Chapter 10
The Firecracker Returns
Ember
The sun hasn’t risen yet when I arrive at the community park, armed with coffee that’s already gone cold and a clipboard I’ve been clutching like a shield.
Three days since I walked out of Ryan’s house.
Two days of sleeping poorly at the Azalea Inn, surrounded by floral wallpaper and the ghost of what I gave up.
Two days of texting Ryan like my sanity depends on it—because it does. He’s avoided pushing me, which is what I asked for, although part of me wants to be back at his house.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, right on schedule.
Ryan: Morning, Firecracker. You at the site yet?
Me: Beat the sun. Very on-brand for my control-freak tendencies.
Ryan: That’s my girl. Coffee?
My chest aches at “my girl.” We haven’t seen each other in person since the fight. Only these texts, as a lifeline thrown across the distance I created.
Me: Cold. Tragic. Send reinforcements.
Ryan: On it.
I smile despite myself, tucking my phone away as the first vendor truck rumbles into the parking lot. Showtime.
By 7 AM, controlled chaos reigns. Tents go up in aligned measured grids. Tables materialize in color-coordinated clusters. The vintage fire truck gleams in its designated photo op spot, about seventeen feet from the entrance for optimal first-impression impact.
Everything is going according to plan.
Which is when Nic appears, looking particularly glowy for someone who should be helping me coordinate volunteer check-in.
“You’re late,” I say, consulting my timeline. “Are you okay? You look weird.”
“Weird good or weird bad?”
“Weird like you’re either about to throw up or tell me something.” I study her face. “Are you pregnant?”
Nic’s eyes go wide. “How did you—”
“You’re glowing. Like, unnaturally. And you keep touching your stomach.” I gesture at her hand, which is indeed resting on her abdomen. “Also, you turned down coffee this morning, which has never happened in the history of our friendship.”
“Okay, Sherlock.” She laughs, pulling me aside. “Yes. I’m pregnant. Ten weeks. We told our families yesterday.”
I throw my arms around her, my clipboard clattering to the ground. “Nic! That’s amazing!”
“I know!” She’s crying now, happy tears streaming down her face. “And terrifying. And exciting. And—Em, everything’s changing.”
“Good changes,” I say, as my own emotions threaten to overwhelm me. “You’re going to be an incredible mom.”
“I hope so.” She wipes her eyes. “But this means I need to scale back and I’m giving up the event business.
The art gallery is enough to handle, and once the baby comes.
..” She trails off, then meets my eyes. “I would love someone I care about to take it over. Someone who knows this town, who loves event planning, who’s already proven herself with this fundraiser. ”
My heart stutters. “Nic—”
“I’m not asking for an answer today. But Ember—” Her voice goes soft. “You belong here. I see the way you light up when you talk about Peachwood Grove. The way you fit into this community like you’ve always been here.”
“I’ve been here two weeks.”
“And you’ve already made more impact than some people make in years.” She squeezes my hand. “Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
She disappears into the growing crowd, leaving me standing alone with a vision I’m terrified to want: A storefront office on the square. My name on the door. Roots. Permanence. Ryan.
Always Ryan.
My phone buzzes.
Ryan: Vendor delivery truck is trying to park in the emergency vehicle zone. Want me to redirect?
Me: Please. Send them to loading area B.
Ryan: Done. You’re amazing, you know that?
I stare at the message, my throat tight. We’ve been doing this dance for three days—professional coordination layered with deployed compliments, neither of us acknowledging the gaping hole where our relationship used to be.
Me: Just doing my job, Captain.
Ryan: You’re doing a hell of a lot more than that.
I want to tell him I miss him. That I was wrong. That independence shouldn’t mean isolation, and needing someone doesn’t make me weak.
But I can’t say it through a screen. This conversation deserves to happen face-to-face, and in two hours when the fundraiser officially starts, I’ll see him for the first time since I walked out.
Two hours to figure out how to tell the man I love that I made a huge mistake.
By 9 AM, the park is transformed into something magical.
Market lights crisscross overhead, creating a canopy of warmth even in daylight.
The vintage fire truck gleams red and chrome, surrounded by laughing children trying on helmets three sizes too big.
Food vendors send competing aromas into the air—barbecue, funnel cakes, fresh peach cobbler that makes my mouth water.
I’m adjusting the balloon arch for the third time when I feel him before I see him.
“Hey Firecracker.”
I turn, and there’s Ryan, holding two cups of coffee and looking like he hasn’t slept in days.
