Page 19 of Embers in Autumn

Dean

The next morning broke gray and damp, the kind of rain that wasn’t a downpour but a steady autumn drizzle, soft and stubborn. The wipers squeaked across the windshield as I steered us down the hill toward the school.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Lana slumping deeper into her seat. She had shadows under her eyes, a little pale, and every so often she rubbed at them with the heel of her hand.

I narrowed my gaze. “Alright, what’s going on? You look tired.”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, eyes darting out the window.

Then she yawned so wide her jaw cracked.

I arched a brow. “Uh-huh. Want to try that again?”

Her lips curled into a sheepish grin. “Fine. I… maybe stayed up a little late.”

“How late?”

She hesitated, then admitted, “Two.”

“Two?” My voice sharpened. “Two in the morning?”

She winced but smiled at the same time. “It wasn’t my fault!

One of the books Amber gave me—the one about the treasure map—it was so good.

I told myself I’d only read the first chapter.

Then one more. Then another. And then there was this tiny cliffhanger and I couldn’t stop, and by the time I looked up it was chapter fourteen. ”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Lana, as much as I admire your passion and the fact that you consume literature like other kids consume ice cream, you can’t stay up that late on a school night.”

She crossed her arms, clearly gearing up for defense. “Other kids my age are talking about smoking, Dad. Be proud of my advanced reading skills.”

I fought a smile, keeping my tone stern. “I am proud. But I’m also concerned about your physical health. You need sleep if you want to keep that brain sharp enough to finish all those cliffhangers.”

We pulled up to the curb, rain tapping softly on the roof. I leaned across and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Get through today, and early bedtime tonight. Deal?”

“Deal,” she mumbled, grabbing her backpack.

Before she hopped out, I asked, “What did you think about Amber?”

Lana smirked, one foot already on the pavement. “She’s great. If she tried, she could do better than you.”

I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Ha-ha. Hilarious. Now get to class.”

She grinned all the way to the door, shoulders lighter despite her tired eyes. I watched her go, shaking my head but smiling anyway. That kid.

The rain had thickened into a steady drizzle by the time I pulled into the firehouse. The concrete glistened, reflecting the red doors like a watercolor. Inside, the place smelled of old coffee and wet gear, the steady hum of the heaters trying to dry yesterday’s coats filling the background.

Mike was hunched over the desk in the office, one hand holding a clipboard, the other wrapped around a dented travel mug. His bald head gleamed under the fluorescent light. He glanced up when I stepped in, his mouth already tilting into a smirk.

“Morning, Captain Responsible,” he said, voice scratchy from too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

I brushed rain off my jacket. “Morning. Any updates? Flooding?”

He tapped the clipboard with a stubby finger. “Nothing our way. Drizzle today, maybe a storm system east, but basements around here are safe. You can unclench.”

Relief eased out of my shoulders. I nodded. “Good.”

I was almost to the door when Mike’s voice followed me. Too casual. Too pointed.

“Where you headed?”

“Bookstore,” I said, without thinking.

A pause. Then: “How was dinner last night?”

I stopped dead, turned back. “Excuse me?”

Mike leaned back in his chair, grin spreading slow and smug. “Dinner. At your place. With Amber.”

My jaw tightened. “I never told you about that.”

He shrugged, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Didn’t need to. God bless technology—and teenagers who can’t resist posting everything they do.”

With a flick, he turned the screen toward me.

There it was. A photo, grainy but warm. My kitchen table behind us, a plate of pasta half out of frame.

Lana, flashing a peace sign and leaning into Amber’s shoulder, eyes bright with mischief.

Amber, smiling soft and a little shy, her scarf still knotted at her throat.

And me—caught mid-laugh, head tilted toward them both like I belonged there.

Something in my chest shifted, heavy and light all at once.

“Cute family portrait. Should I start shopping for a suit? Maybe fire-engine red tie for the wedding?”

I flipped him the bird without missing a beat.

“Go to hell.”

He nearly dropped his mug laughing.

