Page 3 of Rescuing Aria
“Are you two gonna kiss, or should I give you a minute?” Jenny’s voice pierces the silence, bone-dry and perfectly timed.
We spring apart like teenagers caught sneaking out.
“I was just fixing the sign,” I mutter, ducking my head.
“I was just helping her.” Jon clears his throat, stepping back.
Charlie snorts into her coffee. Brett lifts a candle to his nose with exaggerated concentration.
And me? I can still feel the heat of his body like it’s been branded into my skin.
“Two hours to opening,” Mitzy announces, saving us from further embarrassment.
“Your Instagram announcement reached fifty thousand views overnight.” I check my phone, smiling. It’s a phenomenal number.
“Fifty thousand?” Ember’s knees nearly buckle.
“Turns out ‘Former Foster Kid Opens Luxury Candle Shop With Kidnapping Survivor Bestie’ makes compelling social media,” I manage to say, trying to regain my composure. “Who knew?”
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of preparation. I organize the same display as Jon, our hands brushing against each other “accidentally” every few seconds. Each touch sends electricity shooting through me, and I’m hyperaware of every movement he makes.
Ryn places her kintsugi candles in the front window—dark glass with golden cracks running through her creations like lightning strikes. The symbolism isn’t lost on any of us. Broken, but made more beautiful by the breaking.
“One hour,” Mitzy calls out. “And there’s already a line forming.”
I peek outside, and my heart races. The line stretches around the block—a sea of expectant faces pressed against our windows.
“Did you see? There are actual influencers out there. And is that…? Oh my God, that’s the editor of Vogue,” I babble, my socialite background recognizing the faces even as my nerves threaten to overwhelm me.
“Breathe.” Jon appears at my elbow, steady as always. “You’ve got this.”
Our eyes meet, holding for a heartbeat too long. A blush creeps up my neck as his hand brushes my lower back—a touch that could be accidental but isn’t.
For the next fifty minutes, Ember, Ryn, and I flutter around the shop making last-minute adjustments, while Blaze, Jon, and the rest of the Delta team look on with genuine smiles.
“Five minutes,” I announce, fidgeting with the register for what feels like the hundredth time.
Blaze positions himself by the door. The team spreads throughout the store, everyone in their assigned positions. I take one last look around at this makeshift family we’ve built, at the dreams we’ve turned into reality.
“Ready?” Blaze’s hand finds the lock.
“Ready,” Ember’s voice rings clear and strong.
The door opens.
“Welcome to The Little Matchstick Girl,” she says. “Where every light tells a story.”
The first wave of customers floods in, their excitement as thick as cinnamon in the air. I move through the crowd, guiding people toward the candle stations, answering questions, laughing like I haven’t lived through hell. My background has trained me for this kind of finesse—charming investors and navigating boardrooms.
Today, it’s just wax, wicks, and wide-eyed wonder. Still, my focus drifts.
To him.
Jon lingers near the back, pretending to restock shelves he’s already triple-checked. His gaze keeps returning to me, and every time our eyes almost meet, he looks away too fast, like I burn.
I duck into the supply nook behind the checkout to grab more gift bags. The curtain barely swings shut when I hear voices—low, casual. They don’t know I’m here.
“Just kiss her already,” Mac mutters as he passes Jon. “Before we all die of old age.”
