He turns toward me then, giving me his full attention. “About what, then?”
I stare out at the city, the words pressing against my ribs until I can’t keep them in anymore. “About how perfect everything feels,” I admit. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like if I relax too much, something will come along and take this away. I thought I was past this… turns out, I’m not.”
Aiden reaches for me without hesitation, pulling me into his chest, wrapping the blanket tighter around both of us. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, solid and reassuring in a way that makes my eyes sting. “No more shoes. Just us. I promise.”
I tilt my head up to look at him, searching his face for doubt or fear or the instinct to hedge his words. I don’t find it. I nod, leaning into him, letting myself believe it.
Tomorrow is everything. And for the first time, I’m ready to let it be.
He murmurs against my hair, “Andifthe other shoe drops, we handle it. Together. Always.”
His words loosen my lungs, and for the first time all night, I take a deep breath and release that anxiety. The worst thing that could happen to my bar has already happened. Now, it’s time for the best things.
AIDEN
By the time the doors open, Clover & Mint is already buzzing like a living thing.
The place looks nothing like it did the night it burned—and exactly like it always should have. New floors gleam under the modern lighting, the bar rebuilt in clean lines and warm wood, shelves stocked and glowing. The layout is sharper now, more intentional, but the soul of it is unmistakable. Laughter echoes easily. Conversation spills from every corner. It feels alive again.
Packed doesn’t begin to cover it.
Firefighters in dress uniforms stand shoulder to shoulder with bar regulars who look like they raided their closets for something worthy of the occasion. Local press moves through the crowd with cameras and microphones, city council members shake hands like they’re just happy to be invited, and friends and family cluster together in knots of excitement. It’s a celebration in the truest sense of the word—loud, joyful, and earned.
And in the center of it all is Harper.
She’s glowing.
She moves through the room with ease, thanking people, hugging old regulars, laughing with staff, answering questionsfrom reporters without missing a beat. She looks confident, like the version of herself she always had in her but needed the fire—and everything after—to uncover.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
Every smile feels personal. Every laugh feels like a victory. I watch her shake hands with a contractor who donated labor, then turn around and hug Roz so hard they both nearly knock into a table. I watch her bend down to talk to an older couple who tell her this was where they celebrated their anniversary every year, and I see the way her eyes soften, the way she absorbs that history like fuel.
My chest feels too full. If I don’t do it soon, I might die.
The charity auction kicks off near the bar, and the energy spikes even higher. The firefighter calendar photos are displayed on easels, and I have to bite back a grin when I see the numbers climbing. People bid like it’s a sport, laughing and heckling each other, raising paddles with reckless enthusiasm.
Garrett’s photo goes for five hundred dollars.
Five. Hundred.
He becomes absolutely unbearable about it, strutting around like he’s personally funded the entire rebuild. “Guess I’m the face of community resilience now,” he announces loudly, preening like a peacock under the attention.
Theo threatens to outbid for my picture just to knock him down a peg, and Lizzie rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t pull a muscle. Chief Morales takes the microphone next.
The room quiets, the way it always does when he speaks. “This neighborhood has always been my favorite. I grew up here, I fell in love here, I mourned my losses here. This is the kind of place you can raise a family or raise some hell.” The crowd cheers. “It’s also the kind of place that rebuilds. We’re resilient. Strong. Most of all, we help each other out. We show what it means to love thy neighbor. My firehouse will always serve thiscommunity with pride. Harper, thank you for reminding us what community means. Roz, thank you for everything you did to make tonight happen. And to my crew, none of you better use tonight as an excuse to be late tomorrow, Garrett.”
“Hey!” Garrett hollers indignantly, while everyone laughs.
Roz speaks after him, voice shaking just slightly as she thanks the staff and the patrons and the people who showed up when everything felt impossible. She points out faces in the crowd, calls out moments of kindness, and by the time she finishes, more than a few people are wiping at their eyes.
My heart pounds as she passes the mic to Harper.
Harper takes it with both hands, breathes once, and looks out over the room. For a second, she doesn’t say anything, just lets herself take it all in. The noise dies down completely, every eye on her. Harper’s voice is steady when she starts, but there’s an undercurrent to it that pulls the room closer without her trying.
“Not so long ago, I moved back to Columbus to start over. Cliché, I know, but I’d lost my marriage, my confidence… myself, really. I thought this place would be my fresh start, somewhere that I could pin my hopes and dreams to, if I just worked hard enough.”
She takes a long breath, and I see it. She’s on the verge of tears already.
