Page 53 of Burning Hearts
“Press wants one more bite,” Ellis said, like he’d remembered his job just in time. “Then I’m supposed to stop Beau from starting a conga line.”
“Public service,” I said. “Somebody’s got to do it.”
Silence held between us for a moment.
“After?” he asked.
“After,” I said. “Neighbor.”
He nodded, then slid his hand to my forearm. It was light, and deliberate. Exactly one second longer than polite.
My pulse noticed first. The rest of me hurried to catch up.
“Cade,” he said, his voice even lower now, “I know I’m the nephew; I know about optics. I know… all of that. But I never wanted a shortcut. Not from them.”
I believed him before he finished. “Yeah,” I said. “You never felt like a shortcut.”
Something in his shoulders loosened.
Footsteps and a burst of laughter rounded the corner. We stepped apart by instinct, two men who just happened to work on the same block. Ellis glanced toward the sound, then back at me with a look that translated to: later.
He took two steps toward the door, then pivoted back.
“You were steady,” he said. “In Portico. And tonight. It made the whole thing feel… safe.”
My hand twitched toward his lapel and stopped halfway. I curled it into a fist instead.
“Don’t get hurt,” I said.
It came out rougher than I meant, but also exactly right.
He breathed out, slowly. “Try not to shut every door at once.”
We leaned in without meaning to, and for a split second it felt inevitable.
Then Beck’s voice carried down the hall, calling time like only a Langford can.
The spell broke.
Ellis gave me one last, direct look, then walked back toward the light and the cameras with the prize I’d just won at his back.
I stayed planted against cold cinderblock until my heart remembered to beat. The folder in my hand held numbers and signatures. The tightness in my chest held everything else.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message I didn’t send:It’s not about the prize. It’s about you.
I watched the words blink, then deleted them.
Beau wrapped the night with sparkle. “Darlings, we counted hands and kept our hair in place. Brickyard, enjoy your victory lap. Signal House, enjoy your close-up. Wick & Wax, better luck next time. Riverfield… you’ve been gorgeous, petty, and loud. Just how I like you. Goodnight!”
The band played the outro and smiles plastered on everyone in the room. Miss Pearl slid through the side door. Her palm landed on my bank folder, light but final.
“That’s not a trophy, sugar,” she said. “That’s a stack of responsibility wearing its good shoes.”
Her attention wandered past my shoulder to the short hall by the ice machine.
“If your boots justhappento walk that way to check on Mr. Langford,” she added, “make sure you call it a safety round. Some routes deserve a second pass.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
