When the fire catches
1055 Words
It rained for three straight days.
Thunder rolled over the lake like a slow warning, and the old house groaned against the wind. Aria sat in the kitchen, a candle flickering in the middle of the table, surrounded by blueprints and paperwork from the preservation hold. The sixty-day extension had gone through. It had bought her time.
But not peace.
Each drop that slammed against the window felt like the clock ticking down. Like something closing in.
Luca walked in, soaked from head to toe, carrying a bundle of chopped wood. He looked like something out of another time—tall, serious, the kind of man people either feared or loved too late.
“Storm knocked out the power at my place,” he said. “Figured I’d camp here, if you don’t mind.”
Aria gave him a wry smile. “As long as you don’t snore.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, his lips cold from the rain.
“No promises.”
Later, they sat by the fireplace, wrapped in a shared blanket. Aria leaned against Luca’s shoulder as he sipped a flask she hadn’t seen him pull out.
She glanced up.
“You okay?”
He hesitated. “Yeah. Just cold.”
But something flickered in his eyes. Something distant.
She took the flask gently, set it on the floor.
“You used to drink to forget,” she said.
“I still do,” he admitted. “But less now.”
She touched his chest. “Don’t forget this.”
He caught her hand and held it there.
“I’m trying.”
The fire cracked.
She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t followed her when she left. Not the old reason—fear, doubt. But the deeper one. The one he hadn’t said yet.
Instead, she whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you again.”
He turned toward her slowly, eyes serious.
“Then maybe I should give you something to hold onto.”
And he pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his coat pocket.
“What’s this?”
“My application to the state contractor’s registry,” he said. “For real construction permits. Real business.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re making it official?”
He nodded. “It’s time.”
She stared at him, chest swelling with emotion.
“This town might never give us a damn thing,” he said. “But I’ll build something real. Something they can’t tear down.”
Her heart beat louder than the thunder outside.
“You already did.”
The next day, Valerie from the historical society called with news.
“We had an anonymous complaint filed against the house. Someone claimed you’re altering the structure without approval.”
Aria gripped the phone. “That’s not true.”
“I know. But they’ll send an inspector. Probably tomorrow.”
Aria’s mind raced.
This was no coincidence. Someone in town—maybe even someone on the council—wanted her out.
They weren’t just whispering anymore. They were fighting back.
She told Luca that night.
He didn’t say much, but his fists were clenched.
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “I’ll fix whatever they think is broken.”
“It’s not the house,” she said. “It’s us.”
Luca looked at her, jaw tight. “Let them try.”
The inspector came the next morning.
A woman named Kara Devon, tall, no-nonsense, clipboard in hand. She walked through the house briskly, taking notes, asking questions.
“No structural violations,” she said at the end. “But the back porch needs reinforcement. Otherwise, you’re fine.”
Aria nearly collapsed with relief.
But then Kara looked at her, eyes sharp.
“You should know… someone really wants this house gone. I’ve had three calls in two days.”
Aria’s mouth went dry. “Who?”
“I can’t say. But if I were you? I’d watch your back.”
That evening, she got another surprise.
A letter slipped under her front door.
No return address. No signature.
You think you belong here now. You don’t. Some things should stay buried. Walk away, before someone gets hurt. Again.
Her hands shook.
She showed it to Luca.
He read it once, then again.
“Someone’s threatening you.”
“It’s not just me,” she said. “They said ‘again.’ That’s about you.”
Luca’s face darkened. “They don’t know the truth.”
She looked at him carefully. “What truth?”
He was silent.
And then, he said the words she didn’t expect.
“It wasn’t just a fight that night, Aria. The one I got arrested for.”
She sat down slowly. “What happened?”
He stared into the fireplace, like the flames held the answer.
“He hurt someone,” Luca said. “A girl at the party. One of our classmates. And no one believed her. Not even the sheriff.”
Her breath caught. “Who?”
“Evan Parker.”
The golden boy. The town’s pride.
“He tried to shut her up. I didn’t let him.”
Aria blinked. “So you took the fall.”
“I had a record. He didn’t. They wanted it quiet. Her family was poor. His wasn’t.”
Aria’s hands trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wouldn’t have mattered back then,” he said bitterly. “You wouldn’t have believed me either.”
Her heart cracked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I would’ve.”
They sat in silence, the weight of everything settling between them.
Luca looked at her, his eyes raw.
“I’ve lived with it for years. The guilt, the anger. But now they’re trying to push you out, to erase the only good thing I’ve had in a long time. I can’t let that happen.”
Aria touched his face.
“You don’t have to fight alone.”
That night, they didn’t make love like teenagers fumbling in the dark.
They moved together slowly, like people who had bled and grown, and still chose each other anyway.
And in the silence afterward, as she curled into him, she whispered:
“They can’t take this from us.”
And Luca, for the first time in a long time, believed her.
- Writer
