Page 40 of Embers in Autumn
After the last round of the game, Lana jumped up and tugged at my hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
I followed her up the stairs, the soft creak of wood under oursteps, until she pushed open the door to her room. It was tidy but lived-in, the walls dotted with posters and shelves lined with books. Not just random ones, but carefully arranged—some with sprayed edges, others stacked in little rainbow patterns.
“This is my library,” she said proudly, spreading her arms like she’d just unveiled a treasure hoard.
I stepped closer, running my fingers lightly along a row of spines. “You’ve got some really nice editions here,” I said, spotting a hardcover with a shimmering sprayed edge. “This one’s gorgeous.”
Her grin widened. “Dad doesn’t get why it matters, but they look so cool. Some of them are limited runs, too.”
“Trust me, I get it,” I said. “A special edition is like… a book lover’s crown jewel.”
We went through a few of her favorites, Lana animated as she pulled down copies and told me what she liked about each. It was like looking into a younger version of myself, the same enthusiasm, the same hunger for stories.
“So, at the Halloween party,” she said suddenly, flopping onto her bed. “You’re really doing book prizes for costumes?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I already set aside a stack for winners. Did you think of a costume yet?”
Her face scrunched into a pout. “I wanted to go as Rumi from K-Pop Demon Hunters, but Dad said no.”
“Why no?” I asked gently.
“Because he is old and said the skirt is too short,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I said it's not a skirt there're shorts.Shortsare suppose to beshort! She’s a demon hunter, not a librarian.”
“He might have a point. It is cold in October.”
She huffed, falling back against her pillows. “So now I have to go as something boring.”
“What about Katniss?” I suggested. “The Hunger Games. Strong, fierce, still iconic.”
Her eyes lit just a little. “Katniss would be cool… but Dad can’t braid hair to save his life, and Aunt Claire works late that night.”
“That’s easy,” I said. “Come to the bookstore a little earlier before the party. I’ll do the braid for you.”
Her whole face lit up. “Really?”
“Really,” I promised.
That smile of hers hit me right in the chest. She looked so much like Dean when she smiled with her whole face like that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. Turning my head, I saw Dean leaning in the doorway, shoulder against the frame, arms crossed. His expression was soft, almost unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—warmth, maybe a little awe—that sent a flutter racing through me.
I pretended to focus back on Lana’s bookshelf, but I felt that gaze linger on me like a touch, steady and grounding, as if he was memorizing this small, ordinary moment and tucking it away somewhere safe.
Dean’s voice finally broke the quiet, gentle but firm. “Alright, kiddo. Almost time for bed. You’ve got school in the morning.”
Lana groaned but didn’t argue, rolling off the bed and hugging the fantasy novel I’d given her. “Fine,” she muttered, though her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Dean glanced at me apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I can’t take you home tonight. Lana gets spooked if I leave her in the house alone after dark.”
Before I could answer, Lana piped up, “I don’t get spooked. I just don’t like creaky noises.”
“That’s alright. I understand completely.”
Dean’s relief flickered across his face, subtle but real. He walked me downstairs, the house settling into its nighttime hush. The lights were softer, the smell of dinner still clinging inthe air. My chest tightened at how easy it all felt, like slipping into a rhythm I hadn’t known I’d missed.
Outside, the taxi headlights cut across the driveway. Dean opened the door for me, the cool night air wrapping around us.
“I’m free in the morning,” he said, his voice lower now, almost testing the words. “Maybe I’ll stop by the bookstore for coffee.”
