Chapter 1 #2
"I didn't see it." His voice remained calm, but I heard the edge beneath it.
Still, he didn't even bother looking at me.
If he had, he would only have seen me with a hanging head and drooping shoulders. "What do you need from me?"
"Well, we need you to select a new one. The ceremony starts in ten minutes, and we can't really go on without a Hearthkeeper. It's tradition—the Lightkeeper and Hearthkeeper represent the balance of public and private, leadership and family. You gotta pick someone."
Dr. Bradley stood there for a second without moving.
I could tell by the expression on his face that he was thinking before his eyes started skimming over faces in the backstage area.
I had no clue what a Hearthkeeper was, but this Veronica lady was supposed to be it.
And I didn't know what diagnosis she'd gotten, but it didn't sound good if she'd give up an honor like this.
But I was genuinely shocked when his eyes landed on me.
My stomach plummeted.
"Her," he said, pointing directly at me. I couldn't begin to tell you the dread that washed over me in a split second.
The coordinator blinked then scrunched her face up in confusion and a hint of revulsion. "Your assistant?"
"Ember Harrison," he said. "I choose her as my Hearthkeeper."
He took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and started to put his suit jacket on, leaving his sleeves still rolled up.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
I had to have looked like a fish with my jaw flapping like that.
The coordinator was already writing on her clipboard, but her face was still contorted.
"Wonderful!" she said with less enthusiasm than before. "We'll get her costume immediately. Ember, come with me."
She grabbed my arm and hauled me toward a corner where racks of clothing stood waiting.
This wasn’t happening.
My heart felt like it was going to explode.
I had absolutely no desire to be on that stage at all—especially if there were cameras.
I finally found my voice and hissed over my shoulder at Dr. Bradley, "I can't do this."
He followed behind us with a calm expression like this was any other day and I was just being asked to do my job.
"It's a formality, Ms. Harrison. Stand on stage, smile, and it's done."
"There are cameras," I said desperately. I thought I'd throw up right there. It was happening so fast, I couldn't stop it. "And reporters. I can't—"
"Ember." He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear, and his tone took on a very serious note, the kind where your boss is reprimanding you and you'd better shut up and listen.
I clamped my mouth shut and whimpered under my breath. "This ceremony means a great deal to the community. I understand it's a bit unexpected, but I need your help. After the ceremony, I'll find a way to get you out of the Hearthkeeper obligations. I promise."
I stared up at him, breathing so fast I felt lightheaded.
His pale eyes held mine, and I saw genuine concern for the situation.
Knowing the whole town was counting on a tradition to take place in less than five minutes and I was the one chosen to fill a gap didn't make it any easier, but I felt stuck.
No one here knew me, right?
And San Diego was so far behind me that I should've let it go.
It was one moment, one little snapshot of me on a stage, not doing anything bad or newsworthy, per se.
I could do this.
I swallowed hard. "Fine. But you owe me."
"Agreed," he said, and he squeezed my shoulder, sending arousal rushing down to my groin.
Then his bright, warm smile returned and crushed me.
For the love of all things holy, I was stuck facing my worst fear while swooning over a man I should never even think about.
In minutes, my bag and tote were taken from me, replaced by a red robe and sash that choked me and made the sweat pour off my back.
The coordinator pushed a spikey crown on my head that scratched my scalp and itched, and then she dabbed my face with some powder while clearly noticing my perspiration problem.
"Perfect!" the coordinator declared. "Now, let's get you on stage."
She grabbed my elbow and propelled me toward the stage entrance.
I stumbled in my heels as the robe tangled around my legs, and my heart hammered against my rib cage.
The lights beyond the curtain were blinding.
I could hear the crowd murmuring, the rustle of programs, the distant cry of a child—but the clicking of camera shutters was the loudest.
Dr. Bradley appeared beside me, now wearing a long crimson robe trimmed in white.
He looked absurd and regal all at once.
Someone handed him a large brass key—the Key of Light, I assumed—and he studied it for a second while nodding with pride.
"Ready?" the coordinator asked.
I wanted to scream that no, I was not ready, that I'd never be ready.
But the music swelled, and the coordinator shoved us forward onto the stage.
The crowd erupted in applause.
I froze at the edge of the platform, my vision tunneling.
There were so many people.
Hundreds of faces were turned toward us, smiling and clapping.
Cameras flashed.
A news crew panned across the stage.
My legs locked, and I couldn't move.
Dr. Bradley's hand settled at the small of my back as he said, "Move, Ms. Harrison."
He guided me forward onto the stage and I had to lean on him for support.
My blood pressure had to have been so high.
My ears felt like balloons were inflating inside them, my palms so sweaty I rubbed them on my skirt.
A man with a microphone stood at center stage, his voice booming through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present this year's Lightkeeper and Hearthkeeper—Dr. Nathan Bradley and Ember Harrison!"
More applause.
More cameras.
I felt bile rising in my throat.
I pressed a hand to my mouth and pressed my eyes shut.
Hopefully, that came across more like I was overwhelmed by the sheer honor of this and not the reality of swallowing back nerves.
The man continued his speech, talking about tradition and community and the sacred responsibility of the Lightkeeper to guide Beacon Hill through fall into the holiday season.
Everything was a blur—the speech, the singing of some random song I knew none of the words to, and when someone wobbled up the steps with a huge sprig of mistletoe on the end of a long pole, I froze.
"Now, in Christmas tradition, the Lightkeeper and Hearthkeeper must share a kiss under the mistletoe to cement the magic of the season!"
My entire body went cold.
The crowd started chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" and Dr. Bradley turned toward me just as happy and calm as ever while inside, I was screaming for this whole thing to stop.
One of his hands snaked around to my lower back, the other still clinging to his key, and he stooped to press his lips to mine.
There were a dozen things I could've done to stop this, but I was paralyzed, rooted to the stage, and when his mouth touched mine, the world stopped.
The instant his lips brushed mine, electricity exploded on my skin.
And it wasn't just a peck, either.
Nate Bradley pulled my body toward himself while I clung helplessly to the lapels of his ridiculous velvet robe and whimpered into his mouth.
When his mouth opened and I felt his tongue brush my lower lip, desire surged in my chest and down to my groin, and I found myself leaning into it.
I got lightheaded again, clutching his robe so tightly, I would fall over if I let go, and I swear I heard him growl low in his chest under the din of chaos around us.
He pulled back slowly, his eyes searching mine, and I saw the same shock I felt mirrored in his expression.
Those pale blue orbs danced from my lips to my eyes and back, while his hand lingered at my back, his thumb brushing against the velvet of my gown.
It was breathtaking, and probably lasted way too long, us staring at each other in stunned silence while the festival carried on around us.
Then someone placed a crown on his head—larger than mine, gold and crimson—and the spell shattered.
The coordinator was pulling him away, leading him down the stage steps, and the crowd surged forward to congratulate him.
I stood frozen, my fingers pressed to my lips, my heart racing.
He'd kissed me.
And I'd felt it.
He felt it too.
Why else would he have looked at me like that with those damn penetrating eyes and an expression that said he wanted to do it again?
And I no longer felt any of the anxiety or fear.
What I felt was ungodly.
This man was twice my age—my boss, for Christ's sake.
Something had broken loose inside me.
Inside both of us.
I had no clue what just happened, but I prayed I wasn't fired for it.