Page 54 of Embers in Autumn
That earned me a blink. “Since when do you need a recipe? You’ve been living on caned goods and pasta for years.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I was thinking roast dinner. Something good.”
Her lips twitched, the kind of smile that was already halfway to a smirk. “Roast dinner? That’s… ambitious. What’s the occasion?”
Before I could answer, footsteps thudded on the stairs. Lana appeared, hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks still flushed from playing with her cousins. She froze on the landing, eyes darting between me and her aunt.
“He’s got a date tonight,” she blurted, grinning like she’d just revealed state secrets.
Sarah’s eyes lit up as she turned back to me. “Oh, now this makes sense.”
I groaned. “Perfect timing, Lana. Really.”
She shrugged, all innocence, though the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “What? You do.”
Sarah crossed her arms, already looking far too pleased. “Alright then. Roast dinner it is. Let’s make sure you don’t scare her off with burnt potatoes.”
I shook my head, though I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my mouth. Between my sister’s knowing grin and my daughter’s teasing, it was clear—tonight wasn’t going to stay a secret for long.
Back home, I rolled up my sleeves and stared down the ingredients my sister had sent me off with—potatoes, carrots, herbs tied in a neat little bundle, and a cut of beef that looked far more expensive than anything I usually bought. Sarah had given me step-by-step instructions and strict warnings about overcooking.
Still, my kitchen wasn’t exactly the set of a cooking show.Pots clanged, steam hissed, and at one point I swore the potatoes were staging a rebellion. I double-checked the oven temperature three times, set timers on my phone, and muttered under my breath like that would keep everything in line.
The smell, though, began to ease my nerves. Garlic, rosemary, roasted meat—the whole place slowly filled with it, warm and inviting. It smelled like home.
By the time the knock came at the door, the table was set, candles lit—not real ones, I wasn’t taking that chance—and the food was resting on the counter like it knew I needed all the help I could get.
I wiped my hands on a towel, suddenly aware of how fast my heart was thudding.
When I opened the door, the words I’d meant to say died in my throat.
Amber stood there in a dress the color of deep wine, long sleeves that clung to her arms and a skirt that brushed just above her knees. Her chestnut hair spilled loose beneath a small felt hat, tilted to one side with the kind of old-fashioned charm that made her look like she’d stepped straight out of a storybook. Her cheeks were pink from the chill, her eyes bright, and for a second I just… looked.
“Wow,” I managed, my voice rough. “You look—”
“Like I got lost on the way to a jazz club in the 1940s?” she teased, adjusting the brim of her hat.
“Like you’re going to make me forget what I cooked,” I said honestly.
Her laugh was soft, and it settled in my chest like something I didn’t know I’d been missing. The smell of dinner drifted out, and she tilted her head curiously.
“Is that… what is that, it smells delicious?”
I stepped aside, holding the door open. “That’s me trying not to embarrass myself.”
She walked in, the faint click of her boots on the floor, and my house felt warmer just with her in it.
The roast turned out better than I expected. Juicy, tender, and not even close to burned. Amber made the kind of appreciative sound that made all the stress and sweat worth it, and I tried to play it cool even as my chest swelled with relief. We ate slowly, the table warm with the glow of the candles, conversation slipping easy between us.
We talked about our days. She told me about a picky customer at the shop who’d spent twenty minutes debating the merits of Agatha Christie versus contemporary crime novels, and I told her about visiting Mike at the hospital and how miserable he looked under nurse supervision. Her laugh warmed the air, and for a while it felt like we’d been doing this forever.
When she asked about my shift the night before, I gave her the edited version. Fire, long night, Mike laid up in the hospital. I didn’t tell her how close it had come to spreading, or how my heart had nearly stopped when the wall came down. She didn’t need that weight tonight.
Somewhere between the last bite of potatoes and the first sip of wine, I felt the words pressing in my throat. Heavy, insistent. My hand tightened on my glass.
“Amber,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant.
Her hazel eyes lifted to mine. “Hmm?”
