Page 30 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Emberleigh

Chase your dreams but always know

the road that will lead you home again.

~ Tim McGraw

I wake surrounded by pillows to the left and right of me.

I snuggle into my bedding. I’m not exactly wrapped around Dustin like I was on our first night together, but his arm is casually draped over my torso like a weighted blanket.

I allow myself to indulge in staring at his scruffy morning stubble.

His lashes fan out on his cheekbones. His hair is a rumpled mess on his pillow.

We’re friends. Friends who kissed like we were on fire.

In another life, if I weren’t so skittish and realistic, I’d choose him.

I’ve never been so tempted to throw caution to the wind and chase after someone as I am with the sandy-haired giant sleeping next to me. He’s everything I never knew I wanted in a partner: kind, funny, easy-going, protective, thoughtful, and sexy.

But he’s not from Waterford. He’s here because the fire station offered him a job.

And he’s a country singer. We all know what happens when country singers get within a hundred-mile radius of Nashville.

They start dreaming. And those dreams tug at them like an electromagnet until they’re no longer able to resist.

People who had valid reasons to stay in Waterford have left as soon as better opportunities called to them. Dustin’s got nothing keeping him in our small town. He’ll leave too. It’s only a matter of time.

I’ll always be grateful for him and what he’s done for me. He’s got to be just that—a fond memory of a man who means the world to me, but can never really be mine.

I reach over carefully and brush a lock of hair off his forehead, wishing I could lean in for one more kiss. He rustles a little and his eyes drift open.

He stares across the space between us, a soft, groggy smile forming on his lips.

“Morning, Firecracker.” His voice is gravelly and delicious. “Ready to go win yourself a contest?”

“I’m ready to give it my all.”

“And win,” he says. “I feel it down deep. This is your day.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He smiles. Then he stands up and stretches, padding away into the bathroom while I watch him go.

The day flies by after breakfast. We’re in the studio with the other remaining couple, under the hot lights, cameras fixed on us.

The theme of the final challenge is Unity: The Ultimate Shared Dessert. Our desserts have to blend three components: A baked element such as a sponge, pate sucrée, or dacquoise; a mousse or curd; and a decorative finish such as a glaze, tuile, caramel shard, sugar work, or tempered chocolate.

Timing is everything at this level of complexity. The kitchen is quiet, filled only with the precise exchange of instructions, the scrape of bowls, and the rhythmic chop and stir of ingredients.

We finish just before the countdown clock buzzes.

I lean both hands on the counter and blow out a long breath.

We’ve created our dessert. The judges will serve portions from our creation which bridges two separate sponge bases.

One rosemary, the other chili-chocolate ganache.

The rosemary side is filled with lemon mousse and topped with a honey glaze.

The chocolate side is filled with a molten center and topped with smoked caramel shards.

Edible gold leaf lines the plate. A toasted meringue curl bridges the two halves like a fragile tether between two opposites.

We present our dessert, the judges taste and deliberate. Unlike previous rounds, we won’t know their decision until we return for the final filming live, after all previous episodes have aired.

I’d like to go home knowing whether we win, but we’ll be in limbo for over two weeks.

Our last commitment before we drive home is to complete interviews that will be integrated into the final episode prior to the winner being announced live on air.

We sit in the same stools we sat on for our initial interview.

Branson asks us questions based on the time we’ve spent at the estate competing for the baking prize.

“How would you describe your relationship after working together in the contest?” he asks me.

“Stronger,” I say, glancing over at Dustin. “More connected.”

“Definitely,” Dustin adds with his signature smile. “I’d only ever eaten her baked goods—I never saw the magic happen. I’ve got mad respect for Emberleigh and her culinary skills.”

“And what are your plans now that the contest is over?” Branson asks us.

“Sleep,” I joke.

“I’m going back to fighting fires,” Dustin says. “I’ve had a week off, thanks to my captain, but I have to get back to work.”

“Plans for your relationship?” Branson prods.

“We’ll see what happens,” Dustin says.

I look over at him. That’s not what I anticipated him saying. It’s not like he’s going to say, I’m going to propose marriage . But his answer feels so non-committal. What did I expect? He came here to support me—as a friend. He fulfilled that role and so much more. He doesn’t owe me more than that.

“I mean, obviously, we’re going to be together … seeing one another,” Dustin scrambles to correct his first answer, but I heard him loud and clear.

“I can’t imagine you not being together,” Branson says. “You are bound to be fan favorites. Your chemistry and the way you enjoy one another is contagious.”

Chemistry? He must be referring to our kiss.

