Chapter 29
Easton
Predictably, I was already mucking this whole thing up. Wade had given me a look of disgust as soon as I’d opened my mouth and asked about Derek, and Lila had taken her hand out of mine. As soon as his name had left my lips, I knew I’d fucked up.
Shocking?
Not really.
Hopefully, I could turn this around.
Even from a block away, the faint smell of smoke hung acrid in the damp air.
The cottage came into view, tucked behind rhododendrons, beaten down by rain and hydrangeas, bowed low with water. It should have looked quaint, safe. Instead, smoke stains streaked the siding of the back part of the house, curling under the eaves like blackened fingers, making it look sinister.
Beside me, Lila sat stiff, hands clenched together in her lap, her face turned toward the window. She looked like she was bracing for impact. Every line of her shoulders told the same story—something precious was about to be taken from her, and she was already bracing for it.
I killed the engine and stepped into the rain. The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked around to her side. She sniffed a little, pulling her jacket tight around her, her movements hesitant, as if she was forcing each one.
Letting her slide against me, I pressed a kiss into her hair before taking her hand in mine, looking up and down the street for any sort of whack jobs that shouldn’t be here.
Briggs pulled up behind us, climbing out with a Stetson set on his head, eyes sharp, every inch the professional he’d been brought here to be. He gave me a short nod before turning his attention back to his surroundings.
“I have the report from the fire department. You’re clear to go in,” Briggs said.
“Fire stayed contained, mostly to the back of the house, and it didn’t spread into other areas.
That’s good.” He hummed a little as he looked at it.
“The mud room and back porch are a no-go. The fire chief has them roped off. Still, the back of the kitchen is rough with water damage, according to Wade.”
Lila let out a breath, thin and shaky, as we opened up the front door, and the smell hit like a fist—wet ash, charred wood, melted plastic.
The smell clung to everything, and I knew from experience that it wasn’t one to let go easily.
Smoke was a bitch to clean, but I wouldn’t say it out loud to Lila.
Then there was all the water from fighting the fire.
Even shit that wasn’t on fire got ruined.
Beside me, she took a sharp inhale as she walked through the living room.
The cottage was small and had a pretty open concept.
It was cute as a button. Well, not now. Smoke smeared the back walls in the kitchen, and there was a gaping hole where the mudroom connected to the house.
Pools of sooty water lay everywhere. It was a mess.
Lila’s steps stuttered and faltered. Her hand grazed her grandmother’s chair, pausing there as if the fabric might steady her.
I caught the sound of her breath catching, quiet but sharp.
She looked even younger today, dressed down in leggings and the hoodie Sage had drummed up for her.
No less beautiful, even though I could tell that she was still tired and drawn from the stress.
“This can be repaired,” I told her. The truth was harsher, but what she needed now was steadiness. “Walls scrubbed, cabinets replaced, floors sanded. Smoke takes time, but it can be done.” The truth was the kitchen would need to be gutted. Drywall. The lot.
She turned to me, eyes wide and uncertain, as if not sure whether to believe me. God, I wanted to tell her I’d rebuilt worse. That I wasn’t going to let her carry this alone. But the words locked tight in my throat. What slipped free was simpler. “I’ll fix it. It’ll be okay.”
Her gaze lingered on mine a fraction too long. Something flickered there, but she pulled her hand back. Fingers brushed mine in retreat, and the loss of that touch burned hotter than the fire had.
Briggs’ voice carried from back near where the small back porch should have been. “Origin near the steps out here. Accelerant used along the floor. Intentional.” He said it plain, almost casual, which somehow made it worse.
Lila’s lips pressed together, pale now. Her eyes darted to the blackened husk that had been her mudroom and the subsequent soggy kitchen before snapping away again.
Her hand trembled. I covered it with mine without hesitation, weaving my fingers through hers.
Warm skin against cold, a grounding she didn’t fight.
Briggs went back to his notes while asking questions through the open doorway.
Lila answered as best she could about whether she left her doors locked or unlocked, and if she used her porch lights.
Through it all, I stayed close, her steady shadow.
Every so often, her eyes flicked up to me, quick and unguarded, and each time they landed, it was like sparks catching tinder.
When Briggs stepped outside to set cameras, the house fell quiet. Only rain tapped against glass, and smoke lingered heavily.
Her voice broke that silence, low and tentative. “So they spread the gas or whatever while I was asleep in bed?”
“Looks that way, which is definitely a sign that they’re desperate. Could be that it was just a warning. They only meant for the back porch to catch. Something small.”
Her breath hitched, audible even in the hush. She turned away quickly, but not fast enough to hide the way her cheeks paled.
“We’ll get this fixed up, sugar. It’ll be just like it was. In no time, I’ll have you up against the wall again. You’ll see.” I wanted to get her back to that version of Lila that was confident and sure.
The urge to step in, to tilt her chin back and taste her again, burned fierce. Instead, I let my hand hover at the small of her back, close enough to feel the warmth radiating through the fabric. Not touching, not quite, but near enough that my body hummed.
“I’d like that,” she murmured. “This seems like a nightmare.” Her eyes watered.
Gathering her close, I wrapped my arms around her. “It does. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
She rubbed her face against my flannel, making me laugh. “Are you wiping your boogers on me, Lila Merrick?”
