Page 13 of Burning Hearts
Cade:Copy.
Boring word. Perfect word.
What was I doing?
Texting a straight guy I’d only just met. He was probably wondering why the hell I reached out again. And why the hell I’d covered his meter.
“Are you Ellis? From Signal House?”
A volunteer in a #NoFlamePatrol sash appeared with a plastic bin labeledCONFISCATION STATION—Lighters / Sparklers / Regrets,and a clipboard.
“I am,” I said.
“Two things,” she chirped. “One, do you have any open flames on your person?”
“Only internal,” I said.
“Relatable.” She peeled a sticker and slapped it on my table: ROMANCE IS SIMULATED PER CODE. “And two, if anyone tries to light something ‘for the vibe,’ point at me and I’ll confiscate the vibe.”
“Because of the aftermath of the Biscuit Fi?—”
Her smile snapped off, and she gave me the quietestshhknown to man.
She flicked her eyes toward The Langford Hotel’s lobby doors, where Tansy’s polished glide was already entering the frame.
“We don’t talk about the Biscuit Fire on Main,” she whispered, smile firmly back in place.
Then she sailed off to rescue a centerpiece from a tea light.
I couldn’t help but look over at Cade and watch as he worked.
Miss Pearl arrived a moment later. New cardigan, same jurisdiction.
She set my napkin holder straight with a surgical nudge. Her eyes skimmed my table like a scanner, paused on a stray cable, then settled on me.
“If you’re here to stand with operations, do it loud enough for the room to hear,” she said. Then, with a faint tilt of her chin toward the square: “And if you’re going to look in that direction, at least pretend you’re counting cones, not catching feelings.”
I gulped, hard. “Yes, ma’am.”
She moved on, clipboard tucked to show her authority, and—of course—angled straight toward Brickyard. I couldn’t hear a word, just the polite geometry of her hands and Cade’s steady nod. I tried to swallow the ridiculous worry that she’d inform him I was conducting an unsanctioned visual inspection of his everything.
My phone lit up.
Cade:Your table, left side. Cable tail is auditioning for “Trip Hazard.”
I glanced down and coiled the black snake back where it belonged, taped it clean, and quickly typed a reply.
Me:Corrected. Thanks.
Cade:You just made my job easier. I like that.
Me:Happy to be of service.
Cade:Careful. I might get used to it.
I laughed—treason-soft—and slid the phone away.
Across the Commons, Cade checked his cones, then his watch. I checked mine too.