“Well, I wish you both the best,” Branson says. “And we’re looking forward to seeing you for the finale.”

We thank him, and the cameras turn off.

Our bags are already packed. Staff placed them in the foyer of the estate while we were in our interview, so after we say our goodbyes, we hop into Dustin’s truck and head back to Waterford.

The first ten or twenty minutes, we ride in silence. Dustin looks over at me occasionally, testing the water to see if it’s warm enough to jump in. We’re exhausted, relieved, and the air is thick with all we’ve experienced together over the past five days.

I click on the radio, purposely selecting a country station.

He looks over at me, raises one eyebrow, and tilts his head.

“What?” I ask.

“You control the sound system, Firecracker.”

“I’m getting used to that, you know?”

“That’s how I like it.”

I sit back in my seat. “May I?” I point to the dashboard.

“Go for it.”

I pop my feet up on the dash and ride along, trying to understand what Dustin hears in this genre of music.

Fields and properties stretch out around us.

I have the strangest urge to freeze time right here and now.

I’m more at ease than I’ve been all week, Dustin’s behind the wheel of his truck and we’re not expected anywhere.

I’ve got a Tennessee rural road stretching out ahead of me, grass and trees wherever I look.

“You look happy,” Dustin says, looking over at me.

“I am. We did what we went to do. And I’m just … relaxed.”

“Good. I like when you relax,” he smiles over at me.

I want to hold his hand, or pull over and kiss him in the middle of nowhere—but I’ve already let my heart get carried away once.

Those urges will pass. Once I’m back to work, in my usual routine, I’ll distract myself. He won’t be around every corner, sharing my room, the shoulder I lean on, the one wrapping his arm around me when I feel wobbly.

If only he were more stable. If I knew he’d stay, I’d throw in all my chips and gamble. He’s the one who’s worth risking it all for if any man is.

“You hesitated when they asked about your plans in our exit interview,” I say.

I want to know what his plans are. I probably want to know what Dustin wants in his future more than I want to know anything else in the world right now.

“I didn’t know how honest to be. Plans are personal. That interview will be televised.”

“I get that.”

“How about you?” he asks. “What are your plans?”

The interviewer specifically asked about our relationship. I don’t get the feeling we’re talking about us right now.

“My plans are pretty boring.”

“Nothing about you is boring.” His eyes are on the road as if he didn’t just pay me the highest compliment anyone has ever given me.

“I feel a little boring,” I admit. “My plans? I’ll make sure the bakery is financially stable. Get my house back. Bake for the people of Waterford. That’s pretty much it.”

“No traveling?” he asks.

“I can’t take time off that often.”

“If there was an amazing baker in town who was trustworthy enough to cover your time off …”

“Like Syd?”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe. I’d like to travel to New York. Visit the renowned bakeries and eat desserts at Michelin three-star restaurants.”

“You should.”

“And,” I look over at him. As long as we’re taking a detour down fantasy lane, I may as well tell it all.

“Paris. And Belgium. I want to sit in a cafe in Paris and eat a pastry with an espresso while the rest of the world walks by like it’s just another day.

And maybe even take a detour into Provence.

” I wipe at an unexpected tear. My voice cracks when I say, “I could even visit my parents.”

Dustin’s response is soft, filled with compassion.

“Now that’s a trip worth taking. And we only live once.

Sayings like that are clichés because they’re inherently true.

” He pauses as if he’s wondering if he should say his next thought out loud.

“You wouldn’t be cheating on Waterford if you fell in love with some other cities.

You can still come home and bake for the locals. ”

He’s not wrong. And he nailed it. Leaving my hometown feels like a betrayal.

A new song comes on the radio. Dustin starts singing along.

He sounds so good.

I don’t love the song, but I love … him …

singing. His singing. I love his voice. The way he pours himself in so effortlessly and completely.

The smile that graces his face. The rough edges and smooth lines as he hits notes and tells a story through the lyrics.

I might just fall in love with country music if he sang it to me.

“You could record a song. Your voice is special.”

“Special, huh?” His grin spreads slow and satisfied, like he just won something rare.

“You know your voice is special. Don’t fish for compliments. It’s not becoming.”

His laughter fills the cab. “I’m not fishing. I’ve been told I have a good voice. Special is next level.”

“Your voice is next level. Do you want to record music?”

Every musician in Tennessee seems to want to. Why would he be any different?

Dustin gets this far away look in his eyes. “Maybe one day.”

It shouldn’t break me. I just told him he has the kind of voice that ought to be recorded. He’s got dreams. That’s not a crime. But his dreams have wings, and those kinds of dreams mean one day, he’ll fly away.