She licked him again, and he sighed into her happy little face because as he knew all too well, even the best laid plans got screwed up.

The next morning Summer took a few customers on a kayak trip, and was shocked when they booked her again for some of their friends. She set up a calendar to keep track of her trips, then worked on the insurance paperwork for her mother, a chore that seemed never ending. At the end of the day, she went for a run to ease her stress.

She took the streets instead of the beach, telling herself she wanted a change of pace, but when she found herself standing in front of the three-day-old burned-out shell of Creative Interiors II, she knew she’d meant to come here. She wanted to see it for herself in the light of day.

There was yellow tape wrapped around the building, warning people to stay out. Caution.

It seemed to Summer that her entire life had a yellow tape around it.

Caution—don’t run so far that you forget where you came from.

Caution—don’t turn your back on the people that matter. It’s not easy to find them again.

Caution—don’t try to get back to the last place where things made sense. You’ll only find yourself more lost.

She ducked beneath the tape and saw the fire vehicle parked in the lot. Joe’s. She moved up the three front steps and peered inside. The front had been boarded up but someone had removed the barrier and let themselves in. She did the same.

The destruction was both shocking and numbing. The walls were black, the windows broken, the furniture unrecognizable as anything other than drenched, charred rubble. It smelled horribly acrid, and at her first whiff, she was assaulted with the memories of being surrounded by fire. Like a one-two fist to the belly they hit her, and she doubled over.

Joe popped his head out of one of the alcoves and saw her clutching her stomach. “Christ,” he said, and rushed toward her.

“I was just in the neighborhood…” She tried a smile but it was difficult with the breath backing up in her throat, and finally she gave up. “Oh, damn,” she whispered, and sank to her knees in the wet muck. “These damn spots in front of my eyes are getting really annoying.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” He wore coveralls, gloves, and boots, and was streaked with dirt from head to toe. He tore off his gloves, threw them aside, and crouched besides her. Tugging on her ponytail, he tilted her head up. “You’re pale.”

She looked into his face, sooty and streaked with sweat, and found there was nothing else in the world she’d rather be looking at. “I am not going to throw up.” She had no idea if she was trying to convince him, or herself.