Chapter 4
Playing with Fire
Ryan
Ican’t help smiling as Ember studies the menu at Rosemary’s with the same intensity I use for analyzing fire scenes.
“Analyzing the menu?” I ask.
“I’m not studying the dessert,” Ember replies.
“I’m analyzing the restaurant. See the lighting?
Soft enough for romance but bright enough to read the menu.
And the music—classic jazz at about seventy beats per minute, which makes people eat slower and order more.
This whole place is engineered for lingering. ”
Ryan’s grinning. “You’re giving me restaurant psychology on our first date?”
“I’m an event planner. I can’t turn it off.” I lean forward. “The table spacing, the color scheme, even the font on the menu—everything triggers specific emotional responses.”
“That’s interesting.” He reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “You see patterns everywhere, don’t you?”
“Is that weird?”
“It’s one of the things I like about you.” His thumb strokes my hand. “I still can’t believe you ordered a blowtorch dessert after a car accident.”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief along with the most challenging grin. God, she’s stunning with her pert nose, full lips, and that thick mane of hair caressing in waves around her delicate neck and strong shoulders.
“Go big or go home. Besides, I figured having a firefighter at my table meant I could order anything involving flames.”
“Smart thinking.” I lean forward, drawn in by her energy and her fun nature.
Most women I date are intimidated by the job, or worse, only interested in the uniform.
But Ember? She treats it like it’s just another part of who I am.
I really like it. “Though I have to admit, most of my first dates don’t require so many fire safety assessments. ”
“Most? And here I thought I was special.” She pouts, and I find myself staring at her lips.
I can’t take my eyes off Ember’s stunning beauty. From her shapely figure to those endless legs, she’s captivating. The vibrant hues she’s wearing, her kelly green skinny jeans, make a statement. Her bold fashion choices mirror her playful spirit—it’s who she is.
“Well, most of my first dates didn’t start with car crashes and concussion-induced soul mate proposals either.” I smirk, watching her blush a little before she groans and covers her face.
“I was hoping you’d forgotten by now, maybe file it away to insanity?” She shakes her head.
“Forget my soulmate calling me her takeout order? Never.” The words come fast, which surprises me. I’m usually more guarded and more measured. But something about Ember has me relaxed and playing along.
The server brings our desserts and makes a show of the torch to Ember’s crème br?leé.
The sugar caramelizes on top and then cracks with a gentle tap of her spoon.
She makes a satisfied sigh and then prompts me to dig in.
I’m about to take my first bite when my phone vibrates with the distinctive pattern of an emergency call.
My stomach sinks as I check the message: “Kitchen fire at Mario’s Pizza.” I know the building—old wiring, narrow exits—and it’s not good.
“I’m sorry,” I say, already standing. “Kitchen fire at Mario’s, three blocks away. I realize I’m off duty, but as a captain and we’re so close—”
“I’m coming with you.”
I pause, caught off guard by her determined expression. “Ember, this is an actual emergency, not a—”
“Perfect observation opportunity for my next fire-themed event?” She’s already grabbing her purse and pulling on her pink cardigan. “Besides, I’d rather watch you in action than eat alone.”
I should argue, but I laugh instead, watching her eat a large spoonful of her dessert. It’s against protocol to bring civilians to active scenes. But time is critical, and something tells me she’d find her way there anyway.
“Fine, but you stay behind the safety line I’ll put in place.”
The drive takes mere minutes.
I radio in while driving, getting updates from the crew already in route. Ember stays quiet, but I can sense her watching me, studying me. Typically, this is where I can spot the dates who shy away or lean too far in—all the warning signs, but she’s undeterred.
I’m in command mode at the scene, directing the first response team while assessing the situation. But part of me remains aware of Ember, watching as she takes charge of the growing crowd of onlookers.
“Folks, let’s make space for the emergency vehicles!” Her voice carries over the chaos. “Yes, yes, it’s very exciting, but let’s give them room to work. Sir, your Instagram story can be filmed from five feet further back. I promise it’ll be just as dramatic.”
I can’t help smiling as I gear up. She’s handling the civilians better than some of my crew. I catch her eye, giving her a quick nod before heading in.
The fire is straightforward—contained to the kitchen, though the smoke damage will be extensive. An hour later, the crew is wrapping up, and I find myself drawn back to where Ember’s still coordinating the bystanders.
