Page 105 of Walkoff Wedding

Grant’s thumb brushes gently along my thigh absentmindedly as he drives, and I sink back into the seat. Although I’ve lived here my entire life, it still surprises me when I see how alive the city is this late at night. New Orleans is truly a city that never sleeps. A constant stream of people, food, and music. Especially in the French Quarter.

“Did I tell you that Reese invited us to his place for New Y?—”

The loud shrill of my phone ringing drowns out Grant, and my brow pinches in confusion as I grab it from the cup holder. My phone never goes off this late. The only people who call me anyway are Amos or Earl, and they’re generally asleep by seven since they’re up at three for work.

When I see what the notification is on the glowing screen, I suck in a sharp breath, fumbling to swipe my finger along the phone to open it.

“What is it?”

“It’s… It’s the alarm company, Grant. The alarm’s been tripped, and they’re dispatching emergency services.” My eyes flick to him as a wave of panic makes my chest constrict.

Grant’s jaw works before he mumbles, “Fuck.”

Oh god… is this happening all over again?

“Addie, baby, it’s okay. It could just be a false alarm. We’re only a few blocks away—we’ll go check it out. Make sure everything’s good.” He turns down a side road in the direction of Ever After.

He’s right—it could be a false alarm, but after the break-in, I can’t help but worry as another wave of panic claws at my throat.

I exhale and inhale in a steady rhythm, desperately trying to keep it together, reminding myself that I could be working myself up for nothing.

I hear the wail of sirens echoing off the buildings of the narrow street just as we turn down it. There are fire trucks parked in front of the bakery, their red lights painting everything crimson in their wake as I attempt to register what’s happening in front of me.

The bakery… It’s on fire. I’m frozen in shock, in pure terror as I watch the place I love more than anything in the world engulfed in a fury of flames.

Grant slams the truck into park as close as he can get, and I don’t think, I don’t even breathe as I reach for the door handle, wrenching it open and bounding from the truck. I don’t make it far before I feel his arms wrapping tightly around my waist, stopping me from running toward the building.

Thick, black smoke billows from the roof as flames lick the sky. The smell of smoke and burning wood fills the air so thickly that I nearly choke. My worst nightmare is happening right in front of me, and I… I’m completely helpless. There’s nothing I can do, and the thought makes me want to vomit.

I might, actually—my body is trembling so hard that I feel like I’m going to be sick as a heartbroken sob tears from my mouth, hot tears blurring my vision as I watch my mother’s legacy burn.

It’s pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I imagine even the burn of those flames wouldn’t hurt my body as badly as I feel watching them destroy our beloved bakery right now.

“Breathe, baby. Stay with me,” Grant says into my ear, running his hands along my arms soothingly in an attempt to calm me down. I desperately try to suck in a breath.

Up ahead, there are firefighters attempting to tame the fire, their hoses shooting powerful streams of water into the flames. It seems from a distance that… maybe it’s just the kitchen that’s on fire right now, and the smallest tendril of relief snakes up my spine. I hold on to it desperately because I have to believe that these men are going to save some of Ever After.

I refuse to believe any differently, no matter what it looks like in front of me. I have to hold on to hope because if not, then I’ll have nothing.

“W-we have to talk to them, find out what’s h-happening.” I stumble over my words. “Please.”

Grant steps beside me and slips his hand in mine, holding tighter than ever as we walk closer to the bakery. Each step is like a shard of glass puncturing my heart, twisting. The heat radiating from the bakery is palpable the closer we get, making the air shimmer with waves of warmth. Smoke clogs my nose.

They’ve roped off the exterior of the building with the bright yellow caution tape that you would see at a crime scene and blocked off the driveway.

“Sir,” Grant calls, flagging down a man wearing a suit and tie with some type of badge hanging around his neck.

He walks toward us, his jaw set in a hard line. “This area is closed to the public. It’s not safe for you to be here.”

Grant shakes his head vehemently. “This is my wife’s bakery.”

The man’s gaze flicks to me, and I nod.

“My name is Matty Bishop, and I’m an investigator with the NOFD. I know this is a very difficult time for you, and I’m sorry that we’re having to meet under these circumstances,” he says with a solemn expression, dark, thick brows pinched together as he speaks.

Thankfully, Grant is able to take over speaking with him because I’m in such shock that I’m frozen. I can’t even wrap my head around what’s going on, let alone have a coherent conversation. “Do you think they’ll be able to stop the fire before it consumes the building?”

Investigator Bishop glances toward the bakery and back to us, “Right now, it’s too early to determine the full extent of the damage, but I’ve been doing this for over a decade, and it looks like they’ve begun to extinguish it. I don’t think it’s going to be a total loss. I’ll have more once it’s safe to enter the building and we conduct a thorough investigation to assess the damage fully.”

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