Chapter 24
EZRA
Scarlett’s fingers brush against mine across the table, our wineglasses almost empty, the vanilla candle still flickering between us.
I’m in awe of how comfortable it is to have her here with me, like she’s always belonged.
I try to imagine what it will be like when she leaves, but I’m unable to. My brain can’t conceive it.
She takes the last bite of her carbonara and sits back, sighing with satisfaction.
“Okay,” she admits, setting her fork down. “This was incredible. Your famous carbonara wasn’t false advertising after all.”
“Wait a second, you doubted me? That’s just offensive.” I chuckle, taking the last drink of my wine.
“Apologies,” she says, shooting me a wink.
“Accepted. Seems like I’m full of all sorts of surprises.”
She raises an eyebrow, a teasing sparkle dancing in her green eyes. “Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed.”
Leaning back in my chair, I watch her, enjoying how easy this is. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” she says. Her eyes find mine again. “Especially considering you’re Ezra Reed.”
I shake my head, fighting back laughter. “Don’t start, Scarlett Collins. International best-selling author who has sold several million copies of her books worldwide. I don’t feel worthy to even be in your presence.”
“Oh, stop,” she says, her voice lowering.
I gather our empty wineglasses and set them on the counter next to the wine.
Scarlett follows behind me after grabbing our empty bowls and places them in the sink.
She bumps my hip as I turn on the water. “I think you might have spoiled me for anyone else’s cooking.”
“Well, that was my master plan,” I tell her, turning on the water. “Mwa-haha!”
“Diabolical.” Scarlett leans against the counter, watching me. Her expression turns thoughtful. “Seriously, though, this was exactly what I needed after how hard I worked today. Thank you so much.”
“Anytime.” I set a bowl into the dishwasher rack. I glance over at her and notice how her hair falls loosely around her shoulders, green eyes locked on mine. I know she can feel the electricity that’s streaming between us.
We both open our mouths to speak, but before either of us can get a word out, my phone steals my attention.
I pull it out and stare at the screen. “It’s my store manager. I’m sorry, one second.”
Instead of walking away, I put the phone on speaker so Scarlett can hear the conversation.
I have nothing to hide from her.
“Hey, Paula, what’s up?”
“Hi, I’m sorry to interrupt. I wouldn’t call if it weren’t important,” she says, getting straight to business. “We’re getting a lot of media requests for interviews ahead of the charity event in three weeks. Everyone is excited about your return.”
A knot of tension tightens inside me, and I feel so many old anxieties rising again. It’s not Paula’s fault, though. I knew this event was coming and have been planning it for over a year. I just imagined I’d be ready. Media involvement was inevitable.
“Are you sure they need to interview me?” I ask, though I already know the answer. “Can they speak to you? You know the business just as well. You worked with my mother for decades.”
Paula hesitates. “You know I wouldn’t push you to take care of it if I could. They want you, Ezra. Paris Pottery is your baby, not mine. What if we agreed to a few carefully chosen outlets that could help set the tone for the event and let you control your narrative?”
I lean against the counter, running a hand roughly through my hair.
I glance at Scarlett, who hasn’t taken her eyes off me.
Her brows are furrowed, and I give her a small smile.
It does nothing to ease any of her concerns.
I exhale. “All right. Just set up a few and be very picky about who it is. I would like all questions to be submitted in advance, and I will not answer any invasive or personal ones. I’ll walk out in the middle of it with no fucks given. ”
“Absolutely. I know you will,” Paula agrees. “I contacted public relations, and they’re aware of it, too. But I promise to handle it personally. Thanks, Ezra. I hope you’re enjoying your vacation and are finally getting some alone time.”
I laugh. “It’s been the best vacation of my life. I’ll see you next week when I return to the office.”
“Great. I should have something for you to review by then,” she says and ends the call.
I sigh, meeting Scarlett’s concerned gaze. Her fingers lace through mine, and it calms me down.
“Well,” she says, “sounds like you’re officially stepping back into the spotlight.”
