Emersyn

My eyes open to the dim light of the morning filtering through the curtains. I didn't sleep well last night. Val went home yesterday, and Fowler had another late shift at work. I'm growing to hate sleeping alone. Groaning, I sit up and rub my eyes, trying to wake up. Thank god it's Friday, at least.

I shuffle my way to the bathroom and stare at my reflection. Dark circles have taken residence under my eyes. I splash water on my face, hoping to chase away the tiredness. Grabbing my toothbrush, I start the daily ritual of getting ready for work. My mind is elsewhere, still tangled with thoughts of Marx, of what's happening between us.

The sudden ring of my phone startles me, and toothpaste splatters on the mirror. I rinse my mouth quickly and grab my phone. It's Carol, my boss. Why is she calling me this early?

"Carol? Is everything okay?" My voice is tinged with concern as I answer.

"Emersyn, it's... it's..." Her voice trembles, words failing her.

My heart races. "Carol, calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."

"It's gone," she finally manages to say.

My stomach drops. "What's gone? Carol, what are you talking about?"

"The bakery, Emersyn. It's on fire."

The words hit me like a freight train, stealing the air from my lungs. My hands tremble as I clutch the phone. "I—I'm on my way."

I end the call, my mind a whirlpool of fear and confusion. I'm shaking as I grab the first clothes I see—a pair of jeans and a simple T-shirt—and pull them on. My fingers fumble with the buttons; they're not obeying me. I feel like I'm going to throw up. That bakery is not just my workplace; it's a part of me, a place that I love. And Carol, that bakery is her life.

I need to get there. Now.

I dash out of my room, my feet barely touching the ground. As I turn the corner, I almost crash into Marx. He steadies me, his eyes filled with concern.

"Emersyn, what's wrong?"

"The bakery—it's on fire," I choke out, tears streaming down my face.

His eyes widen. "You can't drive like this, let me grab my keys."

We rush to his van. My hands are shaking so much that I can't even put on the seatbelt. Without me even saying anything, Marx reaches over and buckles me.

As Marx speeds down the road, my thoughts are racing. The bakery was supposed to be my fresh start, my sweet beginning, a job I actually love. I've spent months there, working alongside Carol. And now it's going up in flames.

Carol must be devastated. That bakery was her dream, her prized possession. She put her heart and soul into it. And now, it's on fire. My heart aches for her. I can't even begin to imagine the pain she must be feeling.

What if the bakery can't be saved? What happens then? Carol's life is entwined with that place, and so is mine. It's not just a job; it's a part of who we are.

The van comes to a screeching halt, and I barely wait for Marx to park before I'm out of the car, running. Smoke fills the air, and my heart sinks as I see flames leaping out of the bakery windows. Firefighters are battling the blaze, but it looks bad. Really bad.

"Emersyn!" Carol's voice pierces through the chaos, and I see her standing a safe distance away, wrapped in a blanket, her face streaked with soot and tears. Jenna stands beside her. She looks as dishelved as I must look and I would bet she received the same frantic call from Carol that I had. She probably rushed here as well.

I take off in an almost run towards the two of them, stopping only when I'm inches away.

"I'm so sorry, Carol," I whisper, my own tears falling freely now. I wrap my arms around her. Her body shakes in my arms, trembling.

She pulls back and looks at me, her eyes filled with despair. "I just don't know how this could have happened."

Jenna joins our embrace, turning it into a group hug. We stand there for a moment, a little island of grief amid the chaos. "We'll figure it out, Carol. One step at a time," Jenna says softly.

Carol nods but says nothing. Her eyes go back to the firefighters, her body tense as though she could will them to save her life's work with just her gaze.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Marx. His face is a mask of concern and sadness, his eyes meeting mine as if asking for permission to share in this moment of loss. I nod slightly, grateful for his presence.

"We should talk to the firefighters, see if there's any news," Jenna suggests, breaking the silence.

With a heavy heart, we make our way to a firefighter who seems to be in charge. Carol's voice shakes as she asks, "How bad is it? Can it be saved?"

The firefighter removes his helmet and wipes sweat from his forehead. "We're doing our best, ma'am. It's too early to say."

Carol nods, her face pale, her eyes red. Every second feels like an eternity as we wait, hope and despair waging a war inside me.

