Page 133 of When Love Found Us
“Del,” I sprint after her, grabbing for her arm, but she jerks away. She’s not even looking at me.
My shoes slap against the pavement, each step jarring. It feels as though the sidewalk’s bouncing beneath me. Like the ground itself doesn’t know how to stay still.
I round the corner—and everything changes.
This isn’t someone’s backyard firepit gone rogue.
This is destruction—hot and greedy.
The Honey Drop’s windows glow orange, and flames leap out, curling around the wood trim trying to consume it whole. Someone’s yelling for water. Another person shoves a fire extinguisher into a stranger’s hands and immediately pulls them back—too dangerous, too late.
Del’s in front of the building, screaming. I can’t hear the words with all the noise around us, but her lips are moving fast, eyes wild. She keeps trying to run forward, toward the entrance.
People are shouting. Trying to hold her back.
And before I can grab her?—
“Stop her,” Cassian’s voice barrels through the chaos, cutting across the noise like a blade. He’s already moving, shoving through the crowd, sweat streaking down his temples. “Delilah Mora—no. You can’t go in there.”
He reaches her before she gets too close, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest.
Del fights him, breath uneven, hands trembling as she tries to push forward—but she doesn’t make it far.
Cassian holds her tighter, voice low and breaking. “Del, please—let them do their job.”
Malerick arrives next, cutting through the crowd in full uniform, his hat askew and streaks of ash on his collar. He slows when he sees her—sees the way she’s shaking in Cassian’s arms.
He reaches out, resting a hand on the back of her neck. Just a touch. Not to stop her—just to remind her he’s there.
“You gotta let the fire crew work,” he says softly. “We can’t lose you too.”
“My coffee shop,” Del says, and it sounds like grief ripped straight from her ribs.
She’s devastated, but there’s no theatrical sobbing—just that flat, hollow tone people use when their brains short-circuit and their body hasn’t caught up yet. Cass still has his arms around her, one hand rubbing slow circles into her back like it’s the only thing he knows how to do right now. Mal leans in close, murmuring something.
Del finally nods. Or maybe it’s just her body giving up, folding into Cass like her bones forgot how to hold her up. Cassian draws her in, his big frame curling around her as if he can shield her from the reality behind them.
Mal kisses her temple before turning toward the first responders, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the wreckage.
And I just stand there.
Fucking useless.
Cassian sinks to the sidewalk, taking Del with him, still holding her like maybe if he’s strong enough, she won’t completely unravel.
I turn away, press the palm of my hand to my mouth. My throat burns, not just from the smoke but from everything—this helplessness, this ache that won’t go away. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to feel any of this.
But something inside me snaps.
I decide to help instead of watching, giving a hand to the paramedics. By the time the flames are out, The Honey Drop is nothing but a scorched skeleton, steaming and blackened, barely recognizable. Her sign is half-melted, the lettering warped like it was trying to hold on but couldn’t.
People stand around with their phones out, filming the aftermath as if it were a true-crime episode, not someone’s entire life turned to ash. I want to scream at them, knock the phones out of their hands. But I don’t. I’m too tired, too covered in smoke and heartbreak to pick a fight with strangers.
I’ve got burn cream smeared up my arms from helping a volunteer whose fingers blistered open trying to haul buckets of water before the firefighters arrived. My clothes reek of singed cotton and sugar. My throat tastes like grief.
“You okay, Doc?” someone asks behind me.
I don’t turn to look. Just nod. A motion that feels disconnected, like a puppet on its last thread.
