Page 11 of One Night Flame

I’m wearing clearance-rack Spanx under a dress that my grandmother told me to call “flirty” even though I can’t sit without fearing a wardrobe malfunction.

Why am I even entertaining this?

I should’ve said something about Liam. Dropped it into the conversation casually, like oh hey, by the way, I come with a small, sticky sidekick and no free weekends.

But the words stuck.

This wasn’t a real date. This wasn’t anything. It was a stunt. A laugh. A thousand-dollar exercise in public humiliation with a handsome stranger at the end of it.

Nothing would come of it.

And yet…

He was still looking at me with that not-quite-smile. That easy patience. Like I wasn’t a punchline or a burden. Like I was… a woman.

Not a teacher. Not a single mom.

Just me.

And some small, tired, ridiculous part of me, buried under lesson plans, laundry, and dried applesauce, ached for that.

To be seen. To be wanted.

Even just for a night.

Cord glanced toward the stage as someone called his name.

He looked back at me with that same easy warmth, like we hadn’t just been thrown together by a woman with a God complex and a checkbook.

“Looking forward to it,” he said, voice low and sincere. “Your grandmother gave me your number. I’ll text you to sort out the details.”

“I—okay.”

Then he nodded once and turned, heading off to help with teardown or wrap-up or whatever heroic emcees did when they weren’t being auctioned off like slightly singed beefcake.

I stared after him, not trusting my face to behave.

Beside me, Grandma made a pleased little humming noise. The kind she usually reserved for good coffee or successful meddling. “I think that went well.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t yet. Because I wasn’t sure what I felt. Not exactly.

Not dread. Not quite excitement. Just… something dislodged. Something I hadn’t touched in a long time.

I watched Cord disappear into the crowd, surrounded but still somehow alone, and wondered what the hell I was doing.

Some small part of me—small and tired and sharper than it should be—wished she’d bought me a friend instead.

Someone who texted me dumb memes and showed up with soup when life fell apart. That felt more possible. More within reach.

But maybe possible wasn’t the point tonight. Maybe tonight was about reminding me that I’d forgotten how to want anything at all for myself.

In which case… mission accomplished.

FIVE

CORD

The minute we rolled back into the bay, I stripped out of my turnout coat and let it drop onto the bench with a heavy thump. Sweat stuck my shirt to my back even though the call had been a nothingburger. Just a rogue batch of burned experimental cookies at Pie Hard tripping the alarm.

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