Chapter 2
TWO
WELLES
I stop at the bottom of the steps and look up at the Victorian on Main Street.
I know the house. I know its owner, too.
Or former owner, I guess.
I’ve known Serena and Valerie’s grandmother for years, but I’ve only been inside the house once since her granddaughters took over. That was a couple months ago, when the place was still crawling with contractors and I came through for a safety inspection.
I never met either of the women. Just the contractors.
And it sure as hell didn’t look like this.
The bell above the door chimes when I step inside. For a second, I just stand there. The transformation is… impressive.
They kept most of the original layout, but opened it up enough that the first floor feels bright and airy. The foyer still has the winding staircase leading upstairs, with a long counter tucked beside it. Behind the counter, a row of pale cupboards stretches along the wall, all of them closed.
The whole place has a clean, modern look. Light wood. Soft colors. Simple lines.
The walls separating the foyer from the old dining room and parlor are still there, but the doorways between them have been widened. A few seating areas are scattered throughout the rooms with chairs and little tables.
And everywhere else?
Candles. Shelves and shelves of candles. More like death traps waiting to happen.
“Good morning.”
I turn toward the voice. And forget about the candles.
The woman smiling at me has long, curly red hair falling over her shoulders and the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen.
Then there are the curves. Plenty of them. Every single one in exactly the right place.
“Can I help you find something?”
It takes me a second longer than it should to remember why I’m here. “I’m just looking.”
“Of course.” Her smile somehow gets even brighter. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
She turns away. I watch her go for longer than I should.
I grab the nearest candle and look down at it before my eyes can wander back to the redhead.
The label says FOCUS.
Apparently, I need some of what it promises.
I turn the jar over. There’s a warning label on the bottom.
I read through it. Trim the wick. Keep the candle away from flammable objects and drafts. Burn it on a stable, heat-resistant surface. Never leave it unattended.
Basic candle safety. All clearly spelled out.
That’s something, at least. Not that people ever fucking read.
I put it back and pick up another. Same warning.
Across the room, the redhead is helping a teenage girl. I try not to listen. It doesn’t work.
“When you light this tonight, I want you to decide what you need to accomplish,” she tells the girl. “Not everything you have to do this week. Just what you’re doing right then.”
She rests her hands on the girl’s shoulders and tells her to breathe.
Jesus.
She’s one of those people. Bubbly. Optimistic. Probably wakes up and shits rainbows first thing.
I can’t decide if I like it or find it annoying.
She smiles. My gut tightens.
Definitely annoying.
I move to another shelf.
The candles themselves look well made. Clean pours. Centered wicks. No obvious cracks in the glass. I pick up another jar and remove the lid.
Cedar. Something herbal. Maybe citrus. Not bad.
I put it down and move on.
By the time the last customer leaves, I’ve inspected enough candles to know I’m not dealing with an obviously careless operation. Which is good.
It’s also inconvenient. Because something is going on. And I’m here to get to the bottom of it.
The redhead approaches me again.
“What do you need from a candle?”
I raise an eyebrow. She goes on saying words I mostly don’t hear because I’m too focused on the light dancing her eyes. Luckily, I catch the last part. ”So what are you hoping for?”
“Answers.”
Her smile falters.
I pull out my badge.
“I’m Fire Chief Welles Hawthorne. And I’m trying to figure out why your candles keep starting fires in my town.”
Her green eyes go wide. “My candles are starting fires?”
“That seems to be the situation.”
She stares at me for another second. Then her eyes narrow. “Well?”
I cross my arms. “Well?”
“It’s only been three fires.”
I stare at her.
She grimaces. “Okay. That sounded bad.”
“A little.”
“But my candles didn’t cause those fires.”
“A candle you made was involved in every one of them.”
“Yes, but one was left burning unattended.” She holds up a finger.
“Another was knocked over by a cat.” Another finger.
“And someone put the third one right next to a giant bouquet of dried pampas grass.”
I rub my jaw. She has a point.
We got lucky with all three. Some property damage, but nothing major. No injuries. That doesn’t mean I can ignore a pattern.
Three fires involving candles from the same new business in a matter of weeks is three too many.
“Remind me again, what kind of wax are you using?”
“A soy blend.”
“Where do you get it?”
She names the supplier.
“Fragrance?”
“I make my own blends using candle-safe fragrance oils. I keep the documentation from my suppliers and stay within the recommended fragrance load for the wax.”
“And the jars?”
“Heat-resistant glass specifically manufactured for candle making.”
“Wicks?”
“Lead-free cotton. Different sizes depending on the diameter of the vessel and the formula.”
That catches my attention. “You test them?”
“Of course I test them.”
“How?”
“Burn tests. Every new combination of wax, fragrance, wick, and vessel before I sell it. I keep records.”
She reaches under the counter and pulls out a binder. She flips open to a page and gestures. I can feel my eyebrows raising on my forehead as I I glance around the shop again.
“How long have you been making candles?”
“Years.”
