Page 24 of Embers in Autumn

Dean

Saturday started early, the kind of morning that tricked you into thinking the world was gentler than it was. The sun was bright but soft, the chill in the air just sharp enough to wake you up. Leaves glowed gold and red against the clear sky, the city still damp from the rain of the last few days.

I grabbed coffee on the way to the hospital, two cups balanced in the tray.

Mike’s room was on the second floor, tucked into a corner that smelled faintly of antiseptic and overcooked vegetables.

The man himself was sitting half propped in bed, hospital gown hanging open at the collar, scowling like someone had just told him he’d lost a bet.

“Two cracked ribs,” he grunted when I walked in, nodding toward the monitor beside him. “You’d think they’d let me out with a bandage and a ‘don’t sneeze too hard,’ but nope. They’ve got me tied up like an old mare.”

I set his coffee on the side table, pulling a chair close. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Could’ve been your neck if that beam landed an inch higher.”

He huffed, sipping carefully from the cup. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell me you came here to lecture. What’s really on your mind?”

I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my jaw. The truth was sitting heavy in my chest, and I didn’t want to carry it alone anymore. “I’m seeing Amber again tonight. Just the two of us.”

Mike’s brows shot up, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, well. So, is it getting serious?”

I let out a slow breath, staring down at the floor tiles.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know if it should.

I mean… I’m falling for her, Mike. Harder than I’ve fallen in a long time.

But part of me keeps wondering—what if she’s just…

sowing some wild oats, you know? Trying to remember what it feels like to be wanted after a ten-year relationship that tore her apart.

What if I’m just a rebound she’ll regret? ”

Mike was quiet for a long moment, sipping his coffee, studying me with those sharp eyes that had seen me through fires and funerals alike.

“You ever think,” he said finally, “that you’re not the only one rolling those dice? She’s scared too, Dean. People don’t walk out of that kind of wreckage without some scars. But hell, neither did you.”

I swallowed, the old ache creeping in. “Yeah. Amber’s not the only one who got burned.

Lana’s mom—” I stopped, dragging in a breath.

“That was a hell of a wound. Watching her walk out like we didn’t matter.

Leaving Lana behind. I told myself I’d never let anyone get that close again.

And now here I am, damn near ready to…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “I don’t even know.”

Mike set his cup down, his tone gentler than I expected. “Maybe you do know. Maybe you’re just afraid of saying it out loud.”

Silence stretched between us, filled with the soft beep of the monitor.

“I want to ask her to Thanksgiving,” I admitted finally, the words heavy but real. “My sister’s hosting, Dad’s coming into town. I want her there. I want them to meet her. But I don’t know how to say it without spooking her. It’s early. Too early maybe.”

Mike tilted his head. “So what? You care about her, right? Then ask. Not because you’re trying to lock her down, not because you’re rushing anything. Just because you want her there. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

I nodded slowly, the knot in my chest loosening a fraction. “Yeah. That’s the truth.”

He grinned, wincing as the motion pulled at his ribs. “Then trust her enough to give her the choice. You’d be surprised how far honesty goes.”

I sat back, letting the words settle. Maybe he was right. Maybe the risk was worth it. Because the truth was, Amber had already carved out a place in my life. And maybe it was time to see if she wanted to stay.

Mike shifted in bed, wincing as he tried to sit straighter. “Alright, enough chitchat. Does the crew even miss me, or are they already auditioning my replacement?”

I smirked. “We put your locker up for raffle. Carter’s hoping to win it.”

Mike barked a laugh, then groaned, pressing a hand to his side. “Kid can barely carry his own gear, let alone my legacy. Tell him I want rent if he steals my locker.”

“I’ll tell him you left it to him in your will.”

He pointed at me, eyes narrowing. “Smartass.”

We traded a few more jabs before the nurse came in to check his vitals, and I took that as my cue to head out. He grumbled but gave me a wave as I left, already reaching for his coffee again.

The drive to my sister’s place was short, the crisp afternoon sun slanting through golden leaves.

Her flower shop sat downstairs, closed for the weekend, while the living quarters filled the top half of the little building.

I climbed the familiar stairs, the smell of roses and eucalyptus lingering even outside the door.

