Page 9 of Let it Sizzle
And suddenly, I can’t stand being over here anymore.
I can’t toss another frisbee or drink another beer or pretend that the sight of her hasn’t been scraping something raw open in my chest since the moment she walked in.
So I hand off the frisbee, mumble something about needing a refill, and start moving before I change my mind.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned?
You don’t ignore the things that matter.
And Serena Summers has always mattered.
Chapter 3
Serena
I knew this was a bad idea the moment Byron said “BBQ” and “firehouse” in the same breath. And I wanted to forget about it. Being around people isn’t my thing. But my brother gave me that look—equal parts big-brother guilt trip and I-know-best authority—and so, here I am.
Standing in a corner of a fire station yard, wearing the only sundress that still fits me without pinching at the sides, gripping a plastic cup of lemonade like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
The fabric clings in places I wish it didn’t. My chest, my hips, the slight swell of my stomach that I always try to camouflage. It dips a little too low, sways a little too much, and despite the high temperature, I already regret not grabbing that oversized cardigan from the car.
Everyone here is talking like they belong. Laughing too loud over burgers and beers, shouting playful insults across the lawn, tossing frisbees. It’s easy for them, I guess. Easy to fit into this world where you grew up with a last name that carried either pride or nothing all instead of shame.
But me?
I hover near the table like I’m part of the decorations—something set down and forgotten. I keep refilling the lemonade I don’t like, fussing with the napkins, straightening the serving spoons like that’s why I came. Like I’m not standing here prayingno one asks me a single question about where I’ve been or why it took me so long to come back.
Because the truth is, I don’t know how to belong anywhere.
I didn’t belong in that house growing up. Not with a father whose anger filled the rooms like smoke. Not with the kind of silence that made you flinch if a chair scraped too loud against the floor. Even when Byron was there—even when Samira curled up next to me at night—I always felt like I was holding my breath, waiting to disappear.
And then I left.
Thought the city would fix it. Thought if I just got far enough away, built something for myself, made a name with my drawings and quiet little books, that I could finally feel grounded. But even there… I was too much. Too quiet. Too soft. Too curvy. Too careful.
I was always shrinking. Making space for other people. For men who smiled nice and chipped away at me until I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
So now I’m here.
Back in Silvertown Hollow, where the air smells like charcoal, and I still feel like a stranger in my own skin. I’m older, yes. Wiser, maybe. But I still don’t know how to be seen without flinching. I still don’t know how to take up space without apology.
And when I glance toward the crowd—toward Levi—
That ache blooms in my chest all over again.
Because the only time I ever felt like I truly belonged was the night he carried me out of hell and told me I was safe. I’ve never stopped thinking about him.
And I don’t know what scares me more—how much I remember that feeling… or how badly I want it again.
I glance around casually, not because I’m looking, but... okay, maybe I am.
My heart stumbles so hard I almost drop my cup. He’s walking toward me.
Not just passing through, not making his rounds. Walking directly toward me.
Slow and sure like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like there’s no hesitation in those muscular legs or the way his gaze locks on mine and doesn’t budge.
He hasn’t even said a word yet, and I’m already overheating.
