Page 9 of Let it Ignite (Playing with Fire #2)
Cassie
A few months later
"You’re going to want to sit down for this," I say, trying to keep my voice even, but the smile threatening to split my face wide open won’t behave.
Byron arches a brow at me from across the living room, wiping his hands on a towel, his flannel shirt rumpled from fixing the busted curtain rod I accidentally pulled down. "Cass, I’m already sitting."
"Okay," I say, swallowing a laugh. My fingers tremble slightly as I spin my laptop around and tilt the screen toward him. "Read that subject line."
He leans forward, squinting, and then his eyes widen. "From Netflix?"
I nod, my throat tightening. "They want to buy the web series. The small-town one. The one I started writing about Silvertown Hollow."
He lets out a long, low whistle. "Holy shit."
And then he’s up, crossing the room in three strides, sweeping me off the couch with one arm around my waist and spinning me in a tight, dizzying circle. I laugh so hard I can barely breathe, my legs flailing as I cling to his neck.
"You did it, baby," he says, voice rough with pride. He sets me down gently but doesn’t let me go, pressing a kiss to my forehead, my cheek, my lips. "You made something beautiful. Something real."
"It’s not just mine," I whisper. "It’s ours. This town, this house, this life—we built this together."
“I can’t wait to tell Samira and Serena after the show.”
He smiles down at me proudly.
Byron’s sisters are coming over later—Serena, who’s married to the fire chief, Levi, and Samira, the youngest, who bakes cakes that taste like heaven.
I used to be nervous around them, afraid I didn’t measure up, but they welcomed me like I’d always been part of their loud, chaotic, fire-loving family.
My chest feels full in the best possible way.
We’ve been living together for a few months now, and every morning still feels like waking up in a dream.
There’s coffee brewing when I come to the kitchen.
Byron’s boots by the door. Rusty curled up and purring on my lap.Flannel shirts hanging beside my jackets.
I write at the kitchen table while he tinkers with home projects or snoozes on the couch after night shifts. Absolute bliss.
Every time the fire alarm goes off, my heart lurches. But I’ve learned that love means letting your chest ache a little. Love means fear and hope living side by side. And I’d rather feel all of it than go back to chasing a dream that left me hollow.
Tonight is opening night of the community play I helped write and direct.
A weird little comedy with too many costume changes and an improvised goat puppet.
But the community turned out anyway—kids, old folks, the firehouse crew, even Mrs. Tilden who swore she was too fragile to walk up the church hall stairs.
Byron insisted on sitting front row. Clapping his giant hands together, he looks completely out of place next to Serena who’s wiping away tears with crumpled up tissues, despite the fact that the show was a comedy.
The curtain falls.
The crowd claps.
I step forward with the rest of the cast to take our bow, my cheeks flushed from the lights and adrenaline. I’m grinning when I turn—
And freeze.
Because Byron is onstage.
He’s walking toward me, eyes locked on mine, something in his expression so soft, so serious, it steals my breath.
The crowd hushes. Whispers ripple through the room. He stops in front of me and drops to one knee.
I gasp.
"Cassie Royal," he says, his voice steady even though his hands shake. "You wrecked me the day I met you. And every day since, you’ve made me believe in something bigger than just showing up to put out fires. You make me believe in staying. In building. In loving hard and loud and without apology."
My vision blurs. My hand flies to my mouth.
"You don’t need Hollywood," he says, pulling out the simplest, most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.
"Because the world you built here? The life you breathe into every room, every page, every kiss? That’s what people will remember.
That’s what I want to wake up next to every damn day.
Would you do me the honor of being my wife? "
The crowd is silent.
And then I say, "Yes."
He stands and I throw my arms around him, kissing him through happy tears, through laughter, through the pounding applause. Serena is sobbing, Samira is filming, and someone from the firehouse is wolf-whistling loud enough to make the mayor jump.
I don’t care.
Because the girl who thought she needed lights, cameras, and Hollywood?
She found her happy ending in fire trucks, flannel, and one hell of a firefighter.
Byron leans down, brushing his lips against my ear as the cheers fade into a gentle hum behind us.
"So, soon to be Mrs. Summers… you going to keep writing stories, or are you just going to write ours from now on?"
I laugh through my tears. "Oh, I’m definitely writing ours. But fair warning—it’s going to be very steamy."
He grins. "Good. Because I plan on giving you plenty of material."
Before I can respond, he pulls me into him with both hands cupping my face, and kisses me like the world’s ending.
Like this stage is just a blur and the only thing real is the way his mouth moves against mine—hungry and reverent.
The crowd erupts again, but I don’t hear any of it.
All I hear is the thud of my heart and the soft groan he lets out when my fingers tangle in his hair.
It’s hot, it’s messy, and it’s us—perfectly, wildly us.
Samira yells from the audience, "Get a room!"
Serena shouts back, "Let them have this, Samira! This is true love !"
Levi, standing beside her with a smirk and his arms crossed, adds loudly, "Alright, but if y’all start making out again, I’m pulling the fire alarm—strictly for crowd control purposes."
I look up at Byron, my hand still in his, the ring catching the light like it was always meant to be there.
"I didn’t think I could have all of this," I whisper.
"You can," he says, tugging me close again. "You already do."
And right there, under the lights of a school stage in a town I never meant to stay in, I realize I never want to leave.
Not when he’s here.
Not when this— us —is home.
I finally found my happy ending in fire trucks, flannel, and one hell of a firefighter.