Page 66 of Embers in Autumn
She wasn’t wrong. My pulse was pounding, my mind already replaying the way she’d looked spread out in my bed, the sound of her voice begging me not to stop.
Dean:You’re lucky I can’t leave right now.
Amber:Lucky? Or smart?
I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head as the truck bay echoed faintly around me.
Dean:Keep this up, and tomorrow night I won’t let you out of bed long enough to get to that concert.
Her typing paused, then came back with one last hit:
Amber:Promise?
Fuck.I pocketed the phone before I did something stupid, like clock out early.
CHAPTER 20
Amber
By late afternoon, the shop felt like it was humming with my nerves. Every time the bell above the door rang, I glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until I could close. The thought of tonight fluttered through me like restless wings, impossible to still.
At four o’clock sharp—an hour earlier than usual—I flipped the sign to *Closed* and pulled the shades down. My hands trembled just slightly as I locked the door behind me. Not out of fear this time. Out of anticipation.
Upstairs, I laid out the dress I’d been saving for something special. Deep emerald green, cut to skim my curves without clinging, the fabric soft and fluid as water. When I slipped it on, it whispered against my skin, the neckline modest but the open back daring enough to make my pulse race.
From the little velvet box on my dresser, I took out the earrings that had once belonged to my grandmother. Delicate drops of gold, each one set with a tiny pearl. I remembered watching her fasten them in her ears on Sunday mornings, the quiet elegance of her movements, and suddenly I felt like she was with me in the mirror, steadying my hands.
I twisted my chestnut hair into a soft chignon at the nape of my neck, leaving a few tendrils loose to brush my collarbone. My makeup stayed light—just a sweep of eyeliner, a touch of blush, and a soft rose gloss that made me look alive without trying too hard.
When I finally stepped back from the mirror, my breathcaught. I hardly recognized the woman looking back at me—elegant, composed, but with something bright in her eyes that hadn’t been there for years. Hope, maybe. Excitement.
I wore my black heels, tucked a small clutch under my arm, and stood at the top of the stairs. The bookstore below was dark and silent, the faint smell of old pages and cinnamon candles still clinging in the air.
I slipped into my coat and tugged the belt snug around my waist. My heart thudded louder with each step, the kind of nervous drumbeat that made me feel like I was sixteen again and about to sneak out for a first date.
Dean was waiting just outside the bookstore door, leaning casually against his truck. And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
He wasn’t in his uniform tonight. He was in a tailored charcoal suit that hugged his shoulders in ways that made it impossible to think straight. A crisp white shirt, open just enough at the collar to show a hint of tan skin, and polished black shoes that gleamed under the streetlight. His dark hair was neatly combed, though a stubborn lock still fell across his forehead.
God help me, he was devastating like this. The uniform was hot—of course it was—but this… this was eleven times hotter. This was Dean made for the world outside fire trucks and smoke, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
His eyes found mine instantly, and his mouth curved into that smile—the one that always made my chest ache a little. He stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, not rushed, just enough to make my knees weaken.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and then, like it was second nature, he opened the passenger door for me, his hand steady as he helped me in.
The gentleman in him always caught me off guard.
Once he was behind the wheel, the engine humming beneath us, he glanced at me with a sheepish grin. “I hope I don’t make a fool of myself. I’ve never been to a fancy concert before.”
I smiled, easing a little at the honesty in his voice. “Neither have I. I went to a few theater plays when I lived in the city, but never something like this. Hopefully it’s not too different.”
“Plays, huh?” he said as he turned onto the main road. “Guess that makes you the cultured one tonight. You’ll have to help me out if I start clapping at the wrong time.”
I laughed, the nervous flutter in my stomach softening into warmth. “Deal. But only if you promise not to snore if the music goes on too long.”
His grin widened as the headlights swept over the road ahead. “No promises,book girl.”
The building came into view as Dean pulled into the lot, headlights cutting across two weathered stone statues that flanked the grand entrance. They were angels, their faces softened by time and rain, wings stretched toward the sky. The hall itself wasn’t as massive as the theaters I’d visited in the city, but for Maplewood Harbor it was nothing short of breathtaking.
