'Cause that was the thing, there were times when he could see it all so clear, when he could see that his mom was doing her best and that he was the one f**king up. But then, other times, he couldn't get a hold on his anger, his frustration.

The cigarettes and pack of matches bounced around in his pocket and he took them out, held them in his sweating palm. He wasn't really feeling it now, but only a loser would walk away without at least smoking one, right?

Popping one out of the pack the way he'd seen people do in movies, he lit a match and held it to the cigarette.

Hopefully he'd lit the correct end of it, he thought as he put the other side between his lips.

Standing in the woods, a lit cigarette in his mouth, for a second he felt completely badass. Like he was finally in control of his own destiny.

And then he took a puff.

The cigarette went flying out of his mouth into the dry leaves as he coughed and choked. Shit, that was the most disgusting thing he'd ever tasted. How could people actually smoke those on purpose?

Smoke whipped up around his feet, the dry leaves quickly burning up near the rubber soles of his tennis shoes, and when his eyes stopped watering he realized the leaves were catching on fire, all of his stupid childhood fantasies going up in smoke too.

Doing a panicked rain dance on top of the leaves and dirt, feeling like a bigger idiot that he ever had, all he wanted was to go to his mom's diner, sit at the counter with a comic book, and have her make him a triple thick chocolate milkshake. Just like she had when he was a kid.

Finally, when he'd stamped the small fire entirely out, he went home and he buried the pack of cigarettes and matches in the bottom of the kitchen garbage before heading into the bathroom to shower off the smell of smoke.

Chapter Twenty-six

THANK GOD, Ginger thought as she worked quickly on the final touches of her painting. She might be as emotionally confused as she'd ever been, but at least she hadn't lost her mojo. All she wanted was to focus on her art instead of all the crazy things Connor had said to her out on the beach.

I love you.

What if I want to marry you because I can't imagine a life without you?

Didn't he know she'd already written him off? That he couldn't just up and do an about-face about everything and expect her not to question him?

She put down her paintbrush. She was lying to herself. She wasn't in the zone at all. How could she be when her entire future was hanging in the balance? When Connor was waiting for her answer?

Her first big art show was in less than a week, a show she'd been eagerly anticipating for months. By God, she needed to make the most of it. With or without the man she loved by her side.

She was reaching for her paintbrush again when she noticed the smell of smoke wafting by. Strange. Why would someone have lit a campfire in the middle of a sunny day?

And then, in a flash, it hit her. She wasn't smelling a campfire: something was on fire.

Her hand immediately went to her stomach. Working to remain calm, she slipped her feet into tennis shoes before running out on the beach to try to figure out what was burning.

Her hand went to her mouth when she stood at the water's edge and looked up. The trees behind Poplar Cove were smoking and every few seconds a new orange burst of flames popped up over the roofline.

Her first thought, her only thought, was about Connor. About how upset he'd be if the cabin burned. He'd poured his heart into renovating it, but more than that, his summer home had been such a happy place for him as a child, and held the best of his memories inside its log walls.

She couldn't let it burn.

She ran toward the house, searching for a hose and a ladder, even though she knew what Connor would tell her if he were here. “Get away from the building. Get as far away from the fire as you can and stay safe.”

And she would. But first she needed to do what she could to save his family's cabin.

She'd just propped the ladder up against the side wall, just turned on the hose full blast, when Josh came running across the beach, obviously drawn by the smoke.

“Go back home and call 911,” she yelled. “Call your mother. And call Connor and his father.”

The boy's eyes were wide with fear as he yelled, “Okay,” and ran back to his house to make the calls.

It was the strangest thing, but even though the fire was close enough that she could feel its heat, she wasn't afraid of getting on the roof while lugging a heavy hose. Not when she had such a clear purpose.

I need to save Poplar Cove. For Connor.

She didn't know how long she'd been up there, but it was quickly getting hotter and smokier as the fire made its way down the mountain to the cabin, jumping trees one after the other like tinder.

The Adirondacks were known for their flash rainstorms, for the huge amount of water that could, abruptly, fall from the sky with no warning for fifteen minutes and then disappear just as quickly. But since the storm that had tipped over Connor's sailboat it had been hot and dry, with temperatures almost in the triple digits.

Oh, how she wished one of those storms would decide to roll in right now to give them all a good dousing. But when she looked up at the sky, behind the layer of smoke and ash all she could see were blue skies, not a cloud in sight.

She didn't have to be a firefighter to know that it was the perfect day for a wildfire.

Moving as quickly as she could, she wet down the entire roof. She hadn't yet heard sirens, and didn't have any idea how far away the volunteer firefighters were. She'd stay as long as she could, but make sure to get down before she was in any real danger.

When she heard yelling, she looked down to see Andrew climbing the ladder up to the roof. She was on the back edge of the building, so close to the trees she could practically grab one and jump on.

“Ginger!” Andrew's face was a picture of panic. “You need to get off the roof. Now!”

She opened her mouth to answer him, to tell him that she was still okay, when she felt a sharp, unexpected whoosh of wind at her back.

But the breeze had never been this hot, this thick. The fire had moved faster, come closer than she'd calculated.

“Drop the hose and run,” Andrew yelled over the crackle of flames and she was just about to drop the hose when she saw a thick spark of flames jump over her head. It looked like one of those small firecrackers the kids were playing with on the beach July Fourth.

Despite her efforts to keep the roof wet, the sparks caught and lit on the wooden tiles, a wall of flames separating her from Andrew or any way to get down.