Page 14 of Embers in Autumn
I dropped my hands from my face, my cheeks burning, my eyes swollen. He was still watching me with that same cold fury, like I was an inconvenience, a nuisance.
“Look at you,” he spat. “You wonder why I don’t want to come home? This. This is why. You make everything miserable.”
I couldn’t breathe. The room felt smaller, the rain louder.My whole body shook. Somewhere deep down, a part of me knew he’d already given me the answer I feared. Maybe not with an admission, but with his cruelty. If there had been love left in him, he wouldn’t have left me standing there with nothing but my grandmother’s ghost to comfort me.
The memory clung so hard I didn’t realize I was clutching the shelf in the shop until I blinked and the present swam back into focus. The storm outside roared on, but now it was only water on glass. Not the soundtrack of a life falling apart.
I released the shelf slowly, my fingers aching. My chest still hurt with the ghost of that night. The shame, the helplessness, the way I had begged for scraps of kindness.
Maybe it was better that I hadn’t asked Dean for his number. Better that I didn’t have a way to reach him. Because what if I let myself hope again and it all ended the same way? What if I made the same mistake twice?
I pressed a hand to my chest and took a long, steady breath. The shop smelled like cinnamon and paper, safe and familiar. But inside, I felt like a woman still learning how to walk barefoot across broken glass.
Maybe I wasn’t ready.
Maybe I would never be ready.
And yet, even as I told myself that, the image of Dean’s warm smile surfaced anyway.
The rain thundered so hard against the windows that for a moment I thought the world outside had disappeared completely. I was still leaning on the shelf, shaking free of the memory that had gutted me, when the bell above the door chimed.
A woman swept in, pulling the storm with her.
She looked to be in her thirties, tall, her long dark hair plastered in damp waves against her coat. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she closed the door quickly behindher, breath catching like she’d run through the downpour. Her perfume reached me even before her voice—something expensive, layered with jasmine and musk, rich enough to linger in the air and cut through the smell of rain.
The makeup she wore was soft but commanding, a kind of art that said she had learned from the best. The rain had smudged the liner around her luminous green eyes, but it only made her look more striking, like a painting blurred by tears. A delicate necklace glimmered at her throat, and when she pushed back her hair I noticed the flash of a wedding ring catching the light. Her purse was sleek, leather, structured. The kind of piece that whispered old money without needing to raise its voice.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, her tone polite but controlled, as if she wasn’t used to apologizing at all. “I hope it’s not a problem. I just needed somewhere dry for a moment.”
“Of course, please.” I stepped out from behind the counter, automatically slipping into hostess mode. “You can set your things there. Let me grab you a towel.”
I hurried upstairs and found one of the softer ones in the linen closet. When I came back down, she was standing near the counter, her purse perched carefully on a stool.
“Here,” I said, holding it out.
She took it with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I was foolish enough to think I could make it home before the sky collapsed. I’d just had my nails done, and halfway down the street the wind snapped my umbrella. To make matters worse, my phone battery died. Truly, it’s been one of those days.”
Her voice was smooth, refined, carrying that faint lilt of someone who had grown up with lessons in posture and poise. She dabbed carefully at her face and hair, preserving what makeup had survived the storm.
“I’m sorry you were caught in it,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Let me make you a coffee—it’ll helpwarm you up.”
“That would be wonderful.” She exhaled, the faintest tremor in it, then offered me her hand. “I’m Alexandra. Alexandra Fairchild.”
Fairchild. The name rang faintly in my head, like a bell struck in another room. I couldn’t place it, but it carried weight.
“I’m Amber,” I said, shaking her hand before slipping behind the counter to start the coffee. The grinder hummed, filling the silence with its steady buzz.
As the scent of fresh grounds rose, Alexandra tucked the towel neatly over her shoulders and glanced around the shop. “This is a lovely place. I can’t believe I’ve never stepped in before.”
“Most people wait for rainy days to come looking for a book,” I said lightly. “I suppose I should thank the weather.”
She smiled at that, but it was a practiced smile. One of those expressions that looked flawless yet somehow kept the real woman beneath it hidden.
When the coffee was ready, I poured it into a clean mug and slid it across the counter. She wrapped her manicured fingers around it and let out a quiet sound of relief.
“Would you like to call someone?” I asked gently. “I can unplug my phone charger for you.”
Her green eyes softened. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
