Page 46 of Ink and Ashes

Holland

I t’s been a few days now since I moved into the spare bedroom at Colson’s house, and we’ve fallen into a good routine.

There hasn’t been another fire yet—arson or otherwise—so he’s been home every night since I arrived, and he took it upon himself to install a high-end security system for the nights he won’t be.

He’s usually gone before I wake up, either spending the day with Finn’s widow and daughters or at the station, but he always returns home in time for us to cook dinner together.

And with each day that passes, it gets harder and harder not to jump his bones every time I see him.

The Colson I met when I first arrived in Ember Grove is long gone.

Over the past month since my car caught fire, he’s been nothing but good to me.

From moving in across the hall at The Scarlet to letting me move in here , he’s gone out of his way to make sure I know that he’s not the man he first showed me.

He’s sweet, gentle, caring, and above all else, protective.

I’ve never felt safer than I do around him, and it makes it really hard to think about what will happen once this is all said and done.

After the funeral, I expected him to shut himself off from me again, to make it easier to live together. But he hasn’t. In fact, he’s done quite the opposite, opening up to me even more and taking it upon himself to start those cooking lessons he promised me.

I’m still not sure how to feel about living here, though.

Part of me feels grateful for Colson for letting me stay here, but the other part of me wishes I’d said no.

With the weight of the kiss we’re still pretending didn’t happen hanging over us, I worry that the urge to do it again will only get stronger.

It was different staying at the inn, because we rarely spent time alone in one of our rooms—it was always at the dining table, and Mary and Emmett were often around.

But here, it’s just us. There’s no one standing in the way of something happening except for us.

And I’m not sure how much longer I can hold myself back.

I’ve been careful so far, knowing neither of us are in a position for that right now.

A relationship is the last thing I need, especially given what happened with Gabriel just a few months ago.

And knowing what I do about Colson’s past, I know he’s not someone who jumps into things lightly.

He’s been hurt bad , and I don’t want to add to his pain.

Which is what would happen if I let myself act on my feelings for him.

But every day that I stand over that stove with my back pressed to his front, feeling his breath on my neck and his hand guiding mine, is another day I get closer to closing that gap between us.

I stop myself every time though, knowing that if we go there, it won’t just be for fun.

Feelings are involved for both of us and it’s going to make walking away that much harder when the time comes.

Because I will walk away.

Ember Grove has always been temporary. My goal is still to redeem my image and go crawling back to Toronto with my tail pulled from between my legs, ready to remind people who I truly am.

One protective, alluring man isn’t going to change that for me.

Especially when getting into another relationship is practically last on the list of priorities for both of us.

So we suffer in silence, stealing longing glances at each other when we think the other isn’t looking and letting our touches linger a little longer than we should.

And it’s working for now. But I fear that if we let it go on much longer, we’ll be skating across a line that neither of us is ready to cross.

Which is where we stand now, one of his hands resting on the counter millimetres from my hip, the other caressing mine as I pour a dash of seasoning into the sauce. He got home from work twenty minutes ago with ingredients to make his mom’s famous spaghetti.

“Just like that,” he mutters, his voice low and raspy. The sound alone sends a shiver racing up my spine, and I have to stop myself from letting out a gasp.

“Thanks,” I say, lust clear in my voice too. “For doing this.”

He takes a step back and puts the Italian seasoning down, and I turn around. I’m wedged between him and the kitchen island, the small space between us the only thing keeping me from pressing my lips to his.

“Happy to, Red.” His gaze trails down to my lips, and I know he’s thinking of doing the same.

But that can’t happen.

“Colson—” I start, but he quickly cuts me off.

“I know, Rhodes,” he tells me. He swallows roughly, then with one last glance at my mouth, he breaks our stare.

I let out a breath as I shift away from him and change the subject. “How was work today?”

Colson tosses a tea towel over his shoulder, then grabs the bag of pasta off the counter and adds a handful to the pot of boiling water. “It was fine. Strange without Finn there. I’m not sure we’ll ever get used to his absence.”

My heart breaks. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him softly, because it’s all I know how to say.

I’ve been lucky enough to have never lost anyone through death.

All my grandparents died before I was born, and all my friends and family back in Toronto are still alive and well.

Brian Finnegan is the first person I’ve ever known personally who died.

Colson sends me a sad smile. “Thanks, Holland. ”

I jerk my head, and we continue cooking.

We move in complete synchrony with each other, as if doing this together is what we were always meant to do.

I still wouldn’t consider myself a good cook, but I’ve definitely improved with Colson’s help, and I’ve gotten good at predicting what he wants me to do before he asks.

Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting side-by-side at the island with a bowl of pasta topped with parmesan cheese and garlic bread in front of each of us. A comfortable silence fills the room as we eat, both of us appreciating the company of the other.

It saddens me to think about eating meals alone again once I leave.

We finish the meal and clean up together, then take a seat on the couch, Colson on one end and me on the other.

“How was your day today?” Colson asks as he flicks through the TV channels for something to watch.

“It was okay. I’ve been focusing the investigation more on trying to figure out what it is about this year that’s important to the arsonist.”

