Page 97 of The Fire We Crave

I take a deep breath. “It was complicated, at first, to reconcile what happened to Melody, Smoke, and me. But we’ve talked, long and hard. Covered the difficult ground. And I feel good with where we’re at.”

Ember sighs. “Then I’m really happy for you. Can I ask one last question?”

“You didn’t ask permission for any of the others.”

“You’ve read all those steamy romance books. As heroes go, does he live up to the title?”

I think about all the romance books I’ve loved. Protective heroes. Grumpy-sunshine tropes. Being loved in spite of PTSD and other mental health challenges. Feeling worthy of love wherever you are at in life. Accepting people for exactly who they are. Feeling like you can bare your soul to them. Feeling like you can bare your body, unashamedly, with them too. How the sum of it all is what matters. Of feeling like the two of you are on the same side, like it’s the two of you against the world. Having a love that makes sense to the two of you, even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else on the planet.

Of having someone who loves you as much as you love them. And how that will see you through the very worst life can throw at you and get you out the other side in one piece.

The thought makes my heart race. “Yes. He does.” The three words are like the tip of the iceberg. “But if I start explaining all the ways, we’ll be here all night and miss our first double date.”

“Maybe we can make it a regular thing, get the boys to take us out dancing and drinking. Although, Atom can’t dance, and I’ve got no idea if Smoke can.”

I know she’s talking about line dancing, which she loves, but in my head, an X-rated version of Smoke doing some kind of striptease and grind in our bedroom is what comes to mind.

I bite down on my lower lip to stifle the grin. “That sounds perfect.”

The rest of dinner passes by in a blur, with so much laughter that we’re told by the manager to keep it down or he’ll ask us to leave. We finish our dinner in equally jubilant but more muted tones.

We say our goodbyes at the exit, and Atom and Ember head to their place over Ember’s bar. Most of the fire damage to the apartment was cosmetic, and with the help of the club, has been repaired quickly. They asked us to join, but Smoke was quick to answer that I have an early start in the morning, so it was time for us to go home.

“You good being here?” Smoke asks, his hand over my shoulder as we approach the cream door next to the front of the bakery.

“I’ve been here quite a bit during the day. I have my lunch up there most days. It’s just at night, when it’s dark and I’m alone. It feels terrifying. Haven’t slept here since I started sleeping at your place.”

Smoke steps behind me as I put the key in the lock. “Then, let’s try to make some better memories for you.”

I lean my head to the right so he can place a line of kisses up my neck.

His hands slide up my body until they cup my breasts. “Not sure I’ll ever get enough of your body. I like how perfect and little you are. Not these, of course.” He squeezes my breasts tenderly. “Just you and the package you come in.”

The words whispered against my skin make me shiver.

Then, he lets go and pushes the door open so I can go in ahead of him.

I slip my denim jacket off my shoulders and hang it on the hook in the hallway before the stairs that lead up to the apartment.

“It’s been a long time since I was in here,” Smoke says, flicking on the light.

“I only remember you visiting a few times. I thought your boots were huge.”

He grins at that. “I’ve been a size thirteen since I was fifteen years old. My mom used to say I was like a puppy, that I’d grow into my feet.”

I look him up and down slowly. “I’d say that happened.”

Smoke tips his chin in the direction of the stairs. “Up. Let’s see what else has changed.”

I take the first few stairs and then stop. When I turn, we’re almost at eye level, and Smoke puts his hands on my hips. “Nothing.”

“What?” Smoke asks.

“Nothing has changed. It started with Mom. She wanted everything to be the same for when Melody returned. She read somewhere that people who had been kidnapped needed to return to the familiar as quickly as possible, depending on their mental state. So, Mom became obsessed with keeping it the same. By the time she died, I guess I felt that changing anything would be disrespectful to her memory. So, nothing has changed. It’s tidy, but an old-fashioned mess inside. Needs decorating and updating and painting. I had the smallest bedroom as the youngest sibling, and I haven’t moved out of it. Everything is utterly the same, Smoke. And sometimes, I feel like I could choke on the weight of it.”

Smoke pulls me to him, holding me tenderly, his wide palms on my back. “It’s been a long fucking time, sugar. Maybe it’s time to move on. Let’s start making those memories by turning this into the home you want.”

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