Ethan
I park outside Penny’s studio, the metal of my steering wheel still warm beneath my hands from the drive. My knuckles ache from how hard I’ve been holding on.
The fire report won’t leave my head. Faulty wiring. Negligence. Lucky.
Words that feel hollow compared to the truth that keeps punching through my ribs: what could’ve happened to them.
What could’ve happened to her.
The bell over the studio door chimes when I walk in, the familiar jingling echoing off the exposed brick walls. Penny looks up from her desk, camera straps tangled between her fingers like she’s wrestling a nest of them.
“Ethan Hawthorne in my studio? Either you’re finally letting me take your picture or you need something.”
“Need something,” I say, trying for a smile. It dies before it forms.
Her teasing softens instantly. “This about Summer?”
I nod once. “She lost everything, Penny. Clothes, shoes, Mia’s stuff, practically her whole life.”
Penny leans back against the counter, arms crossing over her chest as she studies me. “She’s not the type to ask for help.”
“No,” I say quietly. “She’d rather freeze first.”
The truth lands heavy between us. Summer with her stubborn chin, her soft voice, her pride stitched into every decision she makes. She’d walk barefoot through snow before she let anyone carry the weight for her.
I pull out my wallet, slide my credit card across the counter. “Take her shopping. Get her what she needs, clothes, shoes, a coat, whatever you’d get for yourself. But don’t tell her it’s from me.”
Penny’s brows jump. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah. If she knows, she won’t take it.”
Penny doesn’t touch the card at first. She just watches me with this slow, dawning understanding in her eyes, the kind women get when they’ve already figured out what you’re trying hard not to say out loud.
“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” she murmurs.
I huff out a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Just make sure she gets a warm coat. Wyoming winter’s not forgiving.”
Penny finally picks up the card, sliding it into her drawer with a small nod. “You’re a good man, Ethan.”
“Don’t tell her that either,” I mutter, already turning for the door.
As I push it open, Penny calls after me, voice light but edged with truth. “You know she’s gonna find out eventually.”
I glance over my shoulder, give her a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach the ache in my chest. “Then I’ll deny everything.”
The bell jingles again as I step into the cold, breath puffing white in the air. I take a long inhale, the winter wind stinging my lungs, but something in my chest loosens, just a fraction.
Because at least now she’ll have what she needs.
Even if she never knows who made it happen.