14. Ash
ASH
A cast-iron furnace squats against the far wall, hulking from some other century.
“Get some wood from outside,” Kael orders. “I’ll look for firestarter.”
“You sure you can get it working?”
He tries the firebox, but it’s stuck. He flips open the pocketknife and wedges it under the handle, muscles straining as he yanks.
His sweatshirt rides up just enough to show a strip of skin, damp at the waistband.
The rough grunt he makes with his whole body when the door finally gives hits me low and hard.
“Somebody’s made it work,” Kael says, ducking his face into his sweatshirt as soot billows out. He runs a hand along the chimney pipe. “Let’s hope whoever it was doesn’t come back.”
“We do want to be rescued,” I remind him, but he just waves me toward the door, suddenly comfortable alone in the place he’d refused to enter.
Fetching firewood is the least I owe him after scaring the life out of him and mocking his dead mom’s keepsake.
Jenny: okay?
I text back, He’s fine.
The gap where I pried off a board works as a doorway. After the inn’s dimness, moonlight is shockingly bright, illuminating towering pines looming overhead, their long shadows stretching across the clearing. For the first time all day, the wind is just wind. No hint of smoke.
Kael would call it beautiful. And if he did, I’d understand.
“Are you going?” he calls from inside. The impatience in his voice nudges me fully out.
I keep my flashlight off, letting the moon do its work. Gathering an armful of wood from the forest edge is easy. Dry branches are scattered everywhere as perfect kindling.
Eight years in San Francisco have taught me the vocabulary of fire season.
Wine country watches the forecast the way other people watch sports scores.
It’s never if there’s a fire, just where and how many.
Two years ago the sky went Blade Runner orange when ash fell on the city.
It felt too close then. Now I’m standing in the path instead of under the fallout.
I haul the wood up beside the inn and, out of habit, pull up my parents’ text thread. Hey, minor wildfire, minor evacuation, no big—
I delete every word. Pawpaw spent his nineties pretending everything was “no big deal” while the debt piled up. One man lying about the future was enough for our family.
Kael hunched in the dirt outside the inn flashes through my mind, palms frantic against the ground until he found that ridiculous painted rock. Dodging a text to my mom makes me feel grateful and ungrateful in the same breath.
I hitch the wood higher in my arms and go back in. Kael’s waiting with a box of matches and a dimpled smile.
“Over here,” he says.
“Thank you, Ash,” I squeak in a falsetto. “So nice of you to go out in the cold for firewood.”
“Yeah, yeah. Put some in there. I think this’ll work.”
He shoves crumpled paper under the wood and strikes a match. Flame licks up the kindling as he latches the firebox shut.
“You’re surprisingly handy,” I admit.
He wipes dust off his hands and points up. “Assuming there’s not a dead animal blocking the chimney.”
“Or a ghost.”
Kael rolls his eyes, and the firelight flickers in his glasses. We both watch, holding our breath as the paper burns out and… the branches catch. Light pours across the Inskip Inn.
Kael punches the air.
“Kind of charming,” I say, and whip my head toward the room. “The inn, I mean.”
“If you like haunted, dust-covered decay.”
“Charming,” I repeat. “Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t do anything like this. Hiking to an abandoned cabin? Lighting up an old furnace?”
“Under normal circumstances, you’d go the wrong direction and stab yourself with this.”
Firelight licks over him as he taps the knife at his belt. He kneels in front of the furnace, pulls his blanket over his shoulders, and warms his hands.
In the glow, his handsomeness is impossible to ignore.
The tousled blond hair. The way he knows what he loves and just…
does it. Those glasses. The fucking sweatshirt, hiding more than it shows.
My chest stays tightly braced against a chill, except it’s warmer in here, and I know I’m clenching to keep from reaching out.
Heat slides up my neck when he catches me staring. Instead of a snide remark, he lifts one side of his blanket in invitation.
It’s too cold to say no, and something in his eyes makes me want to say yes to more than warmth.