“Yeah,” I admit, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting media attention this soon. I thought I had a bit more time before reality came knocking. At least until my vacation is over.”
Scarlett nods, and understanding swims in her expression. She gently squeezes my hand. “How are you feeling about it?”
I pause, studying her. She genuinely wants to know. No one has ever cared, but she does.
“Part of me knows it’s necessary because I want this to be successful for all the artisans who committed.
On a business level, it’s smart because it could bring more exposure to the event, and we could earn more money to support artists.
But after my mom passed and things fell apart with Sara, the thought of going public again made me feel… ”
I can’t think of the word.
“Exposed,” Scarlett finishes.
“Yes.”
She offers a small grin. “I get it. After everything, the thought of stepping out there again makes you feel like everyone’s waiting for you to fail or fall apart.”
I breathe easier, knowing how deeply she understands me without having to explain much.
Scarlett holds my gaze. “But this is your moment, your art, and your life and legacy. Nobody gets to decide what this means but you.”
I absorb her words. “Easier said than done.”
“Of course it is,” she says. “But you have something you didn’t have last time.”
I lift an eyebrow, amused. “And what’s that?”
Scarlett rises onto her tiptoes, brushing her lips across mine, her voice a whisper. “Strength.”
I grin against her mouth, savoring the taste of her kiss. “Explain.”
She pulls away from me, eyes fluttering open.
“You lost it all, Ezra. Your mother. Your fiancée. And even after all of that, you’re still extremely successful and well-loved.
At this point, your story is about what you went through and how you survived that through your art and because of it.
You chose to keep creating when so many people quit after a loss so devastating as that.
It’s…” She swallows hard. “Powerful. Inspiring. You should be really fucking proud for taking care of yourself during that time.”
She makes me smile.
“There it is,” she whispers.
“What?” I ask.
“Your sparkle,” she tells me. “I’ll support you with whatever you need. I even have a remedy if you want to throw up before the interview.”
I lick my lips, tucking strands of her damp hair behind her ear. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
“I’m the lucky one.” Her hands rest against my chest, her lips curving against mine. The worries about media and exposure drift away, replaced by certainty about the woman standing with me in my kitchen.
After I put up the leftovers, Scarlett sighs. “I’m not ready for the night to end yet.”
I grin. “Back porch?”
She nods. “Can we bring more wine?”
“I’ll grab the bottle,” I say, snatching up the container and interlocking her fingers with mine. I lead her through the kitchen toward the back porch.
As soon as we walk outside, the briskness of the air raises goose bumps on my arms.
“Oh, this is firepit weather,” Scarlett says, playfully shivering.
“I was just thinking that,” I tell her, leading her off the porch toward the Adirondack chairs.
Scarlett breathes deeply as she watches me stack the fresh wood I cut the other day.
It’s peaceful, and for a moment, the world feels far away—no media, no pressure, no looming questions.
I light the fire, and the wood immediately catches.
I sit and pull Scarlett onto my lap. I lean back and take her with me, holding her as we stare at the flames, listening to the crackle.
Right now, it’s only me and her, sitting quietly together, feeling completely and utterly understood.
We pass the wine bottle back and forth until it’s empty.
Scarlett’s breathing evens out as we watch the flames rise, the warmth of the fire chasing the chill from the night.
I rest my chin against her shoulder and inhale the scent of her hair, clean and sweet.
Her fingertips trace circles along the back of my hand, and it settles something restless in me.
“Tell me something,” Scarlett says, her voice quiet but clear above the crackling logs.
“Anything,” I say, nibbling on her ear.
She turns slightly, gazing at me. “Do you ever think about how close we might’ve come to never meeting? The odds are astronomical.”
“All the time,” I admit. “I think about the inscription in my mom’s book, too. There could’ve been a version of me who read that and laughed it off. But somehow, you ended up here and were here when I found it.”
She leans into me. “I never told you this, but I almost canceled coming to Charleston at the very last minute.”
