Stuck tears blur my eyes as I read down the page. There are two other first names I recognize, but the lines won’t stay still.
“I love you,” he says again. “I’m trying to give us a shot. Because I’m praying you still love me too. I’d move to Kansas if you needed me to. But I bought this because I needed to change my life, not yours.”
“So… you’re moving?” I ask.
Ash nods and points to the address. “To Paradise.”
I stare at him. “You bought Sharon and Walt’s place.”
“I called them,” he says, with that ridiculous, proud little smile. “We made a deal. I’m going to open my coffee shop.” He squeezes my hands and heat blooms out from his grip. “And there’s room in the back for a studio. If you want one.”
I want to tell him I was in the middle of changing my own life too, but what comes out is, “Ash, a studio doesn’t fix this. You— you hurt me.”
“I know. But I want to apologize and keep going. Isn’t that what people do?”
“But… your number,” I say weakly. “That’s what you’ve wanted forever.”
“I wanted to live long enough to enjoy my life,” he says. “Turns out, I might not have to wait for a line graph to say when it’s time.” He strokes my knuckles. “If you’ll forgive me, I want to build that life in Paradise. I want the coffee shop, and I want you. What do you want?”
I already walked out of Alistair’s house. I already packed the car. Nobody did that for me.
Standing here with Ash, I finally see I’ve got two choices: follow through on the half-baked Kansas plan, or stay and try to build something messy and real with him.
“It’s irresponsible,” I say, laughing as the tears spill over. “It’s reckless.” I step into him. “And I love you.”
Our mouths find each other, and everything else goes up in smoke. I curl my fingers in his hair, the Buick at my back, the whole damn city fading out. His kiss tastes like coffee, and I give myself over to the fire.
EPILOGUE.
ASH
The Ember’s Kiss fits.
It fits on the corner of Paradise’s newly constructed main street, right beside a pet groomer, like it was always meant to be here. The glass awning catches the morning light and throws it back at dog walkers and retirees in fleece vests. Our tables spill onto the sidewalk with mismatched metal chairs painted in Kael’s leftover colors.
It fits the building too. When we come down from our flat, the smells of dark roast and caramelized sugar always greet us first. When I throw open the rear garage door, the foggy light pours in over steam and black-and-white tiles.
Kael paints in that light. I run the shop. His canvases claim every inch of wall with the wildfire series on one side and the Paradise portraits on the other. Sharon cried when she saw hers at our grand opening.
Upstairs, he’s still asleep. Knowing he’s warm and here is the best part of every day.
The old brass register is mostly decoration, but I love the heavythunkof the drawer. Beside it, the closing checklist has every box ticked, though my magnifying glass is still sitting where I left it. Cassie definitely skipped crumb patrol again.She’ll roll her eyes and call me anal when I bring it up, but I don't mind.
It’s good to have something to fuss over that isn’t a net worth spreadsheet. Inventory, payroll, marketing, reviews—there’s a lot to learn. Coffee shops fail more often than not, but I thrive on that kind of pressure.
I prop the front door open.
Ting-a-ling.
Cool air rushes in with the scent of wildflowers and pine. I lean against the frame and just breathe. There was a version of my life where I woke up alone in a glass condo, drank burned office coffee, and spent my days optimizing someone else’s life while waiting for mine to start.
A hand slides over my shoulder. Another snakes around my waist.
“Mmm. Good morning,” Kael mumbles against my neck.
“What are you doing up?” I turn into his arms. His hoodie smells like linseed oil and our detergent, like home.
We kiss long enough to sayI love you, which is longer than a peck but shorter than what happened last night.