“Any formal training?”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Besides making candles with my grandma since I could walk? I’ve taken classes and workshops. I’ve studied the safety standards. I research my materials. I test my products. And I carry liability insurance, if that’s your next question.”
It was. She crosses her arms.
The sunshine is still there. But apparently the sun can still shine when there’s a bit of rain.
Interesting.
“Can I see the rest your records?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Maybe not this second. They’re in the back, and I do have a store to run.”
“I noticed.”
“And for the record, I take this seriously.” Her expression softens. “People take these into their homes. Of course I care whether they’re safe.”
For the first time since I walked through the door, the attraction takes a back seat.
Not because it’s gone. Unfortunately. Because I believe her.
That doesn’t mean the candles aren’t involved somehow. It doesn’t mean there isn’t a defect she hasn’t found.
But she isn’t careless. My radio crackles at my shoulder before I can ask another question.
It’s dispatch. Shit. Whatever is happening between us disappears instantly. Replaced by the call of duty.
“I have to go.”
Her irritation vanishes, too. “Is everyone okay?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I head for the door. “We’re not finished.”
“I assumed not.”
She follows me toward the entrance. I pull open the door, then look back at her.
“Hopefully, it’s not another one of your candles.”
Her mouth falls open.
I’m halfway down the steps when she calls after me.
“Have a magical day, Chief Hawthorne!”
I stop. Close my eyes. And shake my head.
She’s not just a ray of damn sunshine. She’s like a summer day.
As the local fire chief—the only full-time person on the department’s payroll—I have a duty to make sure everything that happens in this town is up to code and safe.
Luckily for me, checking out the town’s fall festival has more than a few perks. Namely, today I get to walk around with a cup of hot apple cider and a fresh maple donut while I work.
“Hard at work, I see.”
I turn toward the familiar voice. Beau walks toward me with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
“Somebody has to make sure this donut isn’t a fire hazard.”
“Very dedicated of you.”
“I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“Clearly.”
I take another bite before nodding toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying the festival like a normal person.”
“Must be nice.”
He grins. I’ve known Beau since we were kids. Long enough that I know the grin means something. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
His grin widens.
I narrow my eyes. “Woman?”
More like, “another woman.”
“Maybe.”
“You get around.”
He shakes his head, but there’s no hiding the smile now.
“So?”
“We’ve gone on a couple dates.”
“With the same woman?”
“No.”
“Ah.” That sounds more like Beau.
“Yeah.” He blows out a breath. “They’ve all been… fine. Nothing soul-stirring or Earth-shattering. But I’m getting out there.”
“Look at you.”
“Fuck off. It’s more than you can say.”
I laugh.
Beau’s had shit luck when it comes to relationships. At some point, he decided he was cursed. I’ve told him that’s ridiculous. Mostly.
“So what’s next?” I ask.
“Another date tonight.”
“Impressive.”
He gives me the finger.
“Where are you taking her?” I ask.
“That new cocktail place.”
I stop with my cider halfway to my mouth. “Spellbound?”
“That’s the one.”
Interesting. “I met one of the sisters.”
Beau looks at me. “Oh?”
“The redhead.”
“Oh.”
I don’t like the way he says that. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs.
I take a drink of cider.
Unfortunately, saying her name—or not saying her name—is enough to bring Serena immediately to mind.
That hair. Those green eyes. Those curves.
The way she planted one hand on her hip when she got pissed at me. The way her entire face lit up when she talked to her customers.
The way she called after me to have a magical day after I accused her candles of setting the town on fire.
I’ve thought about her more times this week than I care to admit.
Usually at inconvenient moments. Like now.
My mind helpfully supplies an image of Serena standing in front of me again, arms crossed beneath her breasts, green eyes flashing.
My body reacts immediately.
I shift my stance in an effort, poor as it might be, to avoid becoming rock hard in the middle of the town square. Closing my fists, I cross my hands in front of my pants. If nothing else, it might hide the evidence.
Beau glances down. Then back up. His eyebrows rise.
I growl. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I really wasn’t.”
“You were thinking it.”
He snorts. “So you met the redhead.”
“Shut up.”
He laughs.
I look around, mostly because I need something to focus on that isn't Serena.
Booths line both sides of the square, covered in pumpkins, mums, baked goods, handmade crafts, and enough fall decorations to bury the entire town.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’m going back to work.”
“Enjoy your donut.”
“Enjoy your date.”
“That’s the plan.”
He starts to walk away.
“Oh, and Beau?” He turns. “Good luck.”
He flips me off again and disappears into the crowd.
I finish the last bite of my donut and turn toward the booth directly in front of me.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “Those Spellbound sisters are a little woo-woo for me.”
I look up. Too late, I realize where I’m standing.
A familiar redhead stands behind a table filled with candles, staring at me with amusement dancing in those dazzling green eyes.
Beside her is a dark-haired woman with the exact same eyes.
She isn’t amused. At all.
I slowly lower my cider.
“Hello again, Chief Hawthorne.” Serena’s smile spreads. “Looks like you’re having a magical day.”