My stomach tightens. “Why?”
“Fear.” Her voice is steady. “I was afraid I’d never write again. I almost canceled the trip, but when I considered it, I kept thinking about the signing at the bookstore and how kind everyone was. Your mother and the entire book club. I thought about them.”
To think my mom planted those seeds so long ago.
“And now that you’re here?” My voice dips lower. “Regrets?”
“None, never. I try to imagine what my life would be like if I had stayed in New York. I’d be in the same cycle. But you broke me of that, and it only took one week.”
“You did that, Scarlett, not me.”
“You’ve inspired me.” Scarlett smiles as the flames dance in her eyes. “You’ve inspired me so much that all I want to do is write this story over and over again.”
The raw honesty in her expression steals my breath away.
I reach up, threading my fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth gently to mine.
Her lips part and her tongue welcomes me, deepening the kiss.
She arches her back against me as she grinds her ass against my cock. Every nerve in my body responds.
My mouth captures her ear, then I kiss down her neck, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my lips.
She tilts her head back onto my shoulder, eyes closed, exhaling softly. “Ezra…”
Her whispered plea undoes me. Sliding my hand beneath her waistband, I slip my fingers into her panties, feeling how fucking wet she is. Her body shudders as my thumb brushes over the sensitive spot that makes her gasp.
“Mm,” I growl, continuing to rub circles how she likes.
She lifts her arms, threading her fingers through my hair at the base of my neck as she whimpers.
I slide one, then two fingers inside her tight hole, watching as her breathing grows heavier, her body pressing closer against mine.
Her hips rock in rhythm with my hand, urging me forward.
My thumb returns to her clit, and her breathing increases.
I’m lost in the softness of her hushed whispers, in the tension building between us, and the firelight casting shadows across her flushed skin.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. Her voice shakes. “I’m so fucking close. Ezra.”
The way she says my name sets my pulse racing. I increase the pressure, watching her expression shift as tension seizes her body.
“Let go, sweetheart. Come for me. You fuckin’ earned it today.”
She shatters against me with a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand, just in case someone can hear. Her release is powerful and perfect, and I love watching her body crumple under my touch.
I hold her close, pressing soft kisses to her temple as her breathing steadies.
I pull my fingers from her pussy, then I place them in her mouth, letting her suck.
“How do you taste?” I whisper in her ear.
I pull my fingers from her mouth, and she deeply kisses me. “You tell me.”
Slowly, her eyes meet mine as I savor every drop. “You taste like my favorite flavor.”
“You’re unreal,” she says with her lips lingering against mine. “I now have five O-coins to use.”
“Spending them all tonight?” I ask, pulling her bottom lip into my mouth and sucking.
“I think I might,” she says. “Also, I only have a little over twenty thousand words left to write. Two days max, then our little game is over, and I get you whenever I want.”
“Yes, you fucking do.” I hold her tight against me.
The quiet crackle of the fire surrounds us, a gentle, soothing hum. But the peaceful moment shatters as something bright flashes through the trees beyond the fence line. Scarlett jolts upright in my lap.
“Did you see that?” she asks, voice strained.
I stare into the darkness, pulse hammering in my throat. It happens again. “Yeah.”
Scarlett slides off my lap as we both stand, unease crawling under my skin.
I instinctively step forward, positioning myself protectively in front of her.
Another burst of light, and it’s unmistakable what it is now. A camera flash.
“Shit,” I mutter, dread twisting through me. “Scarlett, sweetheart, we need to get inside right now.”
She hesitates briefly but follows my instruction without argument. Her fingers tighten around mine as we hurry toward the porch. Shadows shift behind the fence line, and the sound of footsteps scatter along the sidewalk. My jaw tightens as realization hits me.
“What is it?” Scarlett asks, anxiety lacing her voice.
We move inside, and I shut and lock the door, then close the blinds behind us before I meet her eyes.
The word already tastes bitter on my tongue, but she has to know. “Paparazzi.”