Chapter 13
Roman
The smoke was visible blocks before I hit downtown.
It rose in a thick plume above Center Street, illuminated in flashes of red and blue. Engines crowded the narrow road. Sirens wailed, echoing off the old brick buildings surrounding the area. Cursing under my breath, I pulled over and turned off my vehicle, adrenaline humming beneath my skin.
I got out of my truck and jogged toward the scene, boots crunching over slush and snow. The air smelled sharp and acrid—like burning wood, scorched plastic, and something else underneath it all. Something that made the back of my throat prickle.
Kerosene.
My pace slowed as I took it all in. Flames licked at the back corner of the coffee shop, but they were low, beaten down by steady streams of water.
Steam rose in ghostly clouds where heat met cold night air.
The building next door—an old boutique with apartments above it—appeared untouched.
Windows were intact and there was no visible charring.
Latte Pages itself was in rough shape. Windows were blackened and soot streaked up the brick facade. But the structure was still standing. The roof hadn’t collapsed.
“Chief.”
I turned as Shawn approached, helmet tucked under his arm, turnout coat unzipped and streaked with soot. His face was flushed from heat and exertion, dark hair damp with sweat despite the freezing temperature.
“Is it contained?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” he said immediately. “The main fire is out. Just a few hot spots left in the rear storage area. Crews are finishing up now.”
I nodded, eyes still moving, cataloging everything. Hose lines. Engine placement. My people moved with tired efficiency, faces smeared with ash but focused. They’d done good work tonight.
“Exposure buildings are clear?” I asked.
“Clear,” Shawn confirmed. “No extension into the surrounding buildings. We got lucky.”
Lucky wasn’t a word I liked to rely on, but I took the win anyway.
I took a few steps closer, stopping short of the caution tape. The smell hit me stronger there—slightly sweet and chemical and wrong. I frowned.
“You smell that?” I asked.
Shawn’s expression tightened. “Yeah.”
“Accelerant.”
“That’s what I think.” He grimaced. “Strongest near the back door and storage area.”
I looked back at the shop, anger stirring in my veins. Latte Pages wasn’t just a business. It was a gathering place. A second living room for half the town. I’d spent more than a few early mornings there myself, coffee in hand, watching Ember Hollow wake up.
“Any injuries?” I asked.
“None,” Shawn said. “Staff was long gone. Someone called it in fast.”
Good.
My gaze drifted over the scene, landing briefly on Damian near one of the engines. He was hauling hose back onto the rig, shoulders slumped with exhaustion and soot streaking his jaw. When he caught sight of me, he gave me a tired grin and a nod.
I returned it.
This had been handled well. They were controlled and efficient. They’d kept it from becoming something far worse.
Pride swelled in my chest, even as unease crept in alongside it.
“Second one,” I muttered. All signs were pointing toward arson.
Shawn nodded grimly. “Yeah.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Has Nolan been informed?”
“Already called him in,” Shawn said. “He’ll be here soon.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sounds were the hiss of water on hot surfaces, the low rumble of engines, and the murmur of firefighters talking as they worked.
“It could be some kid,” I said finally. “Someone wanting attention and didn’t get enough of a reaction the first time.”
Shawn shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Maybe,” he said. “I’d hate that, though. If it is.”
He let out a slow breath. “I practically raised my brother, you know. He was a mess as a teenager. Angry. Lost. But look at him now.” Shawn nodded toward Damian. “A good firefighter. A good man. I’d hate for some kid to be ruining their life by doing something stupid like this.”
I followed his gaze, watching Damian laugh weakly at something another firefighter said.
“Either way, whoever did this,” I squared my shoulders as the weight of command settled fully back into place, “it’s not good.”
Shawn shook his head. “No, sir.”
I glanced back at the blackened shell of the coffee shop, anger simmering beneath my calm exterior.
Ember Hollow didn’t deserve this.
And I had a bad feeling if we didn’t find whoever did this soon, it wasn’t the last time we’d be standing in the cold, staring at smoke curling into the night sky.
Hours passed before I was able to return home.
The house was quiet when I stepped inside. That smothering quiet that spoke of emptiness and heartbreak. I stood numbly in the dark foyer. The adrenaline had long worn off and now I was spent.
I toed off my boots and set them on the mat next to the door. My stomach growled and my throat was parched, but mostly I ached for my bed. It wouldn’t be long before I needed to wake up to go back.
