Page 29 of Embers in Autumn

Dean

Two weeks had blurred by, and somehow Amber had woven herself into every part of my days.

Every morning started with a text from me—good morning, book girl—and ended with her name glowing on my screen before I closed my eyes.

When I wasn’t working, I wanted her near.

Twice she’d come over for movie nights with Lana; the second time devolved into a popcorn fight that left my couch looking like a bird feeder and Amber laughing so hard she nearly fell off the cushions.

Lana had declared it the best night ever. I couldn’t argue.

Now I was back in the station, pulling on my gear as the bells clanged faintly in the distance.

It smelled like smoke and grease and that faint undercurrent of coffee that never left no matter how often the place was scrubbed.

The lockers gleamed in neat rows, and the red engine sat in her bay like she was waiting for someone to call her name.

Mike was back.

He stood near the desk in the corner, not in turnout gear but a clean department polo, his ribs still bound under his shirt. His expression was somewhere between pride and irritation, which pretty much summed him up at the best of times.

“Desk duty,” he muttered as I came up beside him. “Feels like a death sentence. I should be out there with you guys.”

“Better than a coffin,” Carter chimed in from the other side of the room, lacing up his boots.

Mike shot him a glare. “Careful, rookie. Keep talking and I’ll assign you to inventory toilet paper for the next month.”

The room erupted in laughter.

I clapped him on the shoulder, careful not to jostle him too hard. “Glad to have you back, even if you’re grumbling. We missed you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Carter called, smirking. “I enjoyed not hearing his voice for two weeks.”

Mike rolled his eyes but his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll miss it soon enough when I’m the only one keeping you from running into a fire without your pants.”

“Once,” Carter groaned. “That happened once.”

“Twice,” I corrected, unable to hold back my laugh. “And Mike wasn’t even there the second time.”

The whole bay filled with chuckles and groans, the kind of ribbing that kept us sane between the serious calls. Mike leaned back against the desk, shaking his head.

“God help me,” he muttered, “this is what I came back for.”

And despite the grumbling, I could see it in his eyes—he was glad to be here. We all were.

The bay was alive with noise, gear clanking, boots thudding against concrete, voices carrying like we’d never had a quiet day in our lives. Mike leaned against the desk with his coffee, settling into his new post like it was a throne he didn’t want but was stuck with anyway.

“So,” he said, cocking his head at me. “What’d I miss while I was gone? Besides Carter nearly torching his eyebrows off.”

“That was controlled flame,” Carter shot back.

“That was you forgetting which way the lighter fluid went,” I countered, grinning as the room chuckled.

“How are you not yet fired?” Mike asked smiling. “Anyway, Bennett, tell me what I missed.”

I gave Mike the rundown—two small calls, a couple of messy basement floods, the warehouse fire he already knew about. By the time I finished, his expression had softened, though he’d never admit to missing it all.

Then he smirked. “And what about that Amber girl you kept seeing?”

The bay went dead quiet for a beat, just long enough for me to know I was in trouble.

Sure enough, Carter perked up like a bloodhound catching a scent. “Ohhh, the bookstore girl. Now we’re talking.”

“See?” I said, pointing at them both. “That’s why I don’t bring her here. You guys have absolutely no manners.”

The whole crew snickered, like sharks circling. Mike sipped his coffee with a smug look.

“Don’t worry,” Carter cut in, “she’s too good for you anyway.”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence,” I muttered, shaking my head.

But Carter wasn’t done. “Besides, I overheard you on the phone the other night. Something about going to some fancy-ass concert tomorrow?”

The laughter roared through the bay like a wave. Mike nearly spit out his coffee. “A concert? You? What, is it AC/DC reunion night?”

“Classical,” Carter said, grinning wide. “Like violins and tuxedos and shit.”

Every head turned to me. I scrubbed a hand down my face, but I couldn’t hold back the smile tugging at my mouth.

“Thanks for reminding me,” I said dryly. “I need to rent a decent suit.”

