Page 30 of Embers in Autumn

Amber

By late afternoon, the shop felt like it was humming with my nerves. Every time the bell above the door rang, I glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until I could close. The thought of tonight fluttered through me like restless wings, impossible to still.

At four o’clock sharp—an hour earlier than usual—I flipped the sign to *Closed* and pulled the shades down. My hands trembled just slightly as I locked the door behind me. Not out of fear this time. Out of anticipation.

Upstairs, I laid out the dress I’d been saving for something special. Deep emerald green, cut to skim my curves without clinging, the fabric soft and fluid as water. When I slipped it on, it whispered against my skin, the neckline modest but the open back daring enough to make my pulse race.

From the little velvet box on my dresser, I took out the earrings that had once belonged to my grandmother.

Delicate drops of gold, each one set with a tiny pearl.

I remembered watching her fasten them in her ears on Sunday mornings, the quiet elegance of her movements, and suddenly I felt like she was with me in the mirror, steadying my hands.

I twisted my chestnut hair into a soft chignon at the nape of my neck, leaving a few tendrils loose to brush my collarbone. My makeup stayed light—just a sweep of eyeliner, a touch of blush, and a soft rose gloss that made me look alive without trying too hard.

When I finally stepped back from the mirror, my breath caught. I hardly recognized the woman looking back at me—elegant, composed, but with something bright in her eyes that hadn’t been there for years. Hope, maybe. Excitement.

I wore my black heels, tucked a small clutch under my arm, and stood at the top of the stairs. The bookstore below was dark and silent, the faint smell of old pages and cinnamon candles still clinging in the air.

I slipped into my coat and tugged the belt snug around my waist. My heart thudded louder with each step, the kind of nervous drumbeat that made me feel like I was sixteen again and about to sneak out for a first date.

Dean was waiting just outside the bookstore door, leaning casually against his truck. And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

He wasn’t in his uniform tonight. He was in a tailored charcoal suit that hugged his shoulders in ways that made it impossible to think straight.

A crisp white shirt, open just enough at the collar to show a hint of tan skin, and polished black shoes that gleamed under the streetlight.

His dark hair was neatly combed, though a stubborn lock still fell across his forehead.

God help me, he was devastating like this. The uniform was hot—of course it was—but this… this was eleven times hotter. This was Dean made for the world outside fire trucks and smoke, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

His eyes found mine instantly, and his mouth curved into that smile—the one that always made my chest ache a little. He stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, not rushed, just enough to make my knees weaken.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and then, like it was second nature, he opened the passenger door for me, his hand steady as he helped me in.

The gentleman in him always caught me off guard.

Once he was behind the wheel, the engine humming beneath us, he glanced at me with a sheepish grin. “I hope I don’t make a fool of myself. I’ve never been to a fancy concert before.”

I smiled, easing a little at the honesty in his voice. “Neither have I. I went to a few theater plays when I lived in the city, but never something like this. Hopefully it’s not too different.”

“Plays, huh?” he said as he turned onto the main road. “Guess that makes you the cultured one tonight. You’ll have to help me out if I start clapping at the wrong time.”

I laughed, the nervous flutter in my stomach softening into warmth. “Deal. But only if you promise not to snore if the music goes on too long.”

His grin widened as the headlights swept over the road ahead. “No promises, book girl. ”

The building came into view as Dean pulled into the lot, headlights cutting across two weathered stone statues that flanked the grand entrance.

They were angels, their faces softened by time and rain, wings stretched toward the sky.

The hall itself wasn’t as massive as the theaters I’d visited in the city, but for Maplewood Harbor it was nothing short of breathtaking.

I’d passed by it a handful of times before, always slowing my steps to admire the arching windows and the intricate carvings along the cornices. But now, stepping through the tall wooden doors at Dean’s side, I finally got to see the inside.

And it stole my breath.

The lobby stretched high, with chandeliers dripping crystal light down onto marble floors that gleamed like water.

Tall columns lined the sides, and carved moldings framed the balconies above, where velvet drapes hung rich and red.

