Rekindled, a Christmas Novella

by Marliss Melton

  Her stomach flip-flopped, and she released a shaky breath. Not only might Peyton try to make her feel guilty, but Alex might turn her down flat. Still, if she didn’t want to live a life of regret, she had to do this.

  Fear would be a thing of her past. All she wanted right now was to make up for the time she and Alex had wasted leading separate lives.

  Oh, God, what if she was too late? What if she had read Alex’s intentions all wrong and he’d only meant his gifts to be a token of their friendship?

  Her phone buzzed.

  Tori scooped up the offending device and unlocked it with a swipe of her finger. Peyton had left her several texts over the last few minutes.

  I can’t wait to see you tonight. I have a surprise for you.

  Wait? Hadn’t he listened to her voicemail? Was he still planning to propose?

  Your parents are starting to pace. You are officially late. I knew I should have picked you up.

  She’d been baking pies right up to an hour ago! My God, some people had to work for a living.

  Where are you? People are starting to show up. What the heck?

  That’s when she noted the time on her phone. And yes, she was very late. Past unfashionable and moving into rude territory, but it wasn’t her fault. Baking thirty-two pies in under twenty-four hours was a superhuman accomplishment, achieved only because Annette had slaved alongside her all day long, staying right up to thirty minutes prior when the Sullivan’s finally showed up to collect the last two pumpkin pies.

  Tori shot Peyton a quick response.

  I’m on my way. Check your voice mail. Lord, he didn’t even know she’d broken up with him yet!

  Skittering out of her bedroom, she retrieved her coat and purse from the back of the couch, and started down the stairs, nearly falling on her butt because—heels! How the hell did Hot Mama walk in these things all day?

  She had just neared the bottom of the steps when she remembered the tiny package she’d wrapped for Alex late the night before and left on her nightstand.

  “God damn it!” Tossing her coat and purse over the short segment of banister, she teetered back up the stairs, feeling like an acrobat on stilts.

  Envisioning her reunion with Alex later that evening, she climbed the stairs at a near run. Just as she unlocked her door and pushed it open, a roar like the rushing of wind sounded downstairs, and she turned her head to identify it. A strange orange light danced on the wall at the bottom of her stairwell. She froze, doubting what her eyes were telling her. That had to be the lights of her Christmas tree casting a weird glow.

  But then she heard it, the telltale crackle of flames devouring the lower level of her bakery. One of her greatest fears reared its ugly head.

  * * *

  Alex blinked and sat up straighter. Peering out the windshield of his truck, he sought to identify the stranger darting out of the dark alley at the back of Just Desserts and into a rusty old car parked just ahead of where Alex sat in his own vehicle. He’d been brooding, wrestling with himself over whether to confront Tori one last time or drive away with his dignity intact.

  Joel had informed him earlier about a rumor circulating Edenton. According to several of Joel’s customers at the hair boutique, Peyton Fischer would propose to Tori that night at her mother’s annual Christmas Eve dinner. The Who’s Who of Chowan County would all be in attendance, putting pressure on Tori to say yes. If Alex didn’t get to her first, Joel had insisted, he was going to lose Tori forever and regret his passivity for the rest of his life.

  So, there he was, sitting in his truck in the dark, talking himself into checking his pride at the door, when the stranger jumped furtively into his car and peeled away, clearly anxious to exit the area. Alex read and memorized the disappearing license plate, even as the hair on his nape prickled. He’d seen insurgents move with that kind of haste.

  “What the hell?” he muttered, reaching for his door.

  A muffled explosion shook the truck as debris rained down on his hood and windshield. Smoke billowed out of Tori’s building and somewhere a car alarm started beeping.

  Jumping from the cab, Alex rushed toward the front of Tori’s bakery hoping he was dreaming. As the smoke thinned, he assessed what he was seeing. Orange flames flickered inside the lower level windows. His heart jumped in the back of his throat.

  No!

