Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Ember
I pick the corner booth at The Devil’s Brew on purpose—the one with my back to the wall, half-hidden by a crooked evergreen garland that smells faintly like pine and burnt espresso. My laptop is open, my to-do list is endless, and if I keep my head down long enough, I can pretend I’m invisible.
Orders to confirm. Brushes to restock. A message from a mom asking if her kid can use glitter again because “it sparks joy.”
It does. It also sparks chaos. I approve it anyway.
I’m three sips into my tea when I hear his voice.
Low. Rough. Familiar already.
“Don’t look at me like that, Cole.”
My shoulders lock.
I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. Boone Lawson’s voice has a gravity to it—like it drags the room closer whether you want it or not.
Captain Saxon Cole laughs, deep and knowing. “I’m not looking at you any kind of way. I’m just asking how the new neighbor situation’s going.”
The other guy sitting with them snorts. “By ‘asking,’ he means we’re dying to hear how long it took before she pissed you off.”
“Or how long before you smiled. I’ve got twenty bucks on never.” A third one snorts.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“She’s trouble–a pretty neighbor from hell,” Boone grunts. Pretty neighbor from hell. I assume that’s me. “You’re all idiots.”
“That’s not a denial.” Saxon laughs.
“It’s a none of your business.”
“You hear that Ash? I think that’s an affirmative,” Saxon says.
The one I assume is Ash replies: “Sounds like a yes to me.”
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I absolutely should put my headphones in. I absolutely should not be enjoying this.
“Whatchya think, Axel? Yes or yes?”
Boone growls. “Enough you nosy fucks. You’re worse than every old, gossipin’ grandma in this town.”
Axel’s voice drops conspiratorially. “Town’s already buzzing, man. Something about paint, plumbing, and you looking like you hadn’t seen color before.”
Boone scoffs. “She flooded her own studio.”
“That bad?”
“She cried.”
There’s a pause.
Then Ash says, carefully, “And?”
“And nothing,” Boone snaps. “I fixed it. End of story.”
Saxon hums. “Funny. You don’t usually volunteer for anything involving people.”
I finally slide one earbud in. Then the other. The music starts—soft, instrumental—but it doesn’t drown them out. Not really.
Axel chuckles. “She call you an asshole yet?”
Silence.
Oh. That landed.
Boone mutters, “I’m not answering that.”
Ash laughs outright. “She’s gonna crack you.”
“Or burn you down,” Saxon adds.
Boone’s voice goes quiet. “Don’t bet on it.”
Something in my chest twists. Not pity. Not worry.
Recognition.
I shut my laptop, slide it into my bag, and tell myself I’m leaving because I’ve finished my work—not because I’ve heard enough.
I stand. Turn. And walk straight into a wall.
A warm, solid, very human wall.
Boone’s chest is right there. Broad. Unmoving. I gasp and grab his jacket before I tip backward.
“Easy, Firefly.”
His hands settle on my waist without hesitation, fingers firm, steady. The contact sends a jolt straight through me.
“I—sorry,” I say, flustered. “I didn’t see—”
“Hard to miss me,” he murmurs, clearly amused.
I pull back, mortified. “I was just—leaving.”
“I noticed.” His eyes flick to my bag. Then my face. Then my mouth. “You hear all that?”
I lift my chin. “Hear what?”
His grin is slow. Lethal. “Bullshit.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I had headphones on.”
“Sure you did.”
I cross my arms. “I don’t eavesdrop.”
“Town’s small,” he says. “Walls are thin.”
“I was working.”
“Mm-hmm.” He leans in a fraction, lowering his voice. “And enjoying my humiliation.”
I can’t help it. I smile. “You need someone to knock you down a few notches.”
“Careful,” he says softly. “I might like it.”
My pulse stutters.
Behind him, the bar empties as Saxon, Ash, and Axel finish their beers and head for the door, all of them smirking like they’ve just watched something they plan to rewatch later.
Ash calls over his shoulder, “Night, Boone. Don’t scare her off.”
“Or do,” Axel adds. “She seems feisty.”
The door shuts. The room quiets.
Boone looks back at me. “You heading out?”
“Yes.”
“Same direction.”
“I’m stopping at the market.”
He arches a brow. “For what?”
“Milk.”
“It’s eleven at night.”
“I eat Cheerios every morning.”
He laughs, real and unguarded. It does something dangerous to me.
“Cheerios?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Breakfast of champions.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re blushing.”
I am. I hate that he knows it.
“I can walk myself,” I say, stepping around him.
He falls into stride anyway. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just said we’re headed the same way.”
We make it halfway down the sidewalk before I veer sharply toward the store.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Firefly,” he calls.
I don’t look back. I don’t slow down.
But every step burns with the awareness that the men of Devil’s Peak are watching.
Especially my sexy, grumpy neighbor from hell.