Page 67 of Embers in Autumn
I’d passed by it a handful of times before, always slowing my steps to admire the arching windows and the intricate carvings along the cornices. But now, stepping through the tall wooden doors at Dean’s side, I finally got to see the inside.
And it stole my breath.
The lobby stretched high, with chandeliers dripping crystal light down onto marble floors that gleamed like water. Tall columns lined the sides, and carved moldings framed the balconies above, where velvet drapes hung rich and red. The faint scent of polished wood and old stone mixed with something floral, like perfume clinging to the air.
Dean’s hand brushed mine as we walked, his warmth grounding me as my eyes drank it all in. I felt like a child again,staring wide-eyed at something too grand to touch.
“You came?”
The voice was familiar, and when I turned, there she was.
Alexandra Fairchild.
She looked even more stunning than she had that rainy day in my bookstore. Her dark hair fell in sleek waves over her shoulders, her makeup soft but precise, accentuating the striking green of her eyes. She wore a floor-length gown of deep sapphire that shimmered with each movement, and a delicate necklace sparkled at her throat.
Beside her stood her husband—the mayor. His presence filled the space even more than the marble columns. Tall, broad, his suit tailored to perfection. He smiled politely, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Amber,” Alexandra said warmly, stepping forward to touch my hand. “I’m so glad you made it.”
Before I could reply, her husband turned his gaze on Dean, brow furrowing. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Dean straightened, polite but firm. “Two months ago, when we got the new state-of-the-art firetruck. You came by the station with the press.”
Recognition lit in the man’s eyes. “Ah, right, right. Good to see you again.”
They fell into small talk—something about the safety demonstration, the logistics of equipment—while Alexandra leaned a little closer to me. Her perfume, something expensive and floral, lingered in the air between us.
“I wanted to thank you,” I said softly, smiling. “For the tickets. It was such a kind surprise.”
She waved a delicate hand. “It was nothing. I thought you might enjoy it.”
“I really am,” I said, glancing around the magnificent hall. “Maybe when you have the time, you can stop by the bookstoreagain. For coffee. Preferably when it’s not raining.”
That earned me the faintest laugh, her lips curving just so. There was something in her smile, though—something poised, elegant, but tinged with sadness, like a shadow she carried behind her perfect exterior.
Dean glanced back at me, his eyes warm, as if checking I was comfortable. And in that grand, glittering lobby, I realized I was.
An usher in a perfectly pressed uniform approached with a slight bow. “Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild, this way please.”
Alexandra offered me an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I couldn’t get you tickets near us. But—” She paused, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “You and your gentleman have your own private box at the end of the hall. I hope you don’t mind.”
Dean and I exchanged a look—half surprised, half amused—and followed another usher across the lobby. The hall opened before us in sweeping grandeur, velvet drapes pulled back to reveal the main room. The ceiling arched impossibly high, painted with faded murals of angels and stars, while gilded sconces along the walls flickered with golden light. Rows of red velvet seats stretched across the floor, already filling with patrons in their best suits and gowns.
Our usher led us up a narrow stairwell, past a row of polished doors, and into a private box draped with heavy curtains. A pair of chairs waited, cushioned and carved with dark wood, overlooking the stage below. A small table stood between them, where two tall flutes of champagne glistened on a silver tray.
Dean let out a low whistle. “Not bad,book girl.”
I smiled, smoothing my dress as I sank into my seat. The view stretched out like something from a dream—the orchestra assembling below, musicians tuning their instruments, the faint hum of strings and woodwinds threading through the murmur of the crowd.
Dean took the chair beside me, the seat close enough that the heat of him curled into me even through the crisp fabric of his suit. He lifted his glass, his grin crooked.
“To new experiences.”
I clinked mine against his, the delicate chime lost beneath the swell of sound from the stage. “To new experiences,” I echoed, taking a sip. The bubbles fizzed across my tongue, crisp and bright, the perfect prelude to what unfolded before us.
The chandeliers dimmed slowly, casting the hall in a warm hush. The murmur of conversation softened into silence as the conductor strode onto the stage, bowing slightly.
Then the first notes rose, deep and resonant from the cellos, joined by violins in a slow cascade of sound. The music filled the air like water spilling through every corner of the hall, wrapping around me, lifting every hair on my arms. Dean leaned forward slightly, his eyes wide, and though he’d never set foot in a place like this before, he looked just as captivated as I felt.
