Page 8 of Embers in Autumn
I sat across from her, taking my own piece, and for a while the only sound was chewing and the faint creak of the old house settling around us.
Then she launched into it, as she always did—every ounce of school gossip pouring out between bites of pizza. Who liked who, who got detention for passing notes, how her math teacher wore mismatched socks, and how someone’s older brother was suspended for pulling the fire alarm as a prank.
Her hands flew as she talked, eyes shining, her voice running a mile a minute.
And I just sat back, listening, nodding, pretending like every detail was the most important news in the world.
Because for her, it was.
And for me, hearing her laugh was better than any quiet night I could ask for.
“Dad?” Lana wiped her mouth on a napkin, a little sauce smudged on her chin. “What about your day? Anything… exciting?”
I hesitated, leaning back in my chair. Exciting wasn’t the word I’d use. Smoke. Heat. A man clutching his dog like it was a child. But those weren’t the details she needed to carry.
“Busy,” I said instead, keeping my voice even. “Couple of calls. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Her brow furrowed, just a flicker, and I knew she was trying to read between the lines. She always did.
“You’re okay, though?” she asked, quieter now.
My chest tightened. She’d lost her mother before she even knew what it meant to have one. I’d be damned if I let her grow up carrying the fear of losing me too.
“Yeah, bug,” I said, reaching over to tap the end of her nose. “I’m fine. Always fine.”
She grinned again, but I saw the way she tucked that reassurance away like she was saving it for later.
When the plates were empty and the box reduced to greasy cardboard, I stood to toss it. That’s when I spotted the paper bag on the counter. A folded flyer sat beside it, orange and black, a cartoon pumpkin grinning up at me.
“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.
“Oh.” Lana reached for her drink, trying to sound casual. “It was in the bag from the bookstore. Some Halloween thing for kids.”
I scanned it quickly—costume contest, activities, candy, book prizes. For ages up to fourteen.
“Sounds fun,” I said, sliding it back onto the counter. “You should go.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, keeping my tone light, “it might be good to meet some other kids who like books as much as you. You’ve got the school crowd, sure, but this… this is different. These kids would get it. Plus…” I tapped the line at the bottom of the flyer. “Book prizes for best costumes. You could clean up.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re such a dad.”
“Guilty.”
I didn’t add the other thought—buried, quiet. That I wouldn’t exactly mind stepping into that bookstore again myself.
The cinnamon, the shelves, the soft glow. And the woman behind the counter who looked at me like I wasn’t just another man burned down to ash by life.
CHAPTER 3
Amber
My Sunday mornings always belonged to the farmers’ market.
I tugged my knit hat a little lower over my ears, the chill dampness of early fog clinging to my coat. The streets were quiet, cobblestones slick and shining, and for once I didn’t mind walking. One of the best things about living here was that I didn’t need a car. Not anymore.
Back in the city, with Mark, I drove everywhere—office, grocery store, endless errands—but when I left, I sold the car. Every dollar went into the bookstore. My fresh start. And here? In this town? I could walk to almost everything that mattered. When I couldn’t, or when the weather turned bitter, there was always the little shuttle bus that made its loop every hour.
