Page 49 of Flare
Andrew. Her smile faded as her mind flashed back to the horror of walking into her ransacked bedroom and finding that red rose on her pillow.
Such a seemingly romantic gesture twisted into something sinister—a warning, a threat, a proclamation that he could get to her anytime he wanted.
And now that she’d sent his files to Malia… who knew what he’d do next?
Looking back, she now saw Andrew’s extreme attentiveness as controlling behavior, especially his“coincidental” appearances when she was out with friends, and his insistence that she set her phone to share her location with him.
And tomorrow, she’d be at the festival, working in the Cinnamon + Sugar booth, where anyone—Andrew—could see her if came.
Maybe I should text Maggie and tell her I’m not up to working tomorrow.
No.Emily sat up in bed. The anxiety that had been twisting her guts for hours suddenly gave way to a fierce anger that surprised her with its intensity.
No. Shefuckingwouldn’t let Andrew win!
She wouldn’t let him control her life anymore. If she hid now, if she let herself become a prisoner in Ward’s house—or worse, fled Bearpaw Ridge altogether—then she’d only be giving Andrew exactly what he wanted: control over her.
She remembered Maggie’s excitement as she’d talked about the festival, the pride in her voice when she described the special items she and her assistant baker Ava had been preparing for the Cinnamon + Sugar booth.
“Lavender shortbread, blueberry-lavender scones with lavender honey, and iced tea with lilac-infused simple syrup,” Maggie had told her earlier in the week.“Plus, I’m sure that my new vanilla bean and lavender macarons are going to blow people’s minds.”
Emily had spent hours this week practicing on the vintage cash register that Maggie insisted on using for the aesthetic. Of course, the booth would also have a tablet for cards and tap-to-pay.
Shecouldn’tlet Maggie down, not when her friend had been so welcoming, offering her the cabin and a job without hesitation.
Besides, the festival would be teeming with people—hundreds of visitors from neighboring towns, plus most of Bearpaw Ridge’s residents. What better place to be than in a crowded public space? Andrew might be bold enough to break into an isolated cabin, but surely even he wouldn’t try anything in the middle of a busy festival, especially with the police station just a block away from Main Street?
Emily saw a sliver of light beneath her bedroom door. Ward was still up. Was he really keeping watch, guarding her through the night like some medieval knight?
A pang of guilt hit her. He had to work tomorrow too, and here he was, losing a night’s sleep because of her. But mixed with the guilt was an undeniable sense of relief and… something else.
Warmth pooled in her belly when she remembered how he’d kissed her last night. The thought of him watching over her allnight was so sweet it made her want to crawl into his lap and kiss the hell out of him.
Well, if she couldn’t sleep, she might as well keep him company. Emily reached for her robe—a soft, fleecy thing she’d bought at Wallace’s earlier in the week. She slipped it on over her sleep tee and quietly eased open her bedroom door.
The hallway was dark, but light shone from the living room. She moved toward it, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. Just before she reached the living room, she paused.
Ward sat exactly where she’d imagined him, in the leather armchair facing the front door. His chin was resting on his shirt, and he was dozing, a mug of coffee cooling on the side table next to him and a book in his lap.
For a moment, Emily just looked at him—the broad shoulders beneath his t-shirt, the powerful hands dusted with dark hairs on their backs and wrists, the serious set of his mouth.
She took a step into the living room. Ward’s head jerked up, and for a split second, she saw him tense—ready to defend, to protect—before his expression softened at the sight of her.
“Hey, Emily,” he said, his voice rough.“Everything okay?”
She clutched the neckline of her robe.“I can’t sleep.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Ward set his book aside and straightened.“Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said, hesitating in the doorway.
“You’re not,” he said simply, and she believed him. He stood.“How about some hot chocolate?”
Emily smiled.“That sounds perfect, actually.”
Ward grabbed his mug of lukewarm coffee and led the way through the arched opening to his half-finished kitchen.
“Sorry about the state of things,” Ward said, pulling a saucepan from the wire shelving rack.“Kitchen renovations were on hold while I was working on fixing up the Peterson’s place after it nearly burned down last Christmas.”