Colson’s brows raise. “Did you find anything?”

“Not yet. Are there any other fires of significance that have happened over the years? I haven’t found anything in my research, but something about this year and this town are clearly important to this guy.

There has to be something that fueled this guy’s obsession with fire, and I’m guessing it began here. ”

Colson ponders for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not that I know of. Aside from the Welland fire and…” Colson pauses, swallowing roughly. “And the apartment fire five years ago, we haven’t had any that have resulted in deaths in that timeframe.”

My shoulders slump as he recalls the fire that killed Ellie, and I take it as my cue to steer the conversation away from that particular tragedy.

“What about fires resulting in injuries? Was anyone ever seriously hurt in a fire here?”

“None of the townspeople, no. Not that I can remember anyway.” He lets out a breath.

“As for the firefighters, we’ve all got scars from years spent fighting the flames.

There isn’t anyone on the team who hasn’t spent a day in the hospital being treated for burns, but no one ever to the point where we’ve feared for their life.

Not until this year with Ollie and Finn. ”

Colson’s voice is thick with emotion as he speaks, and it’s a punch to the gut. Everything about this is hurting him—hurting everyone—and I can’t help but wonder if it’d be better left alone.

“Okay. I’m going to head back down to the library tomorrow, see if I can find anything new. It’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll notice something I didn’t before. Do you think you could talk to your dad again? Maybe there’s something he can share.”

Colson nods.

“Thanks.” I pause. “And I think we need to take another look through the guys’ files. The profile changed with the church fire, and knowing now that they’re good with technology, I want to take another look.”

“How did that change the profile?” he asks.

I hadn’t shared this with him before now because with everything that’s happened, I didn’t want to give him anything new to stress about. But if we’re going to get to the bottom of this, he needs to know.

“Because this guy isn’t just an arsonist anymore.

I’m not sure if he ever was. He’s a murderer who uses fire as his weapon, and I’d be willing to bet that the church fire wasn’t his first that resulted in a death.

Which means we’re looking for someone who’s charismatic, intelligent, and charming.

They likely won’t be quiet and reserved.

He blends in with the rest of the crew. We’ve been looking at the wrong people. ”

“That could be anyone. Including Whitlock, Dom, or Beau.”

“I know, but there are other aspects they don’t fit. The arsonist is also discreetly manipulative and probably a bit narcissistic. It won’t be super obvious, but there will be signs.”

“Okay. I’ll grab them tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

I just hope something in them is helpful.

I’ve spent the entire day at the library, running through all the past records of fires in this area as well as other fires in British Columbia that have been flagged with unknown causes, hoping something will help me figure out who the arsonist is, but I’m still coming up empty.

There’s been a significant number of arson-expected fires in the province, but most of them have been one-offs with nothing connecting them to these.

And it’s not like each one lists every detail of the fire, so without the confirmation any of them were started by candles, I’ll never know for sure if there’s any correlation.

I’ve also spent more time digging into the Welland family, because I still have no other explanation for why this year and town is important to the arsonist aside from that fire.

But I can’t find anything specific about the fire that could result in this kind of response.

It happened in the middle of the night in late-August, and the cause of the fire was labelled to be accidental.

Likely caused by lightning, like the majority of other fires in this area.

There’s very little information on the Wellands from before the fire, and the same as it did the first time I looked into him, all information about Joseph Welland stops ten years after that night with his death certificate.

None of this makes sense. Either I’m looking at this all wrong, or there’s something about that night that someone has tried hard to cover up. And if that’s the case, clearly they’ve done a good job at it, because I have no idea how I’m going to figure out what it is.

We really need to talk to Colson’s dad. He’s one of the few people in this town who was on the scene of the fire that night, and maybe there’s something he can share that I haven’t been able to find in the archives.

I don’t think Colson has told him much about the investigation aside from my theory that it’s a firefighter, but it’s time to fill him in.

I let out a sigh and pick up my phone to send Colson a text.

ME

Hey. Have you gone to see your dad yet?

It takes Colson a few minutes to reply, but I’m relieved by his response.

LIEUTENANT KILLJOY

No, I’m just leaving the station now. Why?

Can I come with you?

Sure. I’ll swing by the house to pick you up first.

I’m still at the library. I’ll just meet you there.

I’ll come get you. Be there in five.

I quickly pack up my things and return the archives to their location. I grab my phone and car keys, then make my way out of the library.

I hit the lock button on my key fob to make sure my car is locked at the same time Colson’s truck rolls to a stop.

I hop inside and his eyes roll over my body as if I’m his last meal and he’s a man starved.

The butterflies in my stomach take flight and I clench my legs together as his dark gaze meets mine.

“You didn’t have to pick me up,” I rasp, trying to clear some of the tension in the vehicle. I can’t tell if it’s because of the situation or our attraction for each other, but it grows stronger with every moment we’re alone together.

Colson finally tears his attention from me, shifting his truck back into drive. “It was on the way. We’ll come back for your car later.”

I swallow roughly, nodding. Neither of us say anything more as he takes off in the direction of his parents’.