“So,” I say, approaching her, knowing I smell like the smoke from the kitchen fire, “this isn’t the evening I had planned.”
“Are you kidding?” She gestures around us. “Fire, drama, heroic rescues—of marinara sauce, no less. Best first date ever.”
I laugh, running a hand through my hair. Most women would have called an Uber by now. “Most people would’ve called it a night by now.”
“Well, I’m not most people.” She steps closer, straightening my collar that is bent under my fire jacket. The simple gesture feels intimate. “And our food is surely cold by now, so glad we ordered dessert first—so... coffee?”
“At midnight?”
“Unless you’re worried about staying up past your bedtime, Captain?”
The way she says ‘Captain’ sends heat through me that has nothing to do with the recent fire. I catch her hand where it’s still playing with my collar. “There’s a 24-hour diner around the corner. Best pie in three towns.”
“More dessert? You know how to treat a girl. Let’s go.”
We end up sharing apple pie and stories until well past midnight.
I tell her about growing up in the shadow of my grandpa, father, and uncle, all firefighters, about making captain younger than any of them.
She talks about her event planning business in Atlanta, but I notice how she skirts specific details, her smile dimming when she mentions her former partner and some legal battles as she separates from the business.
I don’t like this guy, with what little she says.
Ember is in Peachwood Grove partly for escape and to help Nic with a few events, including our fire station fundraiser for the community.
At least she’ll be around for the next two weeks.
“You know,” I say, watching her arrange crumbs into intricate patterns, “most people don’t coordinate crowd control at fire scenes quite so naturally.”
“Most people don’t rock turnout gear quite like you do.” She deflects with humor, but then adds more seriously, “I enjoy organizing chaos. Making beautiful things out of messy situations for others. It’s my thing—.”
“I’ve noticed.” Without thinking, I reach across the table to brush some soot from her cheek. “Ember Harper, I like your thing.”
She grins, a light pink flushing her cheeks. “Same, Ryan McCallister.”
The moment hangs between us, charged with possibility, and then it’s gone and we are back in my Mustang. I should be exhausted after a twelve-hour shift and an emergency call, but I feel more awake with Ember than ever.
I’m driving her back to The Azalea Inn and debating how this evening will end because I dread it. The soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminates her profile, and I catch myself stealing glances at her between watching the road.
Her hand runs along the dashboard, and something in my chest tightens. “Tell me about this car,” she says softly.
My jaw clenches. I don’t talk about this—about Dad, about the dark months after. But with Ember, the words come easier.
“Restored it with my Uncle Jimmy. After Dad died.” I loosen my grip on the steering wheel. “Every Sunday for three years. He said if I needed to hit something, I could hit a wrench against an engine block. If I needed to talk, he’d be there.”
“Ryan.” Her voice is gentle. “That’s beautiful.”
When I pull up to the bed-and-breakfast, warm porch lights cast a gentle golden hue over its white columns. I put my car in park and turn toward Ember. My heart pounds a steady rhythm against my ribs as I take in her features, memorizing every detail of this moment.
“Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed getting to learn more about you despite the emergency interruption.”
“I loved tonight. It was great even with the emergency interruption. I mean, isn’t it our thing now?” Ember smiles, and it reaches her eyes.
I can’t help but chuckle because, yes, it’s quite possibly our thing.
The laughter between us fades into a comfortable silence, and I lean in, the space in the car growing smaller, her hazel eyes holding mine.
My hand moves to her cheek, her skin soft under my fingertips.
The scent of her floral perfume mingles with the faint smoke clinging to my shirt, an oddly perfect blend.
“Ember,” I whisper, my voice husky to my own ears.
She doesn’t pull away, instead, her eyes flutter shut, and I take the invitation.
Our lips meet in a kiss that’s both a question and an answer, that quickly ignites into something more urgent, more demanding.
Her fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer as if she can’t get enough, and I’m all too happy to oblige.
The world outside the Mustang fades away, leaving only the sound of our breathing. It’s a kiss that leaves us both panting. I’m reluctant to break a connection that feels this electric, this charged with promise.
When we part, her eyes are glazed with a mix of surprise and desire, mirroring my own. I brush a stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“Goodnight, Ryan,” she murmurs, her voice shaky.