As I crossed toward the stairs, I noticed a lamp on in the living room. It was so small it cast nothing more than a glow over the couch.
Curious, I headed to it, the floorboards creaking under my feet.
Palmer came into view as I rounded the couch, her body sprawled across the cushions. She was asleep, her long, golden hair fanned out around her head and falling over one side of her face. I gritted my teeth as that warm feeling stirred beneath my ribs. It was unsettling.
She was my damn nanny. I paid her to live here and watch over Hailey.
I ground my back teeth together.
Yeah, whatever it was I felt for her needed to be squashed immediately. She wouldn’t want anyone like me anyway. She was twenty-seven years old. It made my forty years feel ancient.
She made a small whimpering noise, and my frown deepened. I squinted, trying to study her closer in the dim lighting.
Her mouth was pressed into a tight line, muscles rigid beneath her pale skin. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead. Her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, like she was gasping for air and couldn’t breathe.
My pulse spiked, and I reached for her without much thought.
“Palmer.” I barked her name loud enough to wake her, and then shook her shoulder when she didn’t move.
Her eyelids flew open. She gasped, hands flying, reaching for something I couldn’t see. Her chest seized as she started to cough, and I grabbed hold of both her shoulders, trying to assess whether she needed medical attention.
When her stare found mine, she blinked. One of her hands fisted into my shirt as she continued to cough.
Some of the bleariness and terror leached from her expression, replaced with confusion. Her coughing slowed, as did her breaths.
“Roman?”
She was trembling, but the slowing of her breathing and her lucidness were reassuring.
“You all right?” I asked, my voice like gravel, deep and husky. As if I hadn’t used it in days.
Her mouth dropped open, those full lips of hers gaining my attention for a split second before I forced them away.
She continued to stare at me, and I brushed my fingers over her forehead, moving back the blonde strands that stuck to her clammy skin. She wasn’t feverish.
“I—” she began.
Even though I couldn’t see it fully in the dimness, I sensed the blush creeping up her neck.
She took a deep breath. “I think I was having a bad dream.”
My brows pulled together. “A nightmare?”
She nodded. Part of me wanted to ask her what kind of nightmares haunted her.
There wasn’t much I knew about Palmer’s past. My brother, Fox, who had done her background check for me, didn’t tell me the details he’d dragged up about her life.
Everything that wasn’t need-to-know, I asked him to keep to himself.
She was an employee who deserved privacy.
Fox could find out about anything, even the things people wanted to hide.
But right now, I wanted to know what caused the fear in her eyes when she’d woken. What had happened to her to put that sort of terror in her?
Palmer sat up, distracting my internal thoughts, and adjusted that sinful satin robe as the throw blanket fell away from her. One of my hands was still on her shoulder, and I reluctantly pulled it away.
“I should get to my own bed,” she said in a breathy, nervous whisper.
I lifted my hand to—what? Touch her? Comfort her? I didn’t comfort people I barely knew. She probably wouldn’t want me to anyway.
I forced my arms against my sides as Palmer rose, steadying herself with one hand on the arm of the couch. The throw slipped completely to the floor, pooling at her feet.
For a heartbeat, she stood in the quiet room, the lamplight soft on her hair and the delicate line of her jaw. Her tremors were subsiding, but her shoulders stayed a touch too tight.
She glanced at the stairs, then back at me. “Goodnight, Roman.”
I dipped my chin once. “Goodnight.”
Her lips curved up, but the smile was hollow. She hugged the edges of her robe around herself, as if suddenly aware of how thin it was and how close she stood to me.
For a moment, I thought she might say something more. But then, she turned toward the stairs.
Part of me was glad, because if she lingered any longer, I might do something stupid. I might step closer. I might rest my hand on the small of her back. I might walk her up those stairs like I had some claim to her comfort.
I watched her go, rooted where I was, hands curled at my sides. She took slow, careful steps, one hand sliding along the banister.
She kept climbing until the curve of the staircase swallowed her from view.
Releasing a breath, I scrubbed a hand down my face. I told myself that I was glad she hadn’t lingered, that I simply wasn’t used to having women in the house who I wasn’t related to.
Ignoring the restlessness in my hands, and the memory of her skin beneath my palms, I finally climbed the stairs myself.
Sleep was hard to come by that night, despite my exhaustion.
When it eventually pulled me under, my dreams were filled with soft lamplight, trembling breaths, and warm hazel eyes looking up at me in the dark—the same eyes I had no business thinking about at all.