Page 33 of Burning Hearts
He drifted off to talk to a grandmother like she was a celebrity.
By nine, the Commons had started to buzz. Strollers, dogs, and a pair of women who posed in front of the sponsor wall. Wick & Wax staged a battery-candle demo that smelled of vanilla and good intentions. Brickyard rolled out a board with a future brewery drawn on it in lines that hoped.
I routed one last cable under the booth skirt and scraped my knuckle on the A-frame hinge. Sharp sting, quiet curse, and one neat line of blood for my trouble. Pain shot through my hand.
Cade appeared with a pocket kit like I’d dialed three numbers.
“Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, offering my hand.
The alcohol wipe stung as he swiped it. Then came the bandage, his thumb holding it in place just a second too long. His hands were pure fire service—calm, capable, and annoyingly good at making pain go away.
“I practice on toddlers and firefighters,” he said, focusing on my hand.
“I can be either,” I said. “Depends on caffeine.”
A half-smile from Cade. Private.
He tucked the wrapper away like it was evidence.
“Thank you,” I said, quieter than I’d planned.
“Watch your hinges,” he said, like we weren’t talking about anything else.
“Ellis!” a tourist chirped, already framing us for a selfie. “Good luck!”
I did my camera face, and she leaned in, over-eager and thrilled. She took three photos in three identical emotions.
Her friend got bored and stared at Cade one moment longer than polite. I handed the phone back to her with a producer’s smile on my face.
Wyatt materialized, energy at half-power even though his coffee was nearly empty. “Lanes?”
“Stable,” Cade said, his voice a shade flatter than before.
Wyatt nodded. “Copy. Wick & Wax tries anything with a spark again, I’ll stick them with a citation.”
Wyatt walked off.
A stroller and a terrier on a too-long leash were both aimed straight at the cable run. For a second, everything tried to occupy the same three feet of space.
Cade’s hand found the small of my back and shifted me one step sideways into the gap he’d already cleared. I caught the leash with one hand, palmed the stroller handle with the other, and gave the universally understood “you first” wave until they rolled through.
The little traffic jam loosened, and people flowed again.
We stepped apart a second too quickly. Normal strangers wouldn’t have bothered.
Miss Pearl arrived with a carafe and topped off two cups we hadn’t asked for. “Easy with those glances, sugar. You keep looking at him like that and the Commons will plan your wedding for you.”
My entire body blushed. She glided on, straightened a sandwich board, and informed Wick & Wax, sweet as scripture,“The only sparkle we allow is the kind that doesn’t singe eyebrows.”
The chrome gadget that had been toying with spark disappeared under their table. A volunteer swapped in LED lights like a magician’s assistant.
Beau said to the camera, delighted: “Riverfield innovates by turning things off. Good for insurance premiums.”
Laughter lapped the square as phones rose. People decided to enjoy themselves.
“Cade,” I said, just to taste it in daylight.
