Page 5 of Bonfire with Beckett
I ignore him and weave my way through the chairs, nodding at a few townsfolk as I make my way.
The corridor smells like bleach and chalk. Willa stands with one hand braced on the cinderblock wall, the other strangling her note cards. She takes a shaky breath.
“Willa.”
She turns, eyes bright, jaw set. “If you came to enjoy the sound of my dreams cracking, you must have missed it happening on stage.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, surprising myself. “But I have to keep the town safe.”
Her mouth twists. “So I gathered.”
She looks me over the way I looked at her—boots, shirt, scar on my hand. She doesn’t like me. She also isn’t immune to whatever is sizzling between us. I catch it in the way her gaze lingers a fraction too long on my forearms.
“I know safety matters,” she says tightly. “I’m not trying to be reckless.”
“And I’m not trying to be cruel.” I scratch the whiskers on my jaw. “I’m trying to stop something before it starts.”
“At the expense of this.” She waves a card. “It’s not just an event. It’s my—” Her throat works. “It’s my mom. Elaine Martin was the kindest woman who ever lived.”
The word slams into me. “Your mom was Mrs. Martin?”
Her brow relaxes. “You knew her?”
“Knew her?” I huff out a laugh. “She was my favorite teacher in third and fourth grade.”
She also sent letters me when I enlisted. Care packages while I was on deployment. Peanut butter cookies I had to hide from a hundred grown men.
She emailed me often when I got certified for smokejumping and stopped by my office when I returned home a few years back.
My throat clenches for a moment and I clear it. “She once asked if I knew the difference between fear and caution.”
Willa tilts her head “What did you say?”
“That fear freezes you. Caution moves you smart. She told me I was ready then.”
“She would’ve loved that you remembered,” Willa whispers.
“How could I not?” I drag a hand over my beard. Then steady myself. “Look. About the bonfire.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes?”
“The answer can’t be yes right now. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be yes ever.”
Her hope is immediate—and dangerous.
I temper it.
“We track the weather for two weeks. Hard. We go by the data, not vibes. If humidity rises, winds stay under ten, gusts minimal… well, we can move forward.”
She nods so fast the cards bounce. “I can do that.”
“Good. Containment too. No pit with stones and prayers. We fabricate a steel ring, fifty feet clear. Portable water tanks, charged hoses.”
“Yes.” She steps closer, vanilla clinging to her skin.
“You and every volunteer complete a safety workshop. Hose handling, fire blankets, communications. Perimeter stays marked. Nobody crosses it. Not even for extra marshmallows.”
Her mouth twitches. “You’re funny for a man who just torched my plans.”
