15. Wendi
15
Wendi
Wendi couldn’t breathe. The crowd pressed in around her, but all she saw was the burning doorway of The Painted Shell. Emma and Phil’s hands gripped her arms, holding her back.
“You can’t go in there,” Emma said, her grip tightening.
Wendi barely heard her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the flames, willing Miles to reappear. The sirens in the distance meant nothing—they were too far away, too late.
Her mouth went dry. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her hands shook until she clenched them into fists to stop the tremors. This wasn’t like her panic attack earlier; this was different—more terrifying. Miles and Max were trapped inside.
Seconds felt like hours.
She looked skyward and whispered, as if pleading with the universe. “Please, don’t take them from me.”
The air split with a deafening boom. Part of the roof collapsed, sending sparks into the night. A horrified wail ripped through the onlookers. Someone else grabbed at her, trying to pull her back.
Wendi wrenched free, pushing forward with a desperate urgency. She had to be closer for when Miles stepped out—if he made it out at all.
“He’ll make it.” Arthur appeared beside her. “My boy’s a strong one.”
The fire roared hotter. Glass shattered inside. A beam crashed down, the sound reverberating through the ground.
Around her, the townspeople coped in different ways. Ada’s lips moved in a silent prayer. Mrs. Winters sobbed uncontrollably. Old Pete took off his hat and held it against his chest.
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Someone pointed.
Wendi squinted through tears. Then, for just a moment, the smoke parted, and a shape appeared in the doorway—a shadow.
Her heart nearly stopped.
“Miles!”
Without thinking, Wendi broke free and ran.
He staggered into view, bent low, cradling something to his chest. His face and clothes were coated in soot. He couldn’t stop coughing.
At first, she couldn’t tell what he was carrying. Then a bark. Max’s head appeared, nose twitching as he emerged from Miles’s arms.
Miles clutched something else flat against his side. Just as he cleared the doorway, the awning gave way, collapsing in a shower of embers.
She collided with Miles in a desperate embrace, sobs wracking her throat. Max squirmed between them, whimpering softly.
“You’re okay.” Her hands moved over him—his soot-smeared cheeks, his shoulders—“You’re both okay.”
Max licked at their faces. Miles tried to speak, but the effort only triggered another fit of coughing. His arms were marred with burns, his eyes red and bloodshot.
Wendi draped an arm around him and guided him across the street, away from the fire. He felt hot through his shirt and leaned heavily against her.
Arthur squeezed by the onlookers. “My boy,” he said. “Always the brave one.”
Miles straightened, holding out the covered canvas he’d protected. The sheet was singed. “Couldn’t leave this behind.”
Arthur took the painting, his hands trembling as he removed the sheet. The crowd gathered, momentarily forgetting the fire.
It was a painting of the cove, but unlike his others, this one had people in it ...
A small boy held a spiral shell to his ear. A red-haired girl sat nearby. A man stood at the water’s edge, watching them.
“Been trying to get this one right for months,” Arthur said. “Couldn’t remember everything, but knew it mattered.”
Wendi gasped as the memory hit her—a day at the cove as a child, a sad-eyed boy, his distracted father.
Miles reached into his pocket and pulled out the familiar spiral shell.
“It was you,” Wendi whispered, breathless with the realization.
“You?” Miles’s eyes widened, turning the shell in his hand. “This got me through everything. That little girl at the cove told me it was magic.”
Wendi touched the shell and their fingers brushed. “I never knew if it helped.”
“Every day.” Miles looked right at her. “That kindness. Your smile. I’ve thought about you—every single day.”
“You did?”
They stood amidst the chaos—fire, sirens, and shouting voices—but Wendi only saw Miles. His hand gently cupped her face. “I think I’ve been looking for you my whole life.”
A sharp breath hitched in her throat, but before she could speak, his lips found hers.
The world blurred.
The crackling fire, the frantic voices—they all faded. There was only Miles. He tasted of salt and smoke and something unmistakably him. The scrape of his unshaven jaw sent shivers to her bones.
She sank into him, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. It wasn’t just their first kiss—it was every kiss they should’ve had, every longing glance, every moment that had led them here. It was the feeling of coming home to something she hadn’t even known she was missing.
When they finally pulled away, his forehead rested against hers. Right now, nothing else mattered.
Only this. Only them.
Max barked and circled their feet. Some people cheered. Others wiped tears away.
The fire trucks arrived, their red lights flashing across the scene. Firefighters rushed past with hoses, but Wendi knew The Painted Shell was beyond saving.
The sirens blared. The crowd murmured in low voices. The fire hissed as water hit it.
She watched them work, leaning against Miles with his arm around her. “Everything I built ...” she started, but her words faltered. “Just lost everything.”
“Not everything.” Miles gently turned her toward him, still holding the shell. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Together.”
Wendi looked at Miles, at the honesty in his eyes, then at Max pressed against her leg, then at Arthur standing nearby.
The building burned behind them. But the panic she expected never came. Instead, she felt a quiet sadness, tempered by the warmth of Miles beside her. As his fingers intertwined with hers, Wendi realized—the shell in his hand had truly been magic after all. It had carried the sound of the cove to him until he found his way back to this place—back to her.
She squeezed his hand, feeling the lucky charm nestled between their palms.
Some things were lost, but others—more important things—were found.