The faint scent of polished wood and old stone mixed with something floral, like perfume clinging to the air.

Dean’s hand brushed mine as we walked, his warmth grounding me as my eyes drank it all in. I felt like a child again, staring wide-eyed at something too grand to touch.

“You came?”

The voice was familiar, and when I turned, there she was.

Alexandra Fairchild.

She looked even more stunning than she had that rainy day in my bookstore.

Her dark hair fell in sleek waves over her shoulders, her makeup soft but precise, accentuating the striking green of her eyes.

She wore a floor-length gown of deep sapphire that shimmered with each movement, and a delicate necklace sparkled at her throat.

Beside her stood her husband—the mayor. His presence filled the space even more than the marble columns. Tall, broad, his suit tailored to perfection. He smiled politely, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Amber,” Alexandra said warmly, stepping forward to touch my hand. “I’m so glad you made it.”

Before I could reply, her husband turned his gaze on Dean, brow furrowing. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Dean straightened, polite but firm. “Two months ago, when we got the new state-of-the-art firetruck. You came by the station with the press.”

Recognition lit in the man’s eyes. “Ah, right, right. Good to see you again.”

They fell into small talk—something about the safety demonstration, the logistics of equipment—while Alexandra leaned a little closer to me. Her perfume, something expensive and floral, lingered in the air between us.

“I wanted to thank you,” I said softly, smiling. “For the tickets. It was such a kind surprise.”

She waved a delicate hand. “It was nothing. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“I really am,” I said, glancing around the magnificent hall. “Maybe when you have the time, you can stop by the bookstore again. For coffee. Preferably when it’s not raining.”

That earned me the faintest laugh, her lips curving just so. There was something in her smile, though—something poised, elegant, but tinged with sadness, like a shadow she carried behind her perfect exterior.

Dean glanced back at me, his eyes warm, as if checking I was comfortable. And in that grand, glittering lobby, I realized I was.

An usher in a perfectly pressed uniform approached with a slight bow. “Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild, this way please.”

Alexandra offered me an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I couldn’t get you tickets near us. But—” She paused, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “You and your gentleman have your own private box at the end of the hall. I hope you don’t mind.”

Dean and I exchanged a look—half surprised, half amused—and followed another usher across the lobby.

The hall opened before us in sweeping grandeur, velvet drapes pulled back to reveal the main room.

The ceiling arched impossibly high, painted with faded murals of angels and stars, while gilded sconces along the walls flickered with golden light.

Rows of red velvet seats stretched across the floor, already filling with patrons in their best suits and gowns.

Our usher led us up a narrow stairwell, past a row of polished doors, and into a private box draped with heavy curtains.

A pair of chairs waited, cushioned and carved with dark wood, overlooking the stage below.

A small table stood between them, where two tall flutes of champagne glistened on a silver tray.

Dean let out a low whistle. “Not bad, book girl. ”

I smiled, smoothing my dress as I sank into my seat. The view stretched out like something from a dream—the orchestra assembling below, musicians tuning their instruments, the faint hum of strings and woodwinds threading through the murmur of the crowd.

Dean took the chair beside me, the seat close enough that the heat of him curled into me even through the crisp fabric of his suit. He lifted his glass, his grin crooked.

“To new experiences.”

I clinked mine against his, the delicate chime lost beneath the swell of sound from the stage. “To new experiences,” I echoed, taking a sip. The bubbles fizzed across my tongue, crisp and bright, the perfect prelude to what unfolded before us.

The chandeliers dimmed slowly, casting the hall in a warm hush. The murmur of conversation softened into silence as the conductor strode onto the stage, bowing slightly.

Then the first notes rose, deep and resonant from the cellos, joined by violins in a slow cascade of sound.

The music filled the air like water spilling through every corner of the hall, wrapping around me, lifting every hair on my arms. Dean leaned forward slightly, his eyes wide, and though he’d never set foot in a place like this before, he looked just as captivated as I felt.

It wasn’t just sound—it was a story, unfolding in rich chords and aching melodies, sweeping us away from the small town and into something larger, timeless, impossible not to feel.