  He knew he should probably call 9-1-1 first, but there wasn’t time to waste. Tori was in that building, dammit, and—

  He rammed his shoulder against the door of the bakery, pushing everything else to the back of his mind. Desperation and adrenaline ricocheted through his body.

  Please, God. I need to tell her I love her.

  * * *

  Tori hauled off her offending heels, breaking the strap on one when it refused to slip off. She thundered down the stairs, intent on putting the fire out, but drew up short at the sight in front of her.

  Her oven spewed a river of flame that ran like molten lava over her pine floor. Tongues of fire leaped to ignite the broom she’d left propped against the wall.

  Tori reeled herself in. Short of waltzing into an inferno, there wasn’t any way to get to her fire extinguisher which, considering how rapidly the fire was spreading, wouldn’t do much good anyway.

  “Call 9-1-1,” she told herself, backing toward her purse she’d left on the stairs. As she retreated, the broom collapsed onto a wicker stool which exploded, spewing sparks that settled and gave rise to more little fires. Their combined heat made her flinch as she grabbed on to the railing.

  A pounding at the front door snatched her head up. Relief rushed over her. Someone must have called the fire department. Or maybe a concerned passerby had stopped to assess the situation. Whatever had happened, she needed to get the hell out and fast.

  But as she started toward the door, flames snaked across her sales counter, feeding on the fresh coat of lacquer there. It grew suddenly hotter and the glass of Tori’s display cases shattered without warning. Seeing the glittering shards melt before her eyes, she looked down at her bare feet and gulped.

  This is going to hurt. But better to blister her feet than to roast alive, right?

  With a scream of terror locked in her throat, she started for her door, cringing from the skin-bubbling heat. Suddenly, the Christmas tree before her burst into flame, igniting like a bonfire doused in kerosene. She yelped and scuttled backward. Looking around her, she realized she was pinned against the stairs with no way of escaping.

  Bang! Her door burst open. Flames roared up at the sudden influx of fresh air. A dark silhouette ducked into her building. Firefighters, she thought, relieved that they’d responded so quickly. But the figure hurtling toward her had covered his head and shoulders in a coat—not the protective garb of a fireman. Sparks leapt and flared on him as he skidded to a stop before her.

  “Tori!” Alex came out from under his coat. “Are you okay?” He looked her up and down, taking note of her bare feet. Whipping his coat against the wall, he subdued the embers sinking into the wool and threw it over her. “We gotta make a run for it,” he said, lifting her off the floor. “Hold on to me.”

  In the next instant, she was dangling down his back in a fireman’s hold, all the blood rushing to her head.

  But in the time it had taken him to get to her, the carpet under her leather chairs had caught fire. Craning her neck, Tori could see the flames, writhing like golden sea snakes, cutting off Alex’s escape.

  He hesitated.

  Picturing his consternation, it dawned on Tori that Alex had come looking for her. Her heart expanded with love for him.

  “We’re going upstairs,” he decided, tipping her back onto her feet and pulling her with him as he sped them up the steps. Her door still stood cracked, with the light inside illuminating the thick cloud of smoke that hung from the ceiling.

  “Down on your knees,” Alex instructed, pushing her head lower than the deadly smoke. “Crawl to the nearest window.”

  They scram
bled across the floor together over an area rug and then planks of warm wood that made Tori fearful the floor would collapse under them.

  Alex reached the window before she did. Sucking in a deep breath, he stood up briefly to grapple with the latch.

  “It’s painted shut!” Tori recollected. That was her fault. She’d gotten tired of how dilapidated her apartment looked, and she’d painted the window frames the previous August.

  Alex dropped down next to her, his eyes watering from the smoke, his expression grim. “Which window opens?” he demanded.

  She thought for a moment. “The one next to my bed with the A/C in it.”

  He glanced toward the back of her apartment and shook his head. With her sleeping area situated atop her kitchen, they would not be heading over there.

  “Move aside,” he said, making a sudden decision. “Keep that coat over you and turn your face away.”

  She did as he said, daring a peek up at him in time to see him smash her antique window panes with one of her dinette chairs.

