Page 50 of Embers in Autumn
Dean: Batteries? No need for that. I can be at your place in 20 minutes.
I choked on toothpaste foam, laughing so hard I had to lean against the sink.
Amber: Notthat, you filthy man. For the Halloween candles I ordered online. They didn’t come with batteries.
Dean: …so you’re switching to electric candles now? After all those perfumed ones you’re addicted to?
I rinsed my mouth, grinning into the mirror.
Amber: Yeah, well, apparently the downside to dating a fireman is he won’t let me light real candles in my bookstore anymore.
Dean: You forgot the upside. I’m great at carrying you away from danger.
Amber: You’re not funny.
Dean: I’m hilarious.
I laughed, tucking my phone between shoulder and ear as I pulled a brush through my hair. Every message left me lighter, a little giddier, like the last few years hadn’t left scars at all.
Amber: Are you coming tonight?
The reply came after a beat.
Dean: Yeah. I’m going to crash for a few hours, then pick up Lana from school. We’ll swing by around six when the party starts.
Amber: Make it 5:45. I promised Lana I’d do her braid. Now, go get some sleep.
I could almost hear his laugh in the way the typing dots blinked and disappeared.
Dean: Bossy. I like it.
I grinned, setting my phone down as I slipped on my boots.
By eight-thirty I was already frustrated. The little shop down the street didn’t have the batteries I needed for the new Halloween candles. The clerk offered me gum instead, which only made me want to bite my own tongue. That meant the supermarket—across town, of course—where I finally found the right size pack after scouring three aisles that smelled faintly of bleach and oranges.
With the batteries stuffed in my purse, I swung by the bakery to pick up the Halloween cupcakes I’d ordered. Theboxes were stacked precariously in my arms, little ghosts and pumpkins iced in cheerful orange and white. By the time I made it back to the bookstore, it was 9:15, my arms aching and my patience thinner than tissue paper.
And there was Carol. Waiting primly at the door, umbrella folded neatly at her side, pearls sitting perfectly at her throat.
“You are late,” she announced the moment she saw me. “Young people these days are lazy. Back in my day we—”
“—discovered the wheel?” I cut in as I juggled the cupcake boxes, fumbling for my keys. “Played fetch with mammoths? Dated Tutankhamun?”
Carol’s eyes narrowed, the corners of her lips twitching despite her best efforts. She followed me inside as I shouldered the door open and dropped the boxes on the counter with a sigh of relief.
“Well, now that you mentioned it,” she said, her voice as polished as cut glass, “do you have anything with Egyptian gods?”
I shot her a look as I peeled off my coat. “Why? You dated one of them back in your day and feel the need to reminisce?”
Her laugh rang out, bright and unbothered, the kind of laugh that always made me smile even when I tried not to. She trailed after me toward the shelves like she owned the place, still muttering about how the youth of today couldn’t tell Horus from Osiris.
By late morning, I finally had the last of the Halloween decorations out of their boxes. Paper bats clung to the walls, a string of little pumpkin lights dangled across the front window, and the new candles—finally powered with fresh batteries—glowed cheerfully from the center display.
Carol perched in her usual chair near the counter, gloves folded neatly in her lap, watching me fuss with the last stubborn set of decorations. Her sharp blue eyes missed nothing.
“So,” she said in that deceptively casual tone of hers, “how is it going with the handsome fireman who stopped by last week?”
I tried for nonchalance, adjusting the angle of a plastic skeleton on the shelf. “It’s great. We had dinner, and… some coffee together.”
