Page 59 of Embers in Autumn
Instead, he crossed the room in a few easy strides, heat radiating off him as he came up behind me. His hands slid around my waist, firm and certain, pulling me back against him.
Before I could speak, before I could explain or stumble through some excuse, his mouth was on mine.The kiss was nothing like last night’s hunger. It was steady, certain, tender in a way that unraveled me more than the filthiest words ever could. His lips claimed mine with a quiet kind of urgency, avow without sound. I melted into him, the spatula forgotten, the skillet sizzling behind us as the kiss deepened.
And in that moment, I understood—he wasn’t asking me why I’d nearly left. He wasn’t holding it against me. He was just telling me, in the only way he knew how, that I was still wanted here.
The bacon sizzled too long in the pan, and I nearly forgot about it entirely until Dean rescued the strips onto a plate with surprising grace for a man who usually worked with fire hoses, not frying pans. We sat at his little kitchen table, the sunlight spilling in through the curtains, warm and golden.
For a moment, it felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s life—someone who woke up with their heart steady instead of afraid.
Dean poured me coffee before he even fixed his own plate, setting the mug in front of me with that easy smile of his. It was such a small thing, but it hit me harder than I expected. No man had ever done that for me before—no one had ever made me feel like my place at the table was something to be prepared for, like I belonged there.
I stirred a little sugar into the mug, biting back the sting of sudden tears. When I looked up, he was watching me again, but softer this time, like he could see every thought running through my head and wanted to take the weight from all of them.
“You know,” he said, spearing a piece of toast, “you’re a bit clingy.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I just invited you for dinner, Amber. Not breakfast too.”
For a heartbeat I just stared at him, then the laugh broke out of me, full and free, spilling into the room. I pressed a hand to my mouth but couldn’t stop, shaking my head as the sound filled every corner of the kitchen.
I’d been ready to sneak out the door like a thief, and here he was, teasing me, making me laugh until my ribs ached. Reversing the fear into something light, something sweet.
When I finally caught my breath, I met his eyes again. He wasn’t smirking anymore—he was just smiling, warm and steady, like he was glad I’d stayed.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, my cheeks still pink.
“Maybe,” he said, reaching across the table to brush his thumb over my knuckles. “But I like seeing you laugh first thing in the morning.”
I curled my fingers around his, holding on, and for the first time in years, the thought of staying didn’t scare me at all.
CHAPTER 18
Amber
The bell over the shop door jingled as I arranged a stack of new arrivals on the front display, but I barely looked up at first. My mind had been restless all morning, stuck in the same loop I’d been circling since that night at Dean’s.
And the morning I nearly walked out.
I still wasn’t sure what stopped me. Fear? Guilt? Or maybe, deep down, the tiniest, most fragile hope that this time wouldn’t be like the last. But that thought scared me more than anything, because what if I was wrong?
Dean wasn’t Mark. He was nothing like him. Dean was steady, gentle when I needed it, rough when I craved it, the kind of man who showed up without being asked. Still, every time he looked at me with those warm eyes, every time he kissed me like I was the only woman in the world, the questions came back.
Where was this going? What if I wasn’t strong enough to give him what he deserved? What if, this time, I was the one who broke someone?
I shook the thoughts off as the door chimed again and the sound of voices filled the shop.
“Amber?”
I glanced up—and blinked. Lana was there, her long hair damp from the drizzle outside, a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t alone. Two girls hovered behind her, whispering and giggling, and three boys followed, taller and louder, all of them about her age.
“Hi!” Lana said brightly, already heading toward theshelves. “I told them this is the best place in town to find something for our project.”
A warmth spread through me before I could stop it. I smiled, setting the books aside. “Well, in that case, you’ve come to the right place. What’s the project?”
One of the boys answered, his voice cracking slightly. “History. We’re supposed to do something about traditions around autumn. Like harvest festivals and stuff.”
“Oh, I can help with that,” I said, heading toward the nonfiction section. “Folklore, customs, even some mythology if you want it to stand out.”