We haven’t been this close since the fight. Since “I love you” and “I need space” collided in his conference room.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice breathy.
“Coffee.” He extends one cup. “Hot this time. Two creams, one sugar.”
My eyes sting. He remembered. Of course he remembered.
“Thank you.” Our fingers brush as I take it, and electricity shoots up my arm.
We stand there, coffee cups between us, an entire conversation happening in silence.
I miss you.
I’m sorry.
I was wrong.
Please forgive me.
“The setup looks incredible,” Ryan says, breaking the spell. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Had good help.” I gesture at the controlled chaos around us. “Your crew has been amazing. Romeo almost built the entire stage himself.”
“He’s motivated. Wants to impress you.” Ryan’s lips quirk. “We all do.”
“Ryan—”
“Ember Harper!” Mrs. Havers materializes like a floral-scented whirlwind, her signature pearls catching the light. “Darling, this is spectacular! I’m already hearing feedback that we’ve doubled last year’s attendance!”
I paste on my professional smile, even though I want to scream at the interruption. “That’s wonderful to hear. Did the volunteer coordinator get you set up at the welcome booth?”
“Oh yes, yes. But I wanted to talk to you.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “The Town Council is very impressed. We’ve been looking for someone to coordinate our seasonal events, and you, my dear, are what we need.”
“I—that’s very flattering—”
“Not flattering. Strategic.” Mrs. Havers winks at Ryan, who’s trying very hard not to smile. “This town could use someone with your talents. Someone who understands that community isn’t about logistics—it’s about creating moments that matter. Nic told me, my dear, we’ll talk soon.”
She sweeps away before I can respond, leaving me staring after her.
“She’s not subtle,” Ryan observes.
“Is anyone in this town subtle?”
“No. It’s part of our charm.” He shifts his weight, suddenly serious. “But she’s right, Ember. What you’ve created here—it’s special. You’re special.”
My throat closes. “Ryan, I need to tell you—”
“Ember!” Romeo jogs over, grinning. “We’ve got a situation with the dunk tank. Water pressure’s too high and Holden’s getting launched like a rocket. It’s hilarious but probably a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
I close my eyes. Of course. “I’ll be right there.”
When I look back, Ryan’s already moving toward the stage where Uncle Jimmy is waving him over.
Later.
I’ll tell him later.
After I fix the dunk tank.
And the sound system.
And whatever else goes wrong of course.
Later.
By noon, the fundraiser is in full swing, and I’m running on pure adrenaline and cold coffee.
The chili cook-off has drawn a massive crowd.
The junior firefighter obstacle course has a line of kids stretching around the block.
The calendar firefighter photo booth? Romeo wasn’t kidding about practicing poses—he’s drawing squeals from a group of elderly ladies who are getting their money’s worth.
I’m checking my vendor schedule when I see him.
Marcus.
He’s standing near the entrance, surveying the festival with that calculated look I know too well. Expensive suit. Slicked hair. An expression that says he’s already figured out how to tear this all down.
My hands start to shake.
I fumble for my phone, pulling up my texts with Ryan.
Me: Marcus is here.
Three dots appear immediately.
Ryan: Where?
Me: Main entrance. Near the welcome booth.
Ryan: Stay put. I’m coming to you.
But I don’t stay put. Because this is my event. My town now. My life he’s invading.
I cross the festival grounds with purpose, my tennis shoes pounding on the pavement like a war drum.
Marcus spots me and smirks. “Ember. This is... quaint.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Came to see what you’ve been wasting your time on instead of fighting for what’s back in Atlanta.” He gestures dismissively at the festival. “Playing small-town event planner instead of running an actual business.”
My voice is steel. “This is my personal business. Not yours. Not anymore.”
“Those contracts are company property—”
“No, Marcus. Those clients worked with me. They trusted me. And you know what? When I told them I was leaving, every single one asked to come with me.” I step closer. “Because unlike you, I care about people. Not just profit margins.”
His jaw tightens. “You think you can make it here? In this backwater town? You’re throwing away everything we built—”
“Everything I built.” I cut him off. “You managed details. I created experiences. There’s a difference, and we both know it. I made the money that built the business.”
“This small-town fantasy won’t last—”
“You’re wrong.” Ryan’s voice behind me makes my heart leap. “And you’re not welcome here. I believe there is a restraining order.”
I turn to find him flanked by Blake, Romeo, Holden, and half the fire crew. They look like a wall of protective muscle and authority. Marcus’s face goes pale.
“Ember asked you to leave,” Ryan continues, his captain voice in full effect. “That’s your cue.”