Page 1 of Smoke and Fire
1
DAHLIA
The growing plume of smoke on the horizon didnotgive me warm fuzzies.
A wildfire in the mountains north of Pineville was not how I wanted to start the week. Nor did it lend hope for a low-key day. That’s all I wanted—something quiet, calm, and filled with time to research my new life. I’d make cappuccinos, enjoy the quiet purr of life in Pineville. Maybe sit in the sunshine outside my RV at the end of the day and pretend like I played in the ocean.
Simple arithmetic.
Or was it?
To that end, the romance book splayed open on the counter behind me also did not give me warm fuzzies. No, far worse. It gave me butterflies, hope, thrills, and a dramatic sense ofoh my gosh will they ever?
“Fantastic,” I muttered darkly.
The last thing I needed was a romance novel that Iliked. They only made my wary attitude toward relationships worse. To make matters even worse, the water heater in my RV failed this morning. My sleep-deprived state didn’t help either. Yet again, I’d stayed upwaytoo late reading.
I blamed Lizbeth.
Dahlia Finau didnotdo mornings. This girl was a sleeper.
Yet, work at the Frolicking Moose Coffee Shop didn’t care if I wanted to sleep or not. Just like that book didn’t care, either. Thanks to a deranged Lizbeth on a book bender, I’d fallen face-first into this romance novel and forgotten to buy groceries yesterday. My alarm erupted twenty minutes late, so I barely managed to stumble into work on time. The whole smeared-mascara-messy-bun appearance had to cut it today. Still felt totally worth it.
The book wasthatgood.
I spun around and eyed the waiting novel. The cover had frayed edges, well-loved from use. No doubt, Lizbeth had conned other people into reading it, too.Life is a Freaking Dream.What a weird title. The second book,Love is a Terrible Nightmarefelt far more apropos. It waited in my purse at the very, verrrry bottom where I could ignore it a little easier. Not much easier, just a little bit.
But what an amazing book the first one has been,sang my inner voice. The one that I occasionally spoke to out loud and deeply confused people that heard me. I mentally hushed her now. She always got in my way.
“Romance doesn’t have a place in our life right now,”I replied. “We’re recovering from the break with Jakob and can’t be trusted to jump into anything like Amalia and Rodrigo.”
Inner Me rolled her eyes.We’ve been “recovering from the break up” for the last six months. How long do you need?
I ignored thatandher metaphorical air quotes. The only other thing to think about was the book that I hated to love. Or the new fire outside, but I definitely didn’t want to think about that.
Two days ago, I—very stupidly—confessed to Lizbeth that I’d never picked up a romance novel before. Within an hour, she brought twenty romance novels into the store.
“Take this series as a strongsuggestion for you to get started in the romance genre, Dahlia,” she’d said.
“What does that even mean?” I’d mumbled.
She glared at me. “It means you’re going to read all twenty novels because they’re that good. Try me. If you aren’t totally addicted by the end of the first book, I’ll take them all back. But, c’mon. We aren’t cave people here. We recognize romance as a powerful force in this world, so get reading already. Jess will change. your. life.”
I’d cracked a tolerant smile that slowly deflated, like a dying balloon, when I realized she was serious.
“No one knows who Jess is.” She’d prattled as she hoisted all twenty books past her pregnant belly, then placed them in straight, stackable lines. “Jess is brilliant. She doesn’t write with a last name, never appears anywhere in person, and almost tops the romance charts with every launch. She cameso closeto number one last time.” Lizbeth pretended to faint. “I’m holding out for the next one. She has twenty novels in one series and I’ve made it through the first eight for the tenth time in the last four days. Start at the beginning withLife is a Freaking Dream.”
In the present, I pulled myself out of my thoughts and eyed the book warily. In all fairness, at leastLife is a Freaking Dreamdidn’t have a cover with giant, heaving bosoms and a man with a chest so chiseled it looked like a painted sculpture. The subtle, text-based font had stylistic scrollwork that was a mixture of contemporary and ancient which drew my attention. The whimsical, yet masculine feel made me want to snuggle it.
Lizbeth had been right, darn her.
Life is a Freaking Dreamwas a fabulous first book. When I finally collapsed to sleep at three in the morning, I desperately wanted to keep reading but couldn’t keep my eyes open. Now that an opportunity to read had presented itself, I wasn’t sure it would be wise to pick it up. No work would get done and I’d dissolve into a puddle all day.
“What,” I murmured with a frown, “am I going to do with you?”
The sweet, endearing moments of the book still had my heart. When Rodrigo reallysawAmalia. When their love was just budding and everything felt fresh and new and exciting. A touch on the small of the back. An unexpected smile. The terrifying wait of a kiss. I’d once had that with Jakob.
For sure.