  Bang! Crack! Crash!

  Tori cringed and said a heartfelt prayer. Dear God, please save us from this awful building. I swear, I’ll never take the gift of love for granted ever again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blessedly cooler air streamed into the jagged opening. Tori watched Alex toss aside her broken chair, then drop to his knees next to her, coughing to clear the smoke he’d breathed inadvertently.

  “Okay, Tori, listen.” Catching her face between his steady hands, he spoke to her with urgency. “I have to jump first. It’s a long way down and there’s a sidewalk below us. I know how to break my fall.”

  When she started to protest, Alex smashed his lips to hers in a quick, breathless kiss. “Do you trust me?”

  She tried to speak, but her voice failed her so she gave a jerky nod, instead.

  “Okay, come with me,” he said, pulling her with him as he sidled back to the window on his knees. “You can do this,” he encouraged. “And I’ll be there to catch you.” Alex stood and put one foot out the window, then the other. With his head and shoulders still inside, and his body hanging in thin air, he met her gaze. “Now, get up and sit on the sill.”

  And then he disappeared—just dropped out of view.

  Tori lurched upward, sticking her head outside far enough to see him hit the ground and roll. To her great relief, he sprang up immediately, staring back at her and motioning her to hurry.

  A great cracking noise galvanized her into motion. Spreading Alex’s singed coat on the jagged sill, she gingerly sat on it, drew her knees up, and then swiveled so she could dangle her legs outside. Then she looked down. Heights had never been her cup of tea. With her first floor already six feet above sea level, just in case the Albemarle Sound flooded its banks and spilled into Edenton, there had to be twenty-five feet between her head and the ground.

  “Come on, Tori!” Alex’s voice rang with authority and just a tinge of fear. “There’s nothing to it, Fancy Face,” he added, clearly striving to imbue some normalcy into the life or death situation.

  The sound of a lower level window exploding whipped her heart into a trot and had her scooting to the very edge of the ledge. The only thing keeping her from sliding off were the tips of her fingers, curled around the inner frame of her window. Fear, cold and paralyzing, held her in its grasp as she eyed the long drop to the ground.

  It didn’t help that the fire had drawn a number of spectators. They gazed up at her with varying degrees of horror, some with their hands over their mouths. The wail of a fire engine sounded over the constant roar of the fire devouring her building, her business, everything she’d worked for.

  “Tori, look at me.” Alex’s commanding voice wrested her attention back to his face. He stretched out his arms to her. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and let go. You can trust me.”

  She knew that—knew she could trust Alex with her life, which was way more than she could have ever said for Peyton. So why not put her faith squarely to the test?

  With an indrawn breath, she closed her eyes, released her grip on the window sill, and let herself plummet forward. A scream of terror escaped her. It ended abruptly as she slammed into Alex, who threw his arms around her, staggered off the curb and rolled with her to the street. Opening her eyes, she found herself on her hands and knees looking down at him.

  “Shit,” he said on a pained note.

  “Are you hurt?” she cried, feeling his head for swelling or blood.

  As he sucked in a shuddering breath, a broad smile split his face. “I’m good,” he wheezed. “You knocked the wind out of me.”

  Gazing down at his dirty and sweaty face, Tori’s eyes flooded with tears of both gratitude and relief. He had never looked sexier than he did in that moment. And—Oh, God—she adored him. He’d risked his life for her. If that wasn’t attentiveness, she didn’t know what was.

  Still plastered to his body, she took full advantage of their closeness and brushed her lips over his. Alex growled into her mouth and took control of the kiss. He tasted like a campfire on a cold night under the stars.

  He tasted like home.

  “I love you, Alex,” she whispered against his mouth, laughing when he refused to let her go.

  She felt his lips stretch into a smile and the low rumble in his chest as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

  “Tell me something I don’t already know,” he breathed against her neck.

  Too soon, he pulled away. “I think we’ve got ourselves an audience.” He wiped a thumb along her cheek, leaving a moist streak.