Sarah opened it before I could knock, her apron still dusted with soil. “Dean,” she said, brows lifting. “What brings you here in the middle of the day?”

“I need a recipe,” I said, stepping inside.

That earned me a blink. “Since when do you need a recipe? You’ve been living on caned goods and pasta for years.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I was thinking roast dinner. Something good.”

Her lips twitched, the kind of smile that was already halfway to a smirk. “Roast dinner? That’s… ambitious. What’s the occasion?”

Before I could answer, footsteps thudded on the stairs. Lana appeared, hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks still flushed from playing with her cousins. She froze on the landing, eyes darting between me and her aunt.

“He’s got a date tonight,” she blurted, grinning like she’d just revealed state secrets.

Sarah’s eyes lit up as she turned back to me. “Oh, now this makes sense.”

I groaned. “Perfect timing, Lana. Really.”

She shrugged, all innocence, though the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “What? You do.”

Sarah crossed her arms, already looking far too pleased. “Alright then. Roast dinner it is. Let’s make sure you don’t scare her off with burnt potatoes.”

I shook my head, though I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my mouth. Between my sister’s knowing grin and my daughter’s teasing, it was clear—tonight wasn’t going to stay a secret for long.

Back home, I rolled up my sleeves and stared down the ingredients my sister had sent me off with—potatoes, carrots, herbs tied in a neat little bundle, and a cut of beef that looked far more expensive than anything I usually bought.

Sarah had given me step-by-step instructions and strict warnings about overcooking.

Still, my kitchen wasn’t exactly the set of a cooking show. Pots clanged, steam hissed, and at one point I swore the potatoes were staging a rebellion. I double-checked the oven temperature three times, set timers on my phone, and muttered under my breath like that would keep everything in line.

The smell, though, began to ease my nerves. Garlic, rosemary, roasted meat—the whole place slowly filled with it, warm and inviting. It smelled like home.

By the time the knock came at the door, the table was set, candles lit—not real ones, I wasn’t taking that chance—and the food was resting on the counter like it knew I needed all the help I could get.

I wiped my hands on a towel, suddenly aware of how fast my heart was thudding.

When I opened the door, the words I’d meant to say died in my throat.

Amber stood there in a dress the color of deep wine, long sleeves that clung to her arms and a skirt that brushed just above her knees.

Her chestnut hair spilled loose beneath a small felt hat, tilted to one side with the kind of old-fashioned charm that made her look like she’d stepped straight out of a storybook.

Her cheeks were pink from the chill, her eyes bright, and for a second I just… looked.

“Wow,” I managed, my voice rough. “You look—”

“Like I got lost on the way to a jazz club in the 1940s?” she teased, adjusting the brim of her hat.

“Like you’re going to make me forget what I cooked,” I said honestly.

Her laugh was soft, and it settled in my chest like something I didn’t know I’d been missing. The smell of dinner drifted out, and she tilted her head curiously.

“Is that… what is that, it smells delicious?”

I stepped aside, holding the door open. “That’s me trying not to embarrass myself.”

She walked in, the faint click of her boots on the floor, and my house felt warmer just with her in it.

The roast turned out better than I expected.

Juicy, tender, and not even close to burned.

Amber made the kind of appreciative sound that made all the stress and sweat worth it, and I tried to play it cool even as my chest swelled with relief.

We ate slowly, the table warm with the glow of the candles, conversation slipping easy between us.

We talked about our days. She told me about a picky customer at the shop who’d spent twenty minutes debating the merits of Agatha Christie versus contemporary crime novels, and I told her about visiting Mike at the hospital and how miserable he looked under nurse supervision.

Her laugh warmed the air, and for a while it felt like we’d been doing this forever.

When she asked about my shift the night before, I gave her the edited version. Fire, long night, Mike laid up in the hospital. I didn’t tell her how close it had come to spreading, or how my heart had nearly stopped when the wall came down. She didn’t need that weight tonight.

Somewhere between the last bite of potatoes and the first sip of wine, I felt the words pressing in my throat. Heavy, insistent. My hand tightened on my glass.

“Amber,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant.

Her hazel eyes lifted to mine. “Hmm?”

I took a breath that felt like stepping off a ledge. “I wanted to ask… if you’d come to Thanksgiving. With me. With my family.”