But when I turned back toward the bay doors, the smirk on my own mouth was harder to shake. Because all the teasing in the world couldn’t touch the truth shining from that photo.

Lana had posted it. Not me, not Amber—Lana.

She wanted the world to see that moment. To mark it. And that said more than anything else could.

By the time I pulled up in front of the bookstore, the drizzle had turned everything slick and gray. My boots tracked damp prints up the steps, the bell above the door chiming low.

Amber stood behind the counter waiting for me, already pouring coffee into a mug like she’d known the exact second I’d walk in.

She wore a checkered dress layered over a black shirt, her legs snug in knee-high boots.

My chest tightened in a way I hadn’t prepared for.

Damn it. If librarians had looked like this when I was a kid, I would have had my nose in books every day.

“Good morning,” she said, sliding the mug toward me.

“Morning, thanks.”

The door swung open again, a gust of rain following the delivery guy inside. His cap dripped water as he carried a small package to the counter. “Package for you, miss. From Mrs. Fairchild.”

Amber thanked him, scribbling her signature on the pad. My brows rose. “You know the mayor’s wife?”

The delivery guy tipped his hat and left, rain clattering on the glass as the door shut. Amber turned back to me with a shrug. “Not really. Last time it poured, she came in here with her phone dead. I lent her my charging cable.”

She opened the package carefully. Inside was a candle shaped like a book, a neat thank-you note in looping handwriting, and two tickets to a symphonic concert at the beginning of next month.

I let out a low whistle. “Look at that. Book girl’ s making a good impression on everyone in town.”

She tilted her head, hazel eyes catching mine with a glint of mischief. “So, what do you say? Care to take the book girl to a classical music concert?”

I leaned in, pressing my mouth to hers, savoring the way her lips softened instantly against mine. When I pulled back, I murmured, “Guess I need to buy a decent shirt, don’t I?”

Her laugh was soft and bright, the kind of sound that made the drizzle outside seem a little less gray.

Amber slipped behind the counter, careful as she tucked the tickets and the little book-shaped candle onto a shelf.

Her fingers lingered there, neat and precise, before she straightened and smoothed her dress.

“With this rain, no one’s coming in this morning,” she murmured. “It’s been dead quiet.”

I sipped my coffee, watching the drizzle bead against the glass, then set the mug down. “Well, let’s not risk it.”

Her brows knit as I moved for the door. I flipped the sign to closed , slid the bolt into place, and turned back.

“What are you doing?” she asked, half startled, half amused.

I took a slow step toward her, then another. “Now… about that firefighter romance novel you were reading the other night when I texted you.”

Her cheeks went pink instantly, heat blooming up to her temples. “Oh…” she stammered. “That turned out to be a lot tamer than I expected.”

Another step, deliberate. I felt the tension coil in the air between us, sharp and sweet. “That’s too bad,” I said, my voice lower now. “I would have loved to reproduce certain parts of that book with you.”

Her lips parted, hazel eyes bright with nerves and something darker. “You’re not going to do another dramatic reading, are you?”

I shook my head slowly, closing the distance until I could see every flutter of her lashes. Christ, she’s beautiful. That dress, those boots—fuck, it’s like she walked out of my fantasies and into this little shop.

“No,” I murmured. “No reading.”

I reached across the counter, cupped her face, and kissed her. She melted into it, lips soft, eager, the taste of coffee and something sweet clinging to her mouth. I slid my hands to her hips, lifted her, and settled her on the counter with a groan of wood beneath us.

“This time,” I said against her lips, my breath ragged, “I’m giving you a live performance.”

Her laugh hitched into a gasp as I kissed her again, deeper this time, and the world outside the rain-streaked windows disappeared.

Her back arched into me as my mouth claimed hers, lips parting in a rush of heat.

The counter creaked beneath her, but she didn’t care, and neither did I.

My hands slid up her thighs, the soft fabric of her dress bunching under my palms as I pushed it higher.

Amber gasped into my kiss, clutching the front of my sweater like she needed it to breathe. I pulled back just enough to look at her, hazel eyes dark with want, lips swollen, chest rising fast under the layered black shirt and dress.

