Page 49 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)
Robin
“Robin!”
I’m in the middle of a conversation with a group of Counterculture regulars near the gazebo when I hear Molly’s panicked voice call my name. I know her tone means trouble because Molly doesn’t freak out easily. Without making any apologies, I run.
I find her within seconds, only about fifty feet away, at the back corner of the porch near her shed. She’s pulled off her knee-length camel coat and is using it to bat at a pile of flames dangerously close to the porch railing.
“Extinguisher!” Molly yells toward me, but I’m already on it.
We prepared for this, knowing fire was a risky thing to have so close to a historic building.
The firepits were strategically placed as far from the house and other structures as possible, and we stocked up on extinguishers just in case.
I grab two from their spot by a dessert table and run back to Molly.
I roll one toward her, then pull the pin on the other and start spraying toward the base of the flames.
The whole thing is over in a couple minutes.
Once we’re sure the fire is out, Molly and I look at each other, chests heaving, then drop our fire extinguishers and grab each other in a tight embrace.
I feel like I’m holding on for dear life as I wait for her breathing to slow.
“We’re okay,” I say into her ear, feeling her shake in my arms. “The inn’s okay.
The shed’s maybe a little singed, but everything is fine. ”
“It happened so fast,” Molly says, voice quaking. “There was a pile of leaves from the wind, and then an ember, and a leaf floated up onto the porch, and, oh god, Robin, it could have gone so wrong.”
“It didn’t,” I say, rubbing circles on her back. “You didn’t panic and you acted fast and you saved it.”
“ We saved it,” Molly murmurs into my shoulder.
I notice some of our guests clustering around us with concerned looks.
It was over so quick, the ones on the other side of the house probably don’t even know anything happened.
I gently pull away from Molly, still holding her by the arms, as I announce to the group, “We’re all good! Everything’s under control!”
Clint pushes through the crowd, asking in a loud, worried voice, “Wait, was that a fire?”
“Just a scare, really,” Molly says, voice tight, stepping toward Clint. “But we’ll get the inspector back out tomorrow before we sign the paperwork, just to be sure.”
“Looks like there wasn’t much damage,” Clint says, leaning over us to check.
“Don’t worry about the inspector. We can still close tomorrow, and I’ll have my contractors take a look afterward.
Seems like that honeysuckle bush might not make it, though.
Or Molly’s fashionable coat.” Clint uses the end of a discarded extinguisher to poke at the mess.
“But it’s more important that you two are okay. ”
“Um, I wouldn’t write off an extra inspection so fast,” Clint’s lawyer says, appearing behind him.
“Not now, Jonathan,” Clint says, pulling him away. “Let’s go make sure the shed is all clear. Ladies, we’ll talk tomorrow. Thanks for looking out for the inn one last time.”
As Clint and his lawyer walk around the side of the shed, Jesse takes their place. “What can I do?” he says.
“Can you get everyone back to their tables?” I ask. “Nothing they can do now besides give us space. And let’s stop adding logs to the firepits and let them burn out.”
Jesse moves the onlookers back to the party and directs servers to bring out the last of the wine.
Molly and I take a deep breath together, then grab a hose and a broom to clear away the fire-dampening foam and examine the porch.
It really isn’t as bad as the blaze made it look; there are some scorch marks on the handrails and Clint was right about the bush, but there’s no structural damage.
A little paint touch-up will make it look like nothing ever happened.
Molly and I put our party faces back on and make the rounds to assure folks that everything is truly fine.
While the near catastrophe didn’t really put a damper on the mood, it did cause people to realize how late it’s gotten.
We spend an hour saying goodbyes, trading hugs and phone numbers and promises to stay in touch.
I watch as Keyana and Molly share a long embrace, whispering into each other’s ears and laughing through tears in the way best friends do.
Then we spend another hour packing up with the restaurant team and loading supplies borrowed from Counterculture into Jesse’s van.
The line chefs leave the kitchen spotless.
Jesse and Caro stick around to help us stack the tables, chairs, and firepits near the driveway, where the rental company will pick them up in the morning.
It’s a bleary two a.m. by the time we part with Jesse and Caro, swearing we’ll find a way to get together again someday.
And then it’s just Molly and me, both still shaken from the adrenaline of the fire.
And Marmee, meowing grumpily at us for keeping her up past bedtime.
The cat follows us from room to room as we gather our things in the entryway, making sure the inn is ready for its new owners.
We work through the early hours of the morning, cleaning up the main-floor bathrooms, sweeping away shoe prints, checking the yard for trash.
Through it all, we discuss how lucky we were that the spark didn’t land on the roof and take the whole building down.
We trade memories of the Hummingbird’s glory days, or at least the ones we were here to see.
After all, the inn was here long before us, and with any luck, it will outlast us.
The sky is turning soft shades of pink and orange when I join Molly on the back porch to clean, sand, and paint the fire-damaged section of the porch. She watches in silence as I finish the final coat, erasing the reminder of what tragedy could have occurred.
When I’m done, Molly steps back to examine our work, hands on her hips. “What do you think?” she asks.
“Can’t even tell anything happened,” I say. It surprises me how quickly evidence of us being here, of our successes and our mistakes, can be painted right over.
Molly puts the lid on the paint can. Something wet hits my cheek, and at first I think it’s a splatter of paint, but then I realize it’s tears. My tears. I try to brush them away, but it’s no use. There are too many. It’s a waterfall, one I realize I’ve been holding back for weeks.
As soon as Molly sees, she drops her supplies and rushes over to hold me.
I immediately feel better from her touch.
But the tears come harder and faster as I fully absorb the fact that we’re about to walk away from this inn and from each other.
I’m a blubbering mess in her arms. We sink down together, resting on the porch steps, my head on Molly’s shoulder as she rocks me back and forth.
I slowly catch my breath, and when I shift away from Molly, she’s teary too.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asks, an arm tucked around my waist.
“I was thinking about the fire,” I admit. “And how quickly this whole place could have burned down. What would have happened if we weren’t here?”
Molly tilts her head at me. “Well, technically, the fire probably wouldn’t have started if we weren’t here, because there wouldn’t have been a bunch of tiny fires to set it off.”
“Sure,” I say. “But anything else could’ve happened. A fire next door. A flood. A tornado.”
“Tornadoes don’t really come through the mountains as much.”
“You know what I mean,” I say, bumping my knee against hers.
“In that moment, when I saw you and the flames on the porch, everything we’ve built together flashed before my eyes, and…
and it scared the hell out of me. I need the inn to be okay.
I need it to always be here. I could only walk away last time because I thought you’d still be here to take care of it. ”
Molly sniffles, and I turn to see tears running down her face too. “And I could only leave because I thought the management company and Caro and Jesse would be here,” she says. “But now we’re leaving it with Clint. He loves this place. He won’t let anything happen to it.”
“I don’t know how to leave it again,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s a part of me now, and I’m part of it. You know? I thought I’d done all my growing up before I moved to Portland, but coming back here showed me I’ve still got a lot of shit to learn.”
“I know what you mean,” Molly says, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “It’s like as long as the Hummingbird keeps going on, I can keep going on. But we don’t have to be here for that to happen.”
“The fire also made me think about losing you,” I say. “Seeing you there, trying to put it out with the coat off your back, I was terrified. What if you’d gotten hurt?”
Molly’s green eyes soften, wrinkles deepening at the corners. “It was a tiny fire,” she says gently. “I’m okay.”