Page 115 of Fire and Icing

Syd’s quiet for a beat. “Well, I know what I know. And I know this: you like Dustin. And you deserve another go at love.”

“Love is a pretty big word. Can we use something else?”

“Sure. Sure. Call it what you like, just go get it and stop holding yourself back.”

“Okay.” I square my shoulders and stare at the door. “Yes.”

My body hums with the awareness that Dustin is only two staircases below me right now. I feel possessed with an urge to tell him he’s going to get his chance.

“I’ve gotta go,” I tell Syd.

“Darn straight you do. And you can thank me later.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I hang up without even saying goodbye. Then I wrap my robe around me and tiptoe down Gran’s stairs. When I get to the door leading to the basement, I pause. My heart is beating out of my chest right up through my throat. I’m acting on instinct for once and I don’t have a script or a plan or a safety net.

My hand raises on its own volition and I knock on the basement door.

Nothing. He doesn’t shout up to me. There’s no sound of footsteps on the stairs.

I take a deep breath and knock again.

This is crazy.

I can tell him about my change of heart in the morning.

I won’t sleep, of course. There’s too much adrenaline pumping through my veins right now. Adrenaline and hope—it’s a heady cocktail.

Nothing but silence comes from the other side of the basement door, so I turn and start to head back through the kitchen.It’s okay. I can tell him tomorrow.

The door creaks behind me and I pivot. Dustin is standing there in a pair of plaid cotton pajama bottoms and a white tank top.

Oh, mercy. Those arms have lifted me out of my house, whipped cupcake batter while under studio lighting, pulled out my chair at the bakery … but I’ve never seen them uncovered. They’re massive and sculpted and …

“I should … go.”

“Did you need something?” Dustin’s hair is slightly rumpled and his voice is a step deeper than usual.

He must have fallen asleep already.

“Did I wake you?”

“I was just dozing off. What’s up, Emberleigh?”

“Nothing. I’ll just …” I hook a thumb toward the front of the house.

“Nope. You’re not going anywhere.” He steps up into the kitchen and walks toward me.

I freeze like a deer, caught in the sight of a hunter, wanting to dart off into the woods, but too afraid my own movement will trigger his attack.

“Dustin,” I plead.

“You obviously wanted something or you wouldn’t be down here knocking on my door. I won’t sleep if you don’t tell me whatever it is you came to say. I’m kind of like Curious George. You know that monkey? He got into all sorts of trouble because he couldn’t leave well enough alone. So, please, put me out of my misery and ask or say whatever got you out of bed and brought you to my doorway in the middle of the night.”

“I …”

He’s so close, towering over me. The warmth is radiating off his body. His eyes are soft and drowsy, but focused on me.

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