Page 22 of Ember's Heart
How dare he touch her?She was mine.MyEmber, a possessive voice whispered in the back of my mind. I know it was irrational and laughable, given the years of silence I’d allow to come between us. I had no right to act the way I did or feel this way. I have no claim to her. None. Yet the moment I saw his hands on her, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t just jealousy, it was a possessiveness.
Suddenly the reality of the years I’d been gone slammed into me. While I was off fighting my demons, shutting myself away, she was here, hurting over what I’d put her through, but also living her life, laughing, growing and going out with other guys. It was what I wanted, right? To grow and have fun. It was a bitter pill to swallow, thinking about her with someone other than me. The thought that she could look at another man, that she could let another man touch her, made something twist in my gut.
Running a hand through my hair, I leaned my head against the headrest. What was I doing? Hadn’t I decided I was no good for her? For years I justified my actions by telling myself she deserved someone who wasn’t damaged. And after causing her so much pain, she managed to put herself back together, and here I was, acting like a jealous asshole. I had no right. It was selfish. It was messed up. And yet, I didn’t care. I couldn’t walk away. The moment I saw her at the bar, laughing withAvery, then when our eyes met, I knew she was trying to make me jealous with that guy. We still had a connection. Despite everything, she still had the same feelings for me, as I did her.
The front porch light is shining bright as I make the turn to head down the drive towards her house. As I pull up, I see her dad sitting on the porch swing, a beer bottle in his hand. He pushes himself off the swing just as I kill the engine and climb from the truck, making my way to Ember’s side, his eyes sweeping over Ember’s slumped form in the passenger seat.
“She’s all yours, Son,” he says, a knowing grin on his face. His voice was laced with amusement and a hint of sarcasm.
“She… had a little too much fun.”
“I see that,” Richard chuckled, shaking his head. “Take her on up. I’m sure you remember the way.”
I nodded and gently unbuckled Ember, scooping her into my arms once more, this time like I was carrying her over the threshold instead of over my shoulder. She slightly stirred, murmuring incoherently, before resting her head on my shoulder. Her breath was warm against my neck and everything in this moment felt right.
As I climbed the steps and passed Richard, he held the door for me. He placed a hand out to stop me, “And why don’t you grab that beer on your way out?”
Nodding once, I kept going, the screen door softly closing behind me.
Back at the bar, I told Miller she was off limits to him, and she was… to him. Not to me. I knew I had a mountain to climb to earn her forgiveness and for a second chance. But after seeing another man’s hands on her, I was willing to do anything. I wasn’t giving up. Not on Ember. Not on us.
Chapter 17
Ember
The next morning, sunlight streamed through my bedroom windows, waking me up. My head was throbbing as thoughts from last night flooded back. The tequila shots, too many Lemon Drops, and an eager and overly flirty Jake Miller. Thinking about Jake had me groaning so loudly I wouldn’t be surprised if my mom heard it wherever she was in the house.
“What were youthinking, Ember?” I mumbled into my pillow, the scent from the detergent suddenly offensive. I couldn’t believe I actually thought it’d be a good idea to try and make Colton jealous by practically dry humping poor Jake against the bar. Poor Jake.
I knew it was wrong to lead Jake on, a total drunken lapse in judgment. But the tiny, vindictive part of me couldn’t deny the satisfaction of seeing Colton’s jaw clench, the raw possessiveness in his eyes. It was a pathetic victory, fueled by liquor and yearsof unresolved feelings.
My throat tightened, a familiar ache blooming in my chest as I replayed the way it felt being in Colton’s arms. I blinked hard a few times, trying to stop the tears that always seemed to be lurking just beneath the surface these days, but it was no use. They felt hot and heavy as they streamed down my temples and soaked into my pillowcase.
