Inflamed: A Love Letters Novel

InflamedA Love Letters Novel


Kristen Blakely


Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.


Contents
Inflamed
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Jilted
Love Letters
About the Author


Inflamed
There are no happy endings; not for “The Other Woman.”
In a small town, there’s just no way to start over.
Eight years after the worst mistake of my life, my life as a single parent is a grind of exhaustion in between spikes of fatigue—an endless struggle to make ends meet.
But then Sean Orr, Havre de Grace’s newest firefighter, comes to town and shows my son and I a new and beautiful kind of “normal.”
The happiness can’t last—not for Sean who is on the run from his past. When it catches up with him, will it bring my fragile normality crashing down around me, or will I find the strength to finally define my own happy ending?


Chapter 1
Foot traffic shuffled, stomped, and squeezed its way from the main street of Havre de Grace and into the Coffee Beans Café. The brisk winter day—cold for early February—drove people indoors seeking shelter from the icy slap of the wind. Once inside, the scent of fresh coffee and aroma of freshly baked muffins and croissants drew them to the counter.
“Your latte and a blueberry muffin. That will be $5.20.” Debra Martinez slid the purchases across the counter to old Mrs. Jenkins in exchange for a credit card. A burst of air whipped through the shop as the café door opened. She glanced up and tossed a smile at the familiar stranger by the door. “Hey, you’re back in town.”
“Just passing through.” A broad grin creased the young man’s cheeks. He tugged his hands out of his pockets, rubbing them together before cracking his knuckles. For a moment, he stared up at the menu. “Just my usual.”
“Medium Americano, black, with diabetic-inducing levels of sugar.”
He chuckled. “You know me.”
Debra smiled, turning her back on him to fill a cup with steaming black coffee. “You’re as regular as the sun, just every month instead of every day. $3.50 please.”
The man dug a wad of bills out of his pocket and handed her a $5, waving the change away. “That’s for being kind enough to not compare my regularity to something else, you know—” He grinned. “—monthly.”
She laughed as she rang up the sale and scribbled her tip amount on a piece of paper next to the register. “You have a safe drive now.”
The young man—she didn’t even know his name—nodded and maneuvered his way out of the store, past the bulky shoulders of the three men who were walking in. Tension stiffened Debra’s back, but she smiled at the men, two of whom she recognized. “What can I get for you?”
“Five medium coffees for the boys down at the house.” Jack Landon leaned against the counter, flexing an impressive bicep. He was obviously on duty even though he wore street clothes; firefighting in a small town like Havre de Grace was a casual sort of thing.
“Didn’t know it took three grown men to buy five coffees,” she teased as she filled the order.
“Wanted to show the new guy the town.” Jack jabbed his finger over his shoulder at the tall young man standing behind him. “Sean Orr. He’s taking Larry’s place.”
“Hey.” Debra flashed him a dimpled smile. She estimated his age as mid-twenties, a good eight years younger than she was. “Welcome to Havre de Grace.” She set four cups in a cup holder made of recycled paper and then placed the fifth cup in the middle. “Will that be all, or would you like anything else?”
Ray Peterson, the third firefighter, pushed past Sean and Jack and rested both elbows on the table. He leaned forward, and Debra retreated from his leer even though her cleavage was concealed behind her turtleneck sweater. Ray chuckled as if he sensed her unease and pressed out his cheek with his tongue. “Do you want to come over this weekend? It’s cold out; great night for keeping warm together.”
“Aren’t you and Andrea still together?”
“She’s out of town this weekend. Perfect, you know, for you.” Ray snorted, the sound derisive.
Jack laughed and elbowed Ray. “Let’s get out of here, man, before the coffees get cold.” He led the way out of the store, but amid the quiet chatter of surrounding conversations, Debra heard Sean ask quietly, “What’s her name?”
Ray’s answer slapped her moments before the door slammed shut on their voices. “She’s the other woman.”
Debra was still fuming over Ray’s words when she pulled into her driveway and cut the engine. For several moments, she sat in the car as her breath misted against the glass. She stared at her drab house, about twenty years overdue for a paint job, and her lawn, pockmarked with shriveled blades of grass. She had lived in that house from the day she was born, and had inherited it when her parents passed away several years earlier.
Home.
Prison.
Havre de Grace, with its charming small-town feel, was also the place where the skeletons in the closet ambled out to hang the dirty laundry on the front lawn. In a town where everyone knew everyone’s secrets, there was no escaping her past as the other woman.
Nine years earlier, while her best friend, Holly Langford, had been out of town, Debra had had sex with her best friend’s fiancé and had gotten pregnant. Not a day went by that she did not feel guilty for what she had done, although she could not bring herself to regret the