The crew howled. Even Mike winced from laughing too hard at his ribs. And yeah, they’d never let me live it down—but hell if it didn’t feel good, having them back at full strength, even if Mike was stuck behind a desk.

“So it’s serious, huh?”

I hesitated for a beat, then shrugged. “Yeah. It’s… getting there.”

That earned me a chorus of whistles and catcalls from the rest of the crew. Carter muttered something about me “going soft,” and someone else shouted that I’d better not show up to shift in cufflinks. I tossed them all a glare that only made them laugh harder.

Mike, though, just kept studying me, his smile thinner but knowing. He’d seen me through enough years to tell when I was holding back.

And yeah, I was.

Because the truth I didn’t share—not with Mike, not with the crew, maybe not even with myself until now—was that I’d already fallen. Hard.

Amber wasn’t just some girl I texted goodnight.

She wasn’t just dinners and coffee and the comfort of company.

Somewhere between the popcorn fight with Lana and her laugh echoing in my kitchen that morning, she’d sunk under my skin.

I thought about her when I should’ve been focused on reports, or when I rolled out of bed, or hell, even when I was pulling on my turnout gear.

It scared the hell out of me, how fast it had happened. But it was there, and there was no denying it anymore.

I’d fallen for her. Really, truly fallen.

And if I was honest, the only thing that terrified me more than admitting it was the thought of her not feeling the same.

I grabbed a rag and a bucket, more out of habit than anything else, and started wiping down the side of Engine 3.

The chrome shone under the afternoon light, my reflection bending with the curve of the metal.

There was something calming about it—the rhythm, the smell of soap, the silence when the bay wasn’t full of shouting.

When I finally sat down on the bumper to take a break, I pulled out my phone. A message from Amber blinked across the screen.

Amber: Guess who just came by the bookstore?

I smirked, thumbs already moving.

Dean: If you say Lana, I hope she wasn’t buying anything too weird. I've seen the kind of books you sell.

Her reply came quick, like she’d been waiting for me.

Amber: Her and a couple of friends. They picked out some books for a group project. Oh, and pumpkin candles.

I huffed a laugh, shaking my head.

Dean: Selling fire hazards to the daughter of a fireman? You really trying to test me here, book girl?

Three dots appeared, paused, then came back again.

Amber: Relax, Chief. They’re in glass jars. Totally safe.

Dean: That’s what they all say before they burn the place down.

Amber: Funny. I don’t remember you complaining about candles the other night when you—

She stopped there, left it hanging, and my pulse kicked hard in my throat.

Dean: When I what? Go on, finish that sentence.

Amber: Nope. I’d rather watch you squirm.

I shook my head, a grin spreading across my face despite myself.

Dean: Cruel. You know I’m at work.

Her reply landed before I even slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Amber: Too bad. I was just about to send you a naked picture of me.

My breath caught, and I sat up straighter on the bumper, the rag slipping from my hand to the floor.

Dean: …You’re joking.

Amber: Am I?

Three little dots pulsed on the screen, then disappeared, then came back again. She was doing this on purpose, teasing the hell out of me.

Dean: Book girl, if you’re messing with me, I swear

Amber: Swear what? You’ll put me over your knee?

I scrubbed a hand down my face, fighting the groan rising in my chest. If the guys walked in right now, I’d never live it down.

Dean: You are evil. Straight up evil.

Amber: Maybe. But you like it.

She wasn’t wrong. My pulse was pounding, my mind already replaying the way she’d looked spread out in my bed, the sound of her voice begging me not to stop.

Dean: You’re lucky I can’t leave right now.

Amber: Lucky? Or smart?

I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head as the truck bay echoed faintly around me.

Dean: Keep this up, and tomorrow night I won’t let you out of bed long enough to get to that concert.

Her typing paused, then came back with one last hit:

Amber: Promise?

Fuck. I pocketed the phone before I did something stupid, like clock out early.