Page 65 of Rescuing Aria
“What’s going on?” She approaches, wiping wax from her hands.
“Aria just stood up to her father.” Ember’s voice carries pride I’m not sure I deserve. “Told him we’re not selling out.”
“What did he say?” Ryn’s eyes widen slightly.
“He’s not happy.” I try for casual, though my stomach knots at the thought of facing him tonight. “But that’s not new. I’ve been disappointing Marcus Holbrook since I was about six years old.”
“That’s his problem, not yours.” Ember’s matter-of-fact tone cuts through my anxiety. “You’re running a successful business, making your own choices. If that disappoints him, he needs to adjust his expectations.”
The bell above the door chimes, interrupting our conversation. A young couple enters, holding hands and lookingaround with interest. Ember moves to greet them, slipping into her role as creator and guide.
“Welcome to The Little Matchstick Girl.” Her smile is genuine and welcoming. “Is this your first visit?”
“Yes.” The woman looks around, taking in the warm atmosphere. “It smells amazing in here.”
“That’s kind of our thing.” Ember’s laugh is easy and confident. “Each candle tells a story through scent. Are you looking for something specific?”
As she leads them through the shop, I’m struck again by how far she’s come from the wary street kid I first met. The transformation isn’t just in her circumstances but in her presence—the confidence of someone who knows her worth, who has built something meaningful with her own hands.
“This one is called ‘Ocean Memory.’” Ember holds up a sea-glass blue candle. “Salt, citrus, and a hint of driftwood. It captures that moment when you’re sitting on the beach at sunset, when the day’s heat is fading and the first cool breeze comes off the water.”
The couple exchange impressed glances. The man lifts the candle, inhaling deeply.
“Wow. That’s exactly what it smells like.” He looks at Ember with new respect. “How do you do that?”
“It’s about understanding what makes a memory powerful.” Ember’s passion shines through as she explains her process. “Scent is the sense most directly connected to emotion. The right combination can transport you instantly to a specific moment in time.”
“What about this one?” The woman points to a deep amber candle.
“‘Campfire Stories.’” Ember smiles. “Smoke, pine, and marshmallow. For when you want to feel like you’re sittingaround a fire with your favorite people, telling stories under the stars.”
They move through the shop, entranced by Ember’s descriptions and the emotional journey she creates. This is what would be lost under my father’s plan—the artistry, the personal touch, the connection between creator and customer.
My phone buzzes with another text. Not my father this time, but Jon:Picking you up at 6:30 for dinner. Dress sexy.
The message sends a flutter through my stomach, momentarily displacing my anxiety about facing my father. Jon is coming with me. I won’t be alone.
“Good news?” Ember asks, returning to the counter after the couple leaves with four candles and Ryn’s business card for a custom order.
“Jon’s coming to dinner with me.” I show her the text.
“Smart move.” She nods approvingly. “Marcus’s less likely to go full dictator with witnesses present.”
“You underestimate his capacity for public tyranny.” I sigh, tucking my phone away. “But yes, having Jon there will help.”
“Your father’s never met a man he couldn’t intimidate or buy off.” Ember begins cleaning her workspace, methodically organizing tools and ingredients. “I’m curious to see how he handles Jon.”
“Jon can’t be intimidated or bought,” I say with complete conviction. After last night, after this morning, I know this with absolute certainty. “He’s not motivated by money or power.”
“Which makes him completely incomprehensible to your father.” Ember’s laugh holds a hint of satisfaction. “Oh, to be a fly on that wall. It should be an interesting dinner.”
The bell chimes again, but this time it’s not customers.
Storm and Razor step through the door, casual enough to fool a civilian—but their gazes sweep the shop with the precision of men trained to spot threats in their sleep.
“Ladies.” Storm flashes a charismatic smile, the kind that should feel easy, but doesn’t. “Just in the neighborhood, thought we’d stop by.”
“Since when do you guys make social calls during working hours?” Ember’s brows draw together, confusion hardening into wariness.