Finally, after what seems like hours but is probably only thirty minutes, the firefighter walks over to us again. "I'm afraid the building isn't salvageable. The damage is too extensive. It's going to have to be rebuilt entirely."

Carol's face goes white, her eyes widening in disbelief. The words hang in the air like a death sentence. This is more than just bricks and mortar burning; it's years of hard work, dreams, and memories turning to ash.

"I'm so sorry," the firefighter adds, his voice tinged with genuine regret.

Carol looks like she's been slapped. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to hold back fresh tears. "Thank you for doing what you could," she manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

As he walks away, Carol's legs seem to give out, and she stumbles. Jenna and I catch her before she falls, helping her to a nearby bench. We sit in heavy silence, watching the firefighters pack up their gear, the crowd beginning to disperse. The finality of it all hits me like a ton of bricks.

"My husband has been saying it was time for me to retire," Carol says, her voice quivering. "Maybe this was a sign that he was right."

My heart clenches at her words. "Don't say that, Carol. This bakery is your dream, your life. One accident shouldn't take that away from you."

Jenna chimes in, "Emersyn's right. We can rebuild, make it even better."

Carol looks at us, her eyes searching our faces. "Can we, though? I've poured my entire life into this place. And now, it's gone. Just like that."

The heartbreak in her voice steals my words. Before I can say anything, Carol speaks again. "My husband is here. I'm going to go home and rest. Thank you, girls, for rushing out here for me, for the bakery."

Both Jenna and I exchange hugs with Carol, not knowing what else to do, to say.

"I don't think I'm going to rebuild, girls. I just don't know if I have it in me."

I feel a lump in my throat as Carol walks away. I look over at Jenna and see that she's crying again. I can't help it; tears start to fall down my cheeks too. I've only been at the bakery for a few months, but it feels like one of the biggest losses of my life. I can't imagine working anywhere else.

When I lost my last job, I applied to dozens of places and never heard back. The thought of going through that again, of not being able to work at the bakery, devastates me.

I feel a hand on my arm and look up to see Marx. Without a word, I turn and press my face into his chest, crying harder. He wraps his muscular arms around me, cradling me as my tears soak through his shirt. He doesn't complain, doesn't say anything. He just holds me, and for a moment, I let myself forget everything— the fire, the loss, the uncertain future. I cry.

"Emersyn," Marx whispers.

I look up into his eyes, finding a quiet strength there. He doesn't say more; he doesn't need to. His eyes convey what words can't. He's here for me, and somehow, that gives me a tiny sliver of comfort.

I rest my head back on his chest. I could get used to being this close to Marx. I inhale deeply, breathing in his scent. How does he always smell so damn good?

His touch is firm but soft at the same time.

I feel safe here, in his arms. Like nothing could hurt me or make me sad ever again.

"We should head back," Marx finally says, his voice soft but resolute.

I nod, pulling away reluctantly. "Yeah, let's go."

As we walk back to his van, I feel his hand rest gently on my lower back. The warmth from his touch seeps through my T-shirt, grounding me. It's a simple gesture but incredibly comforting, and I find myself leaning into it just a little.

He opens the van door for me, waiting until I'm settled into my seat before closing it softly. Marx gets into the driver's seat and starts the engine. The van hums to life, but it sounds distant, like background noise in a dream. My thoughts are still stuck on the burnt remains of the bakery, the place that had become a second home to me.

As Marx drives, I find myself staring out the window, lost in thought. The world outside is a blur, shapes and colors that I barely register. My mind is a maze of emotions and what-ifs. What if I can't find another job? What if this is the universe telling me I'm not cut out for this? What if—

"We're here," Marx's voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I look around, realizing we're back home. How did we get here so quickly? It feels like just seconds ago, we were standing in front of the crumbling bakery.

My body feels weak when I step out of the van. It's like all of my energy has been drained. My legs barely work to hold me up, let alone move me. Maybe I'll just lie down in the yard.

Marx's hand is on my back again, I hadn't even seen him walk around to my side. With a gentle push, Marx guides me inside. He walks to me to my room and helps me lie down. He says something, but I don't hear what it is. He covers me up and turns off the light, leaving me to rest.