Chapter 6
Piper
The guest room at Dylan's house smells like lavender and clean linen, and the bed is more comfortable than anything I've slept on in months. But I'm not sleeping.
I'm lying awake in the dark, listening to the sounds of the house settling around me. There’s the creak of old wood, the distant hum of the refrigerator. The soft footsteps of someone moving around downstairs.
Dylan.
I check my phone. It's almost two in the morning.
I should stay in bed. I should give him space. Whatever he is dealing with downstairs is his to handle, and I should respect that boundary.
But then I remember the raw fear in his voice when he called me and asked me to come here. The way he held me at the door like he needed to physically confirm I was real and safe.
I throw back the covers and pad downstairs in my pajamas. Dylan's house is small but cozy, filled with photos of Maddie and warm, lived-in furniture that speaks of a life carefully built and fiercely protected.
I find him in the kitchen, standing at the window with a mug of tea in his hands.
He is wearing sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, and his hair is rumpled like he has been running his hands through it.
The blue glow from his phone screen illuminates his face, and I can see the tension carved into every line.
"Dylan," I say softly.
He turns, startled. "Piper. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"No," I say, crossing the kitchen to stand beside him. "I couldn’t sleep."
He nods and turns back to the window. Outside, the night is clear, but there is a faint orange glow on the horizon that was not there when I arrived.
"The fire is spreading," he says quietly. "They have not issued an evacuation order yet, but the wind is shifting."
I look at the glow, then at him. His jaw is tight, his shoulders are rigid, and his breathing is just slightly too fast.
"Hey," I say gently, touching his arm. "Look at me."
He does, and the fear in his eyes nearly breaks me.
"We’re safe here," I tell him. "The fire is miles away. We have time if anything changes."
"I know that logically," he says. "But logic doesn't help when all I can see is Sarah's car disappearing into the smoke."
The rawness in his voice hits me like a physical blow.
"Tell me about her," I say softly. "Tell me about Sarah."
He looks surprised. "You want to hear about my dead wife?"
"I want to hear about the woman you loved," I correct. "I want to understand what you lost."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him weighing whether to let me in or keep this locked away where it's safe.
Finally, he nods.
"She was a teacher," he says. "Third grade. She loved kids, loved making them laugh. She had this way of making everyone feel seen, you know? Like you were the most important person in the room."
I nod, listening.
"We met in high school," he continues. "She was the girl everyone wanted to be friends with, and I was the quiet kid who baked in his free time. I've no idea why she chose me, but she did. And we built a life together. Got married young. Had Maddie. Opened the bakery."
I don’t interrupt, I don’t flinch, I just let him talk.
His voice cracks slightly on the last part.
"The night of the fire, we were both supposed to evacuate together," he says.
"But I was at the bakery trying to save what I could, and she was at home packing. The alerts came faster than anyone expected. The wind shifted. Traffic backed up on the highway. I was stuck two miles behind her, and I couldn’t get to her.
I tried. I tried everything. But the smoke was too thick, and the cars were not moving, and by the time they cleared the road. .."
He trails off, and I see him swallow hard.
"They found her car the next day," he says quietly. "Carbon monoxide. She never made it out."
Tears sting my eyes. "I'm so sorry," I murmur. "That is... that is a level of loss most people don't come back from, Dylan."
"The worst part is that I should have been with her," he says. "If I had left the bakery five minutes earlier, if I had not tried to save the stupid mixer or the stupid flour, I would have been in the car with her. We would have evacuated together."
"Or you both would have died," I say gently.
He looks at me, and I see the guilt etched into every line of his face.
"You can't know what would have happened," I continue. "But what I do know is that Maddie still has you because you made the choice you made. And that matters."
"It doesn't feel like it matters when I wake up in the middle of the night and smell smoke that is not there," he says.
I step closer and take the mug from his hands, setting it on the counter. Then I take both of his hands in mine.
"Dylan, you survived something impossible," I say. "And you are still standing, you’re still showing up for your daughter, you’re still creating beautiful things. And you’re still opening your heart even though it terrifies you. That is not a weakness, that is a strength."