Pushing myself to get up, I dragged myself out of bed and to the shower, the hot water felt like a temporary reprieve from the pounding in my head. I had work to do and I still needed to prepare for the first batch of farm-to-table meal kits I was launching next week. Plus, I’d promised Scott at Habitat I’d follow up with that lumberyard about a potential donation for the Moore family’s new build. I couldn’t afford to lay around and have a pity party over my feelings for a man who made his decision a long time ago, even if last night proved those feelings were still very much alive and kicking.
After a strong cup of coffee and a silent vow to never mix shots again, I make my way to my small office. I dial the number for Perry’s Lumber, my voice professional and cheerful despite the lingering headache, and speak with the manager, Mr. Henderson. I explained to him about Habitat’s current project, expressing the urgent need for materials. I tell him about the Moore family’s situation – a single mother with two young children who had recently lost their home in a fire. By the end of the call, Mr. Henderson had pledged a significant donation of lumber and roofing supplies, a huge win for the project.
Next, I turn my attention to the farm-to-table meal kits. This was my baby, years of dreaming and planning. I pull up the detailed spreadsheets outlining the weekly menus, focusing on seasonal produce. I decided since my mom already filmed a video for her homemadeBolognese sauce, I’d use that for week one kits. We’d feature her sauce using sausage and the vegetables hand-picked that morning. Week two I wanted to do a grilled chicken with roasted root vegetables and a honey-mustard glaze, which I’d get with mom to do a video for that too. Each kit would include all the pre-portioned ingredients, along with easy-to-follow recipe cards and even a little note about the farm and the specific vegetables used. I even contacted a local butcher to get meat directly from them for the kits, and they loved the idea. I still wanted to check out local bakeries about using their breads. As of right now there weren’t any bakeries that really appealed to me. However, I did speak to a woman my age, Emily, a couple weeks ago who was looking to move to the area and open her first bakery. After speaking for hours and listening to her ideas, I loved her enthusiasm and what she was offering. Plus, the idea of helping a new business get off the ground had me seriously considering waiting to make any decisions.
Finally, I reviewed the dates for our “Pick Your Own Produce” days. Starting the weekend after the Fourth of July, we’d open up designated sections of the farm to the public every Saturday morning. People could come and pick their own seasonal fruits and vegetables, and it’d be a great way to connect with the community, and hopefully boost sales. I had flyers designed, ready to be distributed at the local farmers market, and Owen was even working on a short promotional video for social media. Things were finally starting to come together.
Later that day, I found myself down by the barn, the familiar scent of hay and horse comforting as I brushed Shadow’s glossy coat. I’ve had Shadow since I was about 12, I don’t ride her anymore since she’sgotten older, but being around her is always soothing for my soul. And right now it was a welcome distraction from the past twenty-four hours.
The unmistakable crunch of gravel under boots as someone approaches has me pausing.
“You don’t look too bad today,” Colton murmurs, his voice low as he steps up beside me.
He smells clean shaven, a subtle hint of soap mingling with the familiar scent of him, and looks good dressed in just a simple white tee and jeans. Looking up at him, I manage a dry, humorless chuckle. “You should’ve seen me this morning. I felt like shit.”
We stand like that for a while, the silence stretching between us. Finally, I turn back to brushing my horse. I need the distraction. Being around Colton after all these years makes my heart hurt and my head spin.
Clearing his throat, he says, “I can’t believe you still have Shadow. How old is she now?” When I don’t immediately respond, my fingers tighten around the brush, he continues. “Ember, we need to talk.Reallytalk.”
Blinking up at him, my eyes connecting with his. “Colton,” I begin, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m not sure I can. It hurts too bad.”
Just as I begin to lead Shadow back towards her stall, Colton gently reaches out to stop me, his hand closing around my upper arm. “Don’t,” he whispers. “Please, Ember. Don’t walk away. Don’t pretend there’s nothing still between us. Just give me a couple minutes. Then if afterwards you don’t ever want to see me again, I’ll walk away and leave you alone.”
Just the thought of him walking away again makes my lips tremble, like I’m on the edge of tears. Swallowing hard against the lump in mythroat, I nod my head. “Ok,” I finally managed to say.