“Maybe.” She tipped those lips of hers up to me, showing me her sad eyes.
“I don’t mind, but you’ll have to pay the toll.” Capturing her mouth in a kiss, I poured all my want into it, and she gave a little moan, melting against me with a sigh.
“Mmm,” she licked her lips and scrubbed her fingers through the scruff of my beard (something I’d never realized I loved). “Mr. Holt,” my dick jolted. “I like this toll thing. Do it again.”
Fuck, yes. Gripping the globes of her ass, I kissed her for all I was worth until we heard Briggs calling again and had to pull away from each other. My dick probably had a zipper mark, but it was worth it to put a smile on Lila’s face this morning.
“I guess we’d better get started before I get carried away,” I winked at her. “We’ve got our supplies in the truck. I’ll get going on hauling stuff up onto the porch. If you have more pictures you want to take for the insurance company, you should take them now.”
Wade and Cole had already taken the pictures, but she might want some more.
Insurance companies were particular about what they wanted pictures of.
Smoke still clung to everything. It sat in the fabric of the curtains, in the walls, in the very air, as if the house wanted to remind us of how close it had come to being lost.
“I can do that, but …” she nibbled on the lip again. Her hand brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, smudging soot across her cheek.
“Don’t you worry, sugar.” I gave her another look as I headed to my truck. “We’ll be picking this up right where we left it.” She gave a little sigh.
Doing something was better than worrying about the damage.
Action was what counted. Dragging a sheet of plywood from the truck that I’d gotten from the barn this morning, I set to work.
The first step would be to board up the kitchen window, which had blown out, and the back door, so that the property was secure.
The glass was gone, leaving nothing but shards glittering on the ground.
The adjustor couldn’t come until tomorrow, which was actually remarkable.
Redhawk apparently knew someone who knew someone and had called in a favor.
Soon enough, I was able to get lost in the rhythm of my hammer pounding in nails, filling the silence.
Every strike echoed against the damp walls as I set up boards to cover the broken window before I got my saw out to fit the piece for the back door.
I started pushing at the sheetrock in a few spots, making mental notes of what I needed to do.
Lila swept the glass into a pan; the scrape of shards against metal was oddly calming.
When I paused, she glanced over her shoulder.
“You don’t have to take all this on yourself,” she said softly.
“Wasn’t planning to.” I drove the last nail home. “This is Wildwood Meadows. Word gets out, you’ll have half the town here by noon.”
As if summoned, boots crunched on the porch.
Cole Truman filled the doorway, broad and easy in that way only a man who fought fire for a living could be.
His utility shirt was damp, his hair darker from rain.
“Heard you could use some extra hands,” he said, a ghost of a smile under the soot smudge on his cheek.
Behind him trailed Mrs. Sanderson from two streets over with her grandson in tow. Then Jesse from the feed store carrying an extra box of nails. That was the way here. People showed up.
Lila’s eyes glossed, not tears exactly, but something softer. She ducked her head quickly, voice brisk. “Thanks so much for coming.”
The next hour blurred into work. She had some of her Grams’ heritage recipes in a small box that was completely waterlogged, and Mrs. Sanderson was carefully laying them out to dry.
Every so often, I caught her sniffling and looking lost until she got herself moving again with purpose.
Lila’s laughter broke through once when Jesse shared a story about an old dog setting fire to his shed with a tipped camp lantern that he had probably lit about forty years ago.
The sound came reluctantly at first, then grew warmer and brighter.
It pulled at something in me, something I had been trying really hard not to name.
In the quiet stretch after, she stepped aside to answer her phone.
I could hear Sage’s voice even from where I was adding another board to a window.
“We’ve got the shop covered, promise,” Sage said, the background hum of Chapter & Crumb’s morning crowd carrying through.
“Mia’s been running lattes like she’s training for a marathon. ”
“Tell her to pace herself,” Lila laughed, exhaustion edging the sound. “Thank you both. I couldn’t…” She trailed off. Her eyes flicked to me, quick and unguarded, before she turned away, lowering her voice. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” Mia chimed in. “We may have renamed the muffins Jurassic Jawbreakers.”
Lila groaned. “Please don’t scare off my customers.”
“Too late,” Sage sing-songed, and the line filled with their laughter before the call ended.
She lingered with her phone in her hand, staring at the black screen as if clutching onto a thread of comfort. Then she set it aside and looked back at me. Our eyes met, and for a long moment, the noise of the house and the sounds of tools and voices faded away.
“You’ve got good people,” I said.
Her lips curved faintly. “We do. This is a good place.”
The words hung between us, weighted. Not just her. We. And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all. The we. Could I be part of a we?
I returned to work before the heat in my chest spilled into something reckless.
Every time she brushed past, I wanted to step in, to steady her, to claim more than I had any right to.
The fire had taken enough. She deserved someone who could promise her peace.
I had never been that man. It was a fact.
I’d said I would stay … but could I keep that promise?
I thought I might be able to, but there was still a part of me that was ready to sprint out of this town.
But when she bent to lift a scorched board and swayed just slightly, my hand was there before thought, firm at the small of her back. The contact was fleeting, but her breath caught sharp enough that it told me she felt it too.