Chapter 4 #2
“Goodnight, Firecracker,” I reply, my thumb stroking her cheek one last time before she slowly opens the car door and steps out into the night.
She turns to look at me over her shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to put out fires, you sure know how to start them.”
I chuckle.
Her laughter fills the air as she closes the door, leaving me sitting there, grinning like a fool, the taste of her still on my lips, and my cock straining against my pants.
I watch as she walks up the steps of The Azalea Inn, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the porch lights before she disappears inside.
After the front door closes behind her, I put the car in gear and pull away, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts, all centered on one fiery, sharp-witted, gorgeous woman.
I can’t remember the last time someone affected me so deeply and so quickly.
Ember Harper is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and as I drive through the quiet streets of Peachwood Grove, I can’t help but sense my life has taken an unexpected but thrilling turn.
The night is far from over, but that kiss, our laughter, the warmth of her hand in mine, they’re enough to have me looking forward to the next time we’re together. Because one thing is certain—I’m not ready to let the flames of our connection burn out and I know I have limited time with her.
I’m three blocks from the Azalea Inn when my phone buzzes on the passenger seat. Mrs. Whitmore’s name lights up the screen.
Mrs. Whitmore: Captain McCallister—emergency at the inn! Main water pipe burst in ceiling. Flooding badly. I’ve called an emergency plumber but I’m evacuating guests now. Can you help?
My jaw clenches hard. I’m already executing a U-turn before I finish reading.
The drive back takes ninety seconds that feel like ninety years. I pull into the parking lot to find chaos—water streaming from the building’s second floor, guests hauling luggage through the front entrance, Mrs. Whitmore directing traffic with a flashlight.
And Ember, standing in the doorway looking shell-shocked, her phone pressed to her ear.
I’m out of the car in seconds.
“Ember.”
She spins, relief flooding her features. “Ryan? What are you—there’s a pipe burst and I need to evacuate and I was trying to find a hotel but everything’s booked or thirty miles away—”
“Pack your stuff,” I cut her off, my captain’s voice kicking in. “You’re coming home with me.”
“Ryan, I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can.” My hands find her shoulders, steadying. “You need a place to stay. I have two spare bedrooms. This isn’t up for debate, Firecracker.”
Her eyes search mine. “We just had our first date.”
“I know.” I scan her face and see the worry between her eyes. “But you need help, and I’m offering it. That’s all this is, no ulterior motives. Scout’s honor.” I raise my hand like the boy scout I am.
“Okay, only until I find something else,” she says. “A few days, tops. Mrs. Whitmore thinks this will be resolved in about two days.”
“However long you need.” I’m already guiding her toward the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get your stuff before the water gets worse.”
Fifteen minutes later, her suitcase is crammed in my backseat alongside a garment bag and her laptop case. She’s silent as we pull onto Cole Ridge Road, staring out the window at the dark water.
“You know this is crazy, right?” she finally replies. “We’ve known each other like two days.”
“Three if you count today, it’s past midnight” I reach over, lacing my fingers through hers. “But who’s counting?”
“Me. I’m counting.” But she doesn’t pull her hand away. “Because normal people don’t move in together after one date.”
“You’re not moving in. You’re temporarily relocating during a housing emergency.” My thumb strokes the back of her hand. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
I pull into my driveway, the house is lit up against the dark water. She goes quiet, taking it in—the modern lines, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the dock stretching into the moonlit pond.
“This is temporary,” she says again, but her voice wavers.
“Whatever you need, Em.”
I grab her suitcase from the backseat, and she follows me inside. I show her to the guest room—the one with the water view, the one I’ve never let anyone use because it feels too personal, too much like sharing my sanctuary.
“Bathroom’s through there,” I say, setting her suitcase by the bed. “Towels in the closet. Kitchen’s yours anytime. Make yourself at home.”
She’s looking at me with those hazel eyes, and something passes between us—understanding, I won’t take advantage of her in my home, she’s safe here.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For this. For everything.”
“Always, Firecracker.”
She responds with a bright smile and in turn I can’t help but smile back at her.
I should leave. Give her space. Let her settle in.
Instead, I stand there in the doorway, watching her run her hand along the whitewashed dresser, taking in the room that’s now hers.
“Ryan?” Her voice is soft.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad it was you.” She turns to face me. “The rescue. All of it. It was kismet, like we were meant to meet each other.”
My chest tightens. “Me too, Em. Me too. Sleep well, Firecracker.”
I force myself to step back, to close the door, to walk down the hall to my room.
But as I lie in bed, knowing she’s only down the hall, knowing her clothes are in my guest room closet and her toothbrush is in the bathroom and she’s here, in my space, in my life—I like it, but I know the truth.
I don’t want this to be temporary—I need to savor every moment with Ember, no matter what happens when she leaves.