Page 126 of Rescuing Ember

His arms wrap around my waist, careful of healing wounds. “Tell me.”

“This place…” The words come slowly. “It wasn’t much, but it was mine. First thing that was ever really mine.”

“And now?”

“Now I have more.” My fingers lace with his. “So much more.”

I take in the empty space. Morning light catches the key in my palm—his key, our future.

“You know what I want to do?” My heart races with sudden certainty.

“Tell me.” His thumb traces patterns on my wrist.

“Make one last candle. Here. Now.” The idea takes root, growing stronger. “Something to mark the transition.”

“Using the supplies we packed already?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes.

“For you, I’ll do anything.”

He helps unpack the supplies—the last jar, the final bits of wax, a blend of oils I love.

“What scents?” His voice drops as he watches me work.

“Lavender for peace.” The oil shimmers as it drops into melting wax. “Sage for new beginnings. And…” My hands shake slightly. “Rose for love.”

The word hangs between us, delicate as candle smoke. His breath catches.

“Love?” Rough emotion colors his voice.

“Love.” Stronger now, more certain. “Is that okay?”

His answer is a kiss—gentle but fierce, tender but claiming. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with something that makes my heart stutter.

“More than okay.” His forehead rests against mine. “Pour it. Let’s make something beautiful.”

The wax flows smoothly and surely, carrying our hopes, our fears, and our future. As it cools, the scents blend—peace, beginnings, and love twining together into something uniquely ours.

“Perfect.” His finger traces the jar’s rim. “Just like you.”

“Not perfect.” My voice catches. “But maybe—maybe it’s whole.”

A knock at the door—Jenny, right on schedule.

Time to go.

“Ready?” Blaze’s hand extends, steady and sure.

My fingers trace the doorframe, feeling the rough wood beneath my skin. It’s time. I take a deep breath, blinking back the tears that well up.

Blaze catches my eye, his expression softening when he sees the emotion in my eyes. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t push. He just waits, his presence a steady, reassuring warmth that wraps around me like a promise.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he says, his voice gentle. He knows. He always knows.

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I take one last look around, and it feels like I’m saying goodbye to a part of myself. The part that was alone, the part that fought tooth and nail to survive, the part that never dared to dream beyond these walls.

---