And deeper.
Chapter Ten
Ember
The idea comes to me at dawn, which is how I know it’s dangerous.
I’m standing barefoot in the studio, coffee cooling on the worktable, light spilling through the big back windows Boone helped clear. The room still smells faintly like paint and sawdust and him. My chest tightens at the thought, equal parts ache and thrill.
Fire & Rescue Fundraiser Art Show.
It lands fully formed, bright and reckless and impossible to ignore.
Not a spectacle. Not tragedy porn. A community thing. Kids’ art. Local artists. Stories of resilience. Of heat survived. Of rebuilding. Boone’s words from yesterday echo in my head—how fire took his purpose and left him standing in the ash, trying to remember who he was without it.
I don’t want to fix him.
I want to stand beside him.
By noon, the flyers are drafted. By two, I’ve talked to the town council. By four, I’ve roped in half the parents of my art kids, who immediately start texting about baking and booths and donations.
By five, Boone finds out.
He storms into the studio like a weather system.
The door bangs hard enough to rattle the windows. I turn from the easel just in time to see him fill the doorway, jaw tight, eyes dark, shoulders wound so taut they look like they might snap.
“What is this?” he demands, holding up one of the flyers.
I blink. “Hi to you too.”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like this is nothing.” He steps inside, boots thudding on the concrete. “You didn’t think to mention this to me?”
I set my brush down slowly. “I was going to.”
“When?” His laugh is sharp. “After you plastered my worst memories all over town?”
That hits. Hard.
“Excuse me?” I say, heat flaring in my chest. “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” He gestures around the studio. “A fundraiser inspired by fire and trauma and tragedy. Sounds like a project to me.”
My spine stiffens. “You told me your story.”
“I didn’t give you permission to use it.”
“I’m not using you,” I fire back. “I’m honoring what you survived.”
He scoffs. “You think slapping some paint on walls honors anything?”
I take a step toward him, anger buzzing now, bright and alive. “You think hiding in your workshop does?”
Silence slams down between us.
