Page 50 of Hot Knot Summer
“Ex,” I admit, then immediately regret it when his expression shifts to something unreadable. “He’s demanding the return of his bag, the one that’s now a pile of designer ash in the burned-down cabin.”
“He doesn’t know about the fire?” Atlas pulls away from the curb, his large hands confident on the steering wheel. We turn onto the main street, which is already full of cars and people.
“He does now.” I stare out the window at the bustling town.
“Still thinking about him? The ex who had you stabbing your phone with murderous thumbs moments earlier,” Atlas asks.
I tear my gaze from the window and the decorations of the Summer Festival that’s overtaken Whispering Grove. “I wasn’t—” I stop myself. No point denying it. “He has a way of burrowing under my skin, even from hundreds of miles away.”
Atlas’s hands flex on the steering wheel, the movement subtle but impossible to miss. “Some men think the world owes them something. That biology makes them entitled to whatever they want.” He glances over. “I’ll be the first to admit our kind can be absolute pricks.”
“Understatement of the century,” I mutter.
“If you ever need someone to put him in hisplace...” The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished but crystal clear.
I study his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. “Are you offering to be my personal bodyguard, Fire Chief?”
A half-smile plays at his lips, softening the edge of whatever emotion had momentarily darkened his features. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of someone making you look at your phone like it personally betrayed you.”
“That’s dangerously close to protective Alpha behavior,” I tease, though something warm flutters in my chest.
“Guilty as charged.” He slows as we pass through the center of town, where a group of volunteers is hoisting an enormous banner across Main Street. “Though I suspect you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself.”
“You’d be right. I once shattered a guy’s windshield with a baseball bat after he spread rumors about me.” I pause. “I’ve matured since then.”
His laugh is unexpectedly deep and genuine. “Remind me to keep all sporting equipment away from you when I’m on your bad side.”
“Bold of you to assume I need equipment to cause damage,” I counter.
“Hey, but seriously,” he says, voice gentler. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I brush it off automatically, then reconsider. “Actually, I’m not sure. Not really. I feel like I’m drowning in a way, and last night in my dream, I kept hearing this cracking sound… you know, right before the roof started to collapse when the cabin was on fire? It’s like it’s stuck in my head on repeat.”
He nods, understanding without pity. “That’s normal. The brain doesn’t just let go of trauma, especially the sensory impressions.”
“Is that your professional firefighter opinion?”
“That, and personal experience.” He falls silent for a moment, negotiating a tricky turn as we begin to climb into the foothills, leaving the town behind. “After my first big fire, I couldn’t wash the smell out of my nose for weeks. Thought I was going crazy.”
I study his face, the way the morning light carves shadows beneath his cheekbones. God, this man is crazy handsome, but I school myself.
“How did you make it stop?”
“I didn’t, exactly.” His voice drops lower, more intimate somehow. “You just make room for it. Acknowledge it. Eventually, it becomes a part of you instead of something consuming you.”
Silence falls between us as I digest his words. The truck climbs higher into the mountains, and I watch as the town recedes in the side mirror, the buildings growing smaller until they’re just a colorful speck in the valley below.
“Your town really goes all out for this festival,” I comment, thinking of the decorations and the buzz ofexcited energy that seemed to permeate the streets. “The taxi driver wouldn’t stop talking about it when he brought me to the cabin.”
Atlas smiles. “It’s the one time of year we’re actually on the map. Tourism keeps half the businesses afloat.”
“We don’t have anything like that back in Moonshell Bay. Small town but none of the charm.”
“Heard it’s a beautiful town.”
“Mostly,” I admit. “After my parents died, so much still reminds me of them. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but it’s also heartbreaking.” The words escape before I can catch them, and I mentally curse my runaway mouth.
“How long ago?”
