BEING OUT WITH ROSIE, SKYLAR, AND TABITHA IS GOOD FOR me because they are all in fabulous, lighthearted moods, and all I can think about is marching up to Bash and punching his stupid, stubborn face for being so hard on himself.

    And in turn, on us. It breaks my heart to see him so down. I want so badly to fix it all for him. But I can’t—and that might be the hardest part of all.

    I let out a beleaguered sigh and gaze across the bar, wondering if I should turn in and go curl up at home alone to lick my wounds in private.

    Tabitha eyes me cautiously, no doubt picking up on my dour mood. But she doesn’t call me on it. Instead, she just tops up my wine with a knowing wink.

    Between bouts of lively conversation, I retreat into my head. And I think about Bash. It kills me that he’s had to learn that people give up on him, that they walk away or use him as a stepping stone to the next best thing.

    What’s worse is that he can’t see that he is the best thing for me. The one and only.

    I was on the cusp of telling him that I’m in love with him, but I held back because it wasn’t the right moment for it. I didn’t want to tell him in the middle of a disagreement. I wanted to tell him when he was looking at me like he loves me too, not like my mere existence pains him.

    So now I’m sitting at the Rose Hill Reach with my three sweet friends, who can’t stopughing over trivia while I stew over Sebastian fucking Rousseau—the man I love and also want to punch some sense into.

    “All right.” Doris’s voice fills the bar. “The question was: What is the driest ce on earth? The answer is the Atacama Desert—Team Four, you got it right. But I would like to give an honorable mention to Tabitha Garrison for submitting Terence’s bed as the answer for Team Two.”

    Our entire table bursts outughing. None of us knew the proper answer, so we’d agreed to ragging on the perennial town douchebag as our answer.

    Totally worth it. If only to hear Doris’s raspy cackle.

    I feel my mood improve. It’s impossible to watch these women’s antics and not feel brighter. It’s equally impossible to spend time around Doris without being amused.

    Before the next round starts, Rosie gets up to go to the bathroom, and when she returns, her forehead is creased with worry, her blue eyes full of concern.

    She slides into the booth and drops her voice low. “Okay, I know we’re not supposed to be on our phones during trivia, but I checked mine in the bathroom and a huge fire has broken out on the back side of the mountain. Skr, West’s and Ford’s properties are both under evacuation alert.” Her gaze slides to me. “And, Gwen, Clyde’s house is under evacuation order. It sounds like all buildings back in the trees are at risk.”

    Any lingering amusement I felt snaps, reced by a jolt of icy dread.

    “What?” My voice is thin, matching the shock I feel.

    Rosie nods grimly. “Yeah, Bash is on his way to wherever firefighters go, and West is gone to figure out a way to evacuate all the horses off his property.”

    Skr’s eyes widen in horror, her dainty hand flying up to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “I have to go. I have to go help him. He’s probably freaking out.”

    Tabby nods, blinking but not giving much away. She’s always the practical, stoic one of the group, and in this moment she’s no different.

    “Okay, let’s all go. I’m going to make sure the restaurant is open to evacuees for coffee and snacks and a ce to sit, even if it’s not as good as their own bed. At least it’s somewhere safe toe together.”

    With that, we all stand at once, heads ducked low as we scurry out of the bar, missing out on the final rounds of trivia night. Doris catches us on our way out, grabbing Rosie by the wrist to stop her.

    Her voice drops to a serious whisper. “You girls be careful out there.” We nod in unison. “But, Rosie Belmont, if I catch you on your phone again during trivia night, I will ban you for life.”

    Rosie cracks a smile, a dryugh, lurching from her throat. “You got yourself a deal, Doris.”

    We turn to leave again, but Doris isn’t done. “And if you run into any hot firefighters out there in need of a ce to rest their weary bones, you tell them that food and drinks are on me.”

    I chuckle at Doris’s antics as we leave, but it’s fleeting. The heavy weight of what’s happening settles in my chest, adding anotheryer to what had already felt—to me, anyway—like a monumentally confusing night.

    When I rush through the front door of Bash’skefront home, I’m immediately searching for Clyde. I find him on the deck, settled in an Adirondack chair, smoking a joint. Quietly, I pad out the back door and fold myself into the seat next to him.

    I reach across, my fingers curling around his hand where it rests against the arm of the chair. My lips part, ready to say everything will be okay, but I stop. Because I don’t know that. I love Clyde too much to lie to him. And truthfully, it feels like I would be diminishing whatever turmoil he’s feeling at this moment if I say something.

    So I sit with him in silence, holding his weathered hand while he takes the odd puff. We both look out at theke, the waves smashing against the shoreline as the wind whips across the water. I don’t know if it’s in my head, but I swear I can hear the faint crackle of mes spilling through the valley.

    What isn’t in my head is the smell of smoke, drowning out the fragrant scent of pine. It’s unsettling to think that mere hours ago, my confrontation with Bash seemed like the most important thing in the world.

    But now, sitting here with a man who’s been more of a father to me in thest six months than my own father has been in my entire life, none of that feels like it matters.

    When he finally stabs out the butt of his joint and drops it into the dregs of his water ss, I ask, “Want to do some yoga?”

    He nods, solemn and steady. I push to standing and retrieve our mats,ying them out on the porch where we can look at theke and seek a sliver of peace.

    We both begin in a kneeling position, and I smile inwardly, watching how freely he movespared to when we started together. It fills me with a deep satisfaction. I want to do something calming with him, to help keep our nervous systems regted.

    But then, like a hammer shattering a mirror, his raspy voice breaks the calm. “Everything from my Maya is in that house.”

    If I thought my heart was broken earlier, I realize now that it was only cracked. Because hearing Clyde’s voice tremble, knowing he might lose every piece of histe wife, breaks it entirely.

    “I’m so sorry” is my quiet reply.

    He just nods, sniffing as he looks away, as if he’s shielding me from his grief.

    We flow through some moon salutations slowly, thoughtfully, leaning on the foundation of our friendship—unlikely as we may be.

    Later that night, I hug him tightly before he goes to bed. He hugs me back the same way.

    As I walk away from him, tears prick my eyes. I try to hold it together, but it doesn’t work. Once I’m in Bash’s bed, I cry.

    When my eyes finally dry, I lie awake, tossing and turning. The helpless devastation I feel keeps me from sleeping.

    I worry about Bash—who I haven’t heard from—knowing he’s out there facing this fire. I check the news repeatedly, and the images on social media do nothing tofort me.

    Everything feels terrifying. Everything feels fragile. I feel sad… and useless. Like I need to get up and do something.

    And when I finally realize that I can’t lie here doing nothing, I get out of bed and do something profoundly stupid instead.