He stares at our joined hands, and I see his throat work as he swallows.
"I'm terrified of losing you, too," he admits. "I'm terrified that if I let myself care about you the way I'm starting to, something will happen and I'll lose you the same way I lost her."
My heart clenches. "I can't promise that nothing bad will ever happen. But I can promise that I'm here right now. And I'm not going anywhere unless you ask me to."
He looks up at me, and the vulnerability in his eyes is almost too much to bear.
"I don't want you to go anywhere," he says roughly.
"Then I'll stay," I whisper.
He pulls me into his arms, and I feel the tension drain out of him as he holds me. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.
We stand like that for a long time, the kitchen quiet around us except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of wind through the trees.
Finally, he pulls back just enough to look down at me.
"Thank you," he says softly. "For listening to me, for understanding, and for not running when I showed you the messy parts."
"Everyone has messy parts," I say. "Yours just happen to be wrapped up in grief. That doesn't make them less worthy of being seen."
He lifts a hand and cups my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin in a gesture so tender it makes my breath catch.
"You are incredible," he murmurs.
"You are pretty incredible yourself," I reply.
He leans down slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to. But I don't want to pull away. I want this. I want him.
When his lips meet mine, the kiss is soft and searching, like he is asking a question I answer with the way I lean into him. His hands slide into my hair, and mine fist in his shirt, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us and the warmth building between us.
When we finally pull apart, we are both breathing hard.
"We should probably get some sleep," he says, though he doesn't sound like he wants to.
"Probably," I agree, though I don't move.
He smiles, and it's the first real smile I've seen from him all night. "Come on. I'll walk you back upstairs."
We climb the stairs together in comfortable silence. When we reach the guest room, he pauses at the door.
"Goodnight, Piper," he says.
"Goodnight, Dylan."
He hesitates, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. "Thank you."
"Always," I say, and I mean it.
He lingers for a moment longer, then forces himself to step back and head toward his own room at the end of the hall.
I close the door and lean against it, my heart pounding and my mind racing.
I'm falling for him, not just the charming baker with the talented hands and the adorable daughter, but all of him; the grieving widower, the protective father, and the person who carries his pain with grace and still finds ways to create beauty in the world.
And that terrifies me more than any wildfire ever could, because falling for Dylan means staying. And staying means putting down roots, and putting down roots means risking everything I've spent years protecting myself from.
But maybe, just maybe, it's worth the risk.
The next morning, I wake to the smell of coffee and pancakes. I pull on a sweatshirt and head downstairs to find Dylan at the stove, flipping pancakes while Maddie sits at the table coloring.
"Morning," I say, and they both look up.
"Piper!" Maddie squeals. "Daddy is making chocolate chip pancakes!"
"I can see that," I say, smiling.
Dylan glances at me, and there is something different in his expression this morning. Lighter. More open.
"Coffee?" he offers.
"Please."
He pours me a cup and hands it to me, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The touch sends a little spark through me, and from the way his eyes darken slightly, I know he feels it too.
"How did you sleep?" he asks.
"Better than I expected," I say honestly.
"Good." He flips another pancake. "I checked the alerts this morning. The fire is still contained south of town. We should be okay for now."
"That’s good news," I say.
Maddie pipes up from the table. "Daddy says you are going to stay with us until the fire goes away."
I glance at Dylan, who looks slightly embarrassed.
"If that’s okay with you," he says quickly. "I know it's an imposition, but I would feel better knowing you are not on the south side if things change."
"It's not an imposition," I say. "And yes, I'll stay. As long as you need me to."
The double meaning is not lost on either of us.
Maddie cheers, and Dylan's smile is warm and genuine.
We eat breakfast together like a family, and the normalcy of it's both comforting and terrifying. Maddie chatters about her plans for the day, Dylan makes terrible dad jokes that make her giggle, and I sit there feeling like I've stumbled into a life I did not know I wanted.
After breakfast, Dylan has to go to the bakery to prep for the festival, which is only two days away now. The phoenix cake is nearly complete, and he needs to add the final touches.