  She grimaced; she must look a sight. “I’m a hot mess,” she declared, scrambling off of Alex as two fire trucks, followed by an ambulance, came barreling up the road, sirens screaming, lights swirling.

  In minutes, Tori was ushered over to the back of the ambulance, trying to convince the paramedics she was fine. Despite her objections, she was given a thorough onceover—lungs checked, vitals assessed, and some doo-hickey clipped to her finger declaring her oxygen level acceptable.

  Alex stood sentry while Tori was examined, thwarting the male EMT’s attempt to assess his own condition.

  “I’m fine, Stan. No worries. You need to take a look at Tori’s feet.”

  Stan ordered Tori to sit on the truck’s bumper. Bending to examine her feet, he squirted cool water over her soles and swabbed them dry.

  “They’re superficially burned,” he declared. “Nothing serious. Don’t see any blisters. I’ll fill up a pan so you can soak them for a bit. You’ll want to stay off your feet for a couple of days. Put a little aloe vera and bacitracin on them to help with the healing.” Snapping off his gloves, he jumped into the ambulance to fetch a pan for the sterilized water.

  As she soaked her feet, Tori huddled under the EMT’s crinkly metallic blanket. Alex seated himself beside her and pulled her into his embrace.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she murmured. Unable to look at the melted ruin that had once housed her dream, she turned and pushed her face into the crook of his neck.

  All that hard work. All that dedication.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Alex rocked her, stroked her hair, and kissed the top of her head.

  “It’s okay,” she muffled the words against his shirt. His familiar scent was comforting. Deep down, she felt a sense of liberation. Peyton owned the property, and as long as she was leasing it from him she would remain under his thumb. It was better this way. With the building unusable, she was free under the terms of her lease to leave.

  She pulled far enough out of his embrace to lock gazes with him. “I’ll be okay.”

  Alex studied her upturned face and smiled. “We’ll be okay,” he corrected.

  “Morrigan, is that you?”

  Alex turned his attention toward the fireman marching toward them. Swathed in protective gear, he’d pushed his mask up over his eyes, so that they recognized him as the fire chief, Ron Underwood. A
lex stood up to greet the man who grinned at him familiarly.

  “Son, it’s been a long time,” Ron declared, pumping Alex’s hand. “Sorry about your bakery, Miss Wilde,” he added with a grimace. “Best damn muffins in all of Chowan County.”

  “Can you tell what started the fire?” Alex asked.

  His suspicious tone caused Chief Underwood’s expression to sober. “It’s a little early to say,” he hedged, glancing at the smoldering ruins. “We found a box of charred matches and a cigarette butt by the rear wall. Do you or any of your employees smoke?” he asked Tori.

  She shook her head vigorously. “No.”

  Alex spoke up. “I saw a man flee the area right before the fire broke out. I remember the license plate if you want it,” he added, causing Underwood to reach inside of his thick coat and pull out an iPad of sorts.

  “You in the habit of taking down license plate numbers?” the man asked, producing a specialized stylus.

  “I’m trained to pay attention, yes,” Alex explained, reciting the letter and number combination he’d tucked in his memory just in case.

  Chief Underwood entered the information into his iPad then looked at Tori again. “Were you baking at the time, ma’am?”

  “No,” she said, trying to wrap her head around the possibility that someone might have actually burned down her business.

  He frowned and stared at her hard. “Your ovens were cranked to the highest heat,” he informed her.

  “What?” Her mind went back to the instant she’d snapped each oven off, right after pulling her last pies out for cooling. She’d been thinking, Hallelujah, the fun fest is over! “That can’t be right. I turned both ovens off over an hour ago. I remember that clearly. And they certainly weren’t at the highest heat—that would’ve ruined my pies.”

  She received a calculating look from the fire chief. “You rent the building from Peyton Fischer, right?”

  “Yes, he’s the landlord.” She cringed at the thought of breaking the news to him. “I’ve been after him for years about switching over to natural gas.”