“I’m Mr. May,” Doug says, butting in. “Did you see my photo yet?”
She jerks her head to the side like it’s the first time she’s even realized he’s here. “Um, no.”
“You’re in for a treat,” he says with a big grin, blood sliding down his face and dripping off the tip of his nose. “I’m hot.”
“Mr. May-Want-To-Get-A-Tissue,” I say, motioning to his nose. “You’re bleeding pretty badly.”
“Stupid raccoon,” he says, shaking his head as he heads back to the truck. “This is not the kind of Fight Night I was hoping for.”
The night feels quieter after he leaves. Too quiet.
Now the the flames are out, the insects start talking again, moving on with their social lives.
The last of the smoke curls into the dark sky as the red flashing lights of the fire truck light up the forested area. The barn groans softly, like it’s catching its breath.
She still looks uneasy as she stares at the scene like she’s afraid it might burst into flames again at any moment. I put my hand on her arm to steady her, to ground her—and maybe to ground myself too.
She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans in a little closer.
She’s close enough that I can smell the smoke in her hair. I wonder what she usually smells like. I bet it’s something sweet and delicious.
Her chest rises and falls fast, her breathing still uneven.
“I knew that kiln was going to be trouble,” she says suddenly. “But I didn’t know it would try to take out my whole studio.”
“You held back the fire with a fire extinguisher,” I tell her, trying to hide the awe in my voice. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe that whole barn didn’t burn to the ground.”
She looks at the barn and something tight twists in my chest. I can tell this place means something special to her. I can see it in the way she’s standing there, barefoot on thegravel, apron streaked and ruined, staring at the wreckage in disbelief.
“I just finished it,” she says with a sigh. “It took months.”
“What is it?” I ask gently.
“My pottery studio,” she says. “My home. My business. Everything I had, really.”
My heart breaks for her. I wish I could turn back time and save it.
“You live here?”
“I did,” she says, wiping her face with the back of her hand. It smears the black soot on her cheek and leaves a faint streak of white powder. “In the loft.”
I take a deep breath and put my hand up, like I’m asking her not to follow me. “Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”
She nods and lets me go inside.
The north side of the building is fucked, but it’s not all bad news. She was smart enough to put the kiln away from the loft where it could do the least amount of damage. The loft is still intact, although it’s covered in a faint coat of white powder, and the bathroom is untouched.
It’s really not that bad. The floor in this area will have to be changed, along with the wall and a portion of the ceiling, but other than that, it seems okay. The structure seems secure. No major beams are compromised. I can seem them just fine. It’s mostly cosmetic.
She got lucky.
I pull off my glove and check for hot spots with my hand. I don’t feel any and there’s no more burning smell coming from anywhere.
Once I’m certain there is no more fire risk, I take a look at her studio, wanting to know everything about her. There are some beautiful ceramic pieces tucked away on some shelves that didn’t get damaged and a gorgeous painting of the mountains on an easel in the corner. My god, she’s so talented. I can’t get over her.
“How bad is it?” she asks, peeking her head into the doorway.
“Not too bad,” I say, waving her in. “It’s mostly good news.”
