab his jacket before I tip backward.
“Easy, Firefly.”
His hands settle on my waist without hesitation, fingers firm, steady. The contact sends a jolt straight through me.
“I—sorry,” I say, flustered. “I didn’t see—”
“Hard to miss me,” he murmurs, clearly amused.
I pull back, mortified. “I was just—leaving.”
“I noticed.” His eyes flick to my bag. Then my face. Then my mouth. “You hear all that?”
I lift my chin. “Hear what?”
His grin is slow. Lethal. “Bullshit.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I had headphones on.”
“Sure you did.”
I cross my arms. “I don’t eavesdrop.”
“Town’s small,” he says. “Walls are thin.”
“I was working.”
“Mm-hmm.” He leans in a fraction, lowering his voice. “And enjoying my humiliation.”