I drop my backpack and kneel beside him to slide under the blanket until our arms touch.
The soft brush of fabric sends a spark straight through me.
The fire’s nothing compared to the heat under my skin.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Branches crackle. I angle my head away so it doesn’t tip onto his shoulder.
“My mom didn’t die,” he says.
“You don’t have to explain. I didn’t know, and now I feel like an asshole.”
Kael sets his pet rock on the floor between us. “I know it’s silly to keep this.”
“Hold on.” I dig into my backpack and pull out Pawpaw’s debt collection letter, its creases soft from years of handling. “This is why I’ve saved two million dollars. So silly isn’t all bad.” I hover my hand over the rock. “Can I?”
He nods. The painted white dots in oversized black circles make it look like Rocky’s staring straight at me.
“Rocky Balboa,” Kael says. “My mom’s favorite movie. She left when I was ten.”
“What about your dad?”
Kael shakes his head, gaze fixed on the fire. “He was miserable, rich, and there just enough to hurt her. Once he left, she raised me herself. I can’t hate her for leaving.” His voice thins. “I ruined her life.”
“What? No.”
“Gram said he was always volatile. But before me, it was… contained. Like a storm way out at sea. I was the lightning rod. My crying, my needs… normal baby stuff, but I was what set him off. He was a monster, but I triggered him. If it weren’t for me, she could’ve navigated it better.
Left sooner. I’m the reason the storm hit her shore. ”
A tear slips down his cheek, catching the firelight. I brush it away and leave my hand resting on his skin just below the rim of his glasses. He turns from the flames toward me, eyes uncharacteristically dull.
“That may be what you think,” I say, my hand still on his cheek, “but that doesn’t make it true.”
Kael’s eyes close on a long, shaky breath. He leans into my touch, cheek pressing into my palm like he needs it, and the whole careful structure I’ve built my life inside gives with one quiet crack.
I lean in, close enough to feel his breath.
My phone rings, and Kael’s on his feet before I can answer. The temperature drops as cold air rushes in where his body used to be. I hate every second of that ringtone.
“Sorry,” I blurt, laughing too high. I never laugh like that. “I mean, sorry for— It’s Jenny.”
I answer.
“Everything okay there?” she asks.
“Great. Kael lit us a fire.”
“You should be okay sleeping until sunrise. Internet says wildfires don’t spread as fast at night. Am I on speaker?”
Kael yanks a dusty cloth off an antique roll-top desk. “Hi, Jenny.”
“Sorry again for the scare,” she says. “Force of habit.”
“Your poor kid,” he says, holding his nose as he moves to the next piece of furniture.
“Wyatt’s worse than I am,” Jenny says, while Kael reveals an old wooden chair. “That boy would hide in a trash can all day if it meant he could ambush me.”
“Remind me not to hang at your place after this.” He tries a lamp, but there’s no bulb.
“You boys stay safe,” she says. “Ash, you’ve got enough charge to last through the night?”
“I’ll plug back into my laptop,” I say, digging in my bag. “Thanks, Jenny. We owe you.”
“Sleep tight,” she says. “Don’t let the Charlie ghost bite.”
Her chuckle cuts off with the line, and my heart knocks once at the sudden quiet. Just us again. No more interruptions.
Kael stands with a ratty cloth draped over one arm, sweeping his hand over a dusty table where he’s set out two granola bars and two water bottles like it’s a banquet.
“Dinner is served!” He bows and becomes the host of our dinner party.
I play along, because how could I not? “A feast fit for kings.”
“Cheerio,” he says, winking as he unwraps his granola bar. I wonder what would happen if I sat beside him instead of across from him. Wonder way too hard.
“Cheerio,” I echo, wishing I could reach across the table and touch him again.
The glow of the moment fades, replaced by the old promise I made myself. Chase already stole years off my timeline, and he’s Warren Buffett compared to Kael’s meme stock.
Kael sits and waits. I choose the chair opposite to keep a safe distance away, but feel his eyes lingering until I look up.
“You really have two million dollars?”