“Dean,” she whispered, half plea, half warning.

“Yeah, baby,” I murmured, pushing the hem of her dress further, my thumb tracing the inside of her knee. “You want this?”

Her nod was sharp, desperate, her cheeks flushed.

“Say it.”

“I want this,” she breathed, her voice trembling but strong enough to make my cock twitch against the seam of my jeans.

That was all I needed.

I kissed down her jaw, her throat, tugging her scarf loose until it fell in a crumpled heap on the counter. My teeth grazed her pulse point and she shivered hard, her legs spreading instinctively as I pressed closer.

“God, you taste so good,” I muttered, sliding my hand higher until my fingers brushed the thin barrier of her panties. She was hot, wet, and when I pressed, she gasped, hips rocking forward.

“Dean—”

Her voice broke, and I swallowed the sound with another kiss, sliding the damp fabric aside. My fingers found her, slick and ready, and I stroked slow, deliberate, teasing. She clung to my shoulders, nails digging through the knit as her breath went ragged.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” I growled against her lips. “Ever since those texts. Touching yourself, pretending it was me.”

She moaned, the sound shameless and sweet, and it went straight to my cock.

“Dean, please.”

“Please what?” I teased, sliding a finger inside her, slow, curling until she cried out softly. “Tell me what you want, Amber.”

Her head fell back, hair spilling over her shoulders, and she choked out, “More. I need more.”

I gave her what she wanted, thrusting deeper, adding a second finger, my thumb rubbing tight circles over her clit. Her body clenched around me, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps. She was beautiful like this—open, needy, unraveling just for me.

“Fuck, Amber,” I rasped. “Watching you fall apart like this—I could get used to it.”

Her hips rocked into my hand, chasing it, and I knew she was close. I sped up, pressing harder, fucking her with my fingers until she shattered with a cry, her thighs trembling around me.

I didn’t stop kissing her, didn’t stop stroking her until she sagged against me, her chest heaving, sweat dampening her hairline.

But my cock was rock hard, straining painfully against my jeans, and when she blinked up at me with that dazed, wrecked look, she reached down and tugged at my belt.

“Your turn,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

I groaned, fumbling with the buckle until my jeans slid low enough for her to wrap her hand around me. The first stroke nearly undid me, her grip warm and perfect, and I cursed against her mouth.

“Amber, fuck—”

She guided me toward her, her panties already shoved aside, her slickness coating the head of my cock. I pushed in slow, inch by inch, watching her lips part, her eyes flutter shut, her body stretch to take me.

“Jesus Christ,” I ground out, forehead pressed to hers. “You feel like heaven.”

Her arms locked around my neck as I sank deeper, until I was buried inside her, throbbing, fighting the urge to lose it right then. I held still for a moment, breathing hard, letting her adjust, letting myself hold on.

“Move,” she whispered, desperate.

I obeyed.

The counter rocked as I thrust into her, slow at first, then harder when her moans filled the small shop. Each roll of my hips drove me deeper, the slick slide of her body pulling me closer to the edge.

Her nails raked down my back through my sweater, her breath hot against my ear. “Dean, oh God—don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping,” I growled, pounding into her harder, faster, until the sound of our bodies drowned out the patter of rain outside.

Her walls tightened around me, her cries sharper, higher. “Dean—I’m—”

“Come for me again,” I ordered, grinding my thumb against her clit as I thrust deep. “Now, Amber. Come all over my cock.”

She shattered with a scream, clenching around me so tight I nearly lost it. I buried myself in her, groaning her name as my release tore through me, hot and violent, filling her until I couldn’t breathe.

For a long moment, we just clung to each other, sweaty, panting, her thighs still trembling around me.

The rain outside drummed steady against the glass, the whole town none the wiser about what had just happened on the counter of the bookstore.

I pressed a kiss to her damp temple, still inside her, still catching my breath. “Told you,” I whispered hoarsely. “Live performance, so much better than the dramatic reading.”