Page 59 of Melting for the Firefighter
The kiss is brief, but it says more than the careful words he gave me in the kitchen.
I touch my lips after he walks back toward the engine.
Tessa looks at me.
“You have it bad.”
“He kissed me.”
“I saw.”
“In public.”
“Main Street survived.”
“Barely.”
She hands me another bundle of ribbon before I can continue staring after him.
The booth stays busy through lunch.
I help children make flower crowns. I sell every sunflower arrangement before noon. People tell me stories about Grandma until I begin wishing I had brought her journal so I could write them all down.
She made the flowers for Mrs. Palmer’s wedding.
She brought peonies to the hospital when Mr. Ward had surgery.
She taught the kindergarten class how to plant marigolds in paper cups.
For the first time since the fire, I can see Grandma’s Garden coming back.
Not exactly as it was.
Stronger.
Still hers.
Still mine.
The crowd shifts near the fire engine.
A woman walks toward Lance.
The moment I see her, I know.
Vanessa is tall and polished, with sleek dark hair, red lipstick, and a cream dress that remains perfect despite the dust and July heat. She moves like someone who has never wondered whether a room will make space for her.
The room always does.
Lance sees her.
His body goes rigid.
Vanessa smiles as though she has been expected.
“There you are.”
I cannot hear everything from the booth.
