Page 8 of Always a Bridesmaid
Smiling brides shriveled in on themselves as the edges curled and turned black. Plastic sheet protectors melted to the papers Violet had reverently cut out to add to her collection.
Then a breeze kicked up, the mound she’d formed glowing bright orange. A couple of partially burned pages fluttered and blew off the top of the pile, one landing against a dried-out weed, which caught.
“No, no, no.” She stomped it out, chased after the other sheet, and did the same to it. As her heart pounded from the adrenaline, she thought of how easily the fire could spread and burn out of control.
Just like that, Violet returned to her body, the possessed, jilted woman no longer in control.
This was stupid. Dangerous.
And in the end, nothing would change.
Violet peeled off her hoodie and used it to beat out the blaze, adding stomping to her efforts once the flames flickered and sputtered. As soon as she was sure the pile had been extinguished, she plopped on the hard ground.
Defeat weighing heavy on her shoulders, she slid her melty binder from underneath the charred heap, gathered it to her chest, and let loose the tears she’d tried to hold back all day.
She sniffed and swore she smelled smoke—different than the scent that’d accompanied the burning of the magazine pages. Less…chemical, maybe?
She lowered her mangled binder and stared at it, double-checking that it wasn’t aflame.
Her eyes stung, and acrid fumes burned her nose.
What the—?Violet sprang to her feet when she saw puffs of gray belching from the back door of the bakery. “The cupcakes!”
She sprinted over and tapped the handle with her fingertips before wrapping her hand around the metal. When it didn’t scald her palm, she tugged.
Luckily, the door wasn’t locked. As she rushed inside and took in the hazy air and the flames flickering around the edges of the oven door and crawling up the wall, she didn’t feel so lucky.
A quick scan didn’t reveal the location of a fire extinguisher, so Violet grabbed a potholder and tried to yank open the door.
It wouldn’t budge, and intensifying heat seeped into her skin, making it impossible to hold on.
“Wait. Why are you at six hundred degrees?” she shouted at the oven when she caught the temperature on the display.
Since the appliance didn’t answer and the smoke was growing thicker, Violet dialed 911, hoping it wouldn’t take forever for someone to respond in this dinky town.
Chapter Two
The engine of his Cummins Diesel Dodge Ram growled as Ford depressed the gas pedal and rocketed down the back streets of town before slowing and cutting across to Main.
He nosed his truck into the alleyway between Maisy’s Bakery and Lottie’s fabric store, and sure enough, there was smoke.
Ford did a quick assessment.
Color: white. Volume: little. Velocity: low. Density: thin.
Charging in alone was never a good idea, but waiting until the fire went from small to large wasn’t a stellar idea, either.
He leaped out of the truck and grabbed his ax, along with his medic kit. Fires weren’t very common this time of year, so his bunker gear was in the firetruck.
His pulse skyrocketed when he heard a female voice yell, “Why won’t you open? I can’t put out the fire if you won’t let me in.”
The hacking cough that followed had him rushing toward the open door, Pyro hot on his heels.
A woman who looked like Maisy, yet not quite, stood in front of the oven. She batted at the spitting flames with a potholder as she rambled about her sister trusting her and the “shittiest day ever.”
Ford stepped between her and the oven, nudging her backward. The sweltering air seeped through his shirt and pressed heavy against his skin. Experience took the wheel, his focus narrowing to clearing the building. “Is anyone else inside?”
A cough burst from the brunette, followed by a wheeze. “No, it’s just me. Which is why—”
