Page 1 of Melting for the Firefighter

Chapter 1

Cora

Therosemaryisleaningleft again. At this point, it feels kind of personal.

I tuck the silvery sprig between two white roses and turn the vase. The rosemary slips back into the same crooked position, stubbornly refusing to become beautiful just because I need it to.

Grandma used to say flowers bend toward the light.

I bend toward whoever needs me.

My phone lies facedown beside the register, hiding the transfer confirmation for eight hundred dollars. The cooler needs servicing. The electric bill is due next week. Founder’s Day is four days away, and my supply list is long enough to qualify as light reading.

Mom needed rent.

She always needs something.

This time, there were tears, a threatening landlord, and a check that would clear tomorrow.

The check does not exist. I know this because Mom has been waiting for imaginary checks for as long as I can remember.

I also know I will answer the next time she calls.

Some foolish, bruised part of me is still waiting for the conversation that begins withHow are you, Cora?instead ofI need a favor.

Maybe there is an exact dollar amount that turns me into a daughter worth keeping.

I have not reached it yet.

The bell above the front door rings.

I smooth my palms over my green floral dress and find the smile Grandma taught me to wear for customers.

“Welcome to Grandma’s Garden.”

Then Lance Renner steps inside, and my smile forgets how to behave.

He fills the doorway in a faded Whispering Pines Fire Department shirt and worn jeans. Tall. Broad. Rugged enough to look out of place among the lace ribbons, glass vases, and delicate blooms.

Dark stubble shadows his jaw. Brown hair falls across his forehead as though he shoved a hand through it on the walk over.

I have spent two years wanting to push it back for him.

His gaze finds me, and the shop feels smaller.

“Cora.”

My name comes from him low and rough.

Heat moves across my skin, sinking into my breasts and gathering deep in my belly.

Very unprofessional.

Grandma would recommend prayer.

My gaze catches on the tattoo disappearing beneath his left sleeve, then drops to the pale round scars scattered across his forearms.

I have wondered about those scars since the day he walked into my shop. Wondered what happened. Wondered who hurt him.