Black Flame by Ruby Laska

spoken to pastors at half a dozen churches, had even looked into accommodations for the bridal party she was expecting to be a part of, and the whole time, Jayne had been threatening to elope rather than—
    A horrible thought occurred to Deneen. What if that’s what they were doing right now? What if her sister had secretly planned a romantic Christmas elopement, and—oh no, she might already be Mrs. Matthew Jarrett! In which case, when they returned to the ranch as husband and wife, Deneen’s plan would seem not only absurd but pathetic.
    The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Jayne had tried to tell her more than once—gently, because Jayne was like that, she had never been a mean older sister—to butt out. Instead, Deneen had pressed harder, until poor Jayne probably figured the only way out was to make an end run and get married before Deneen could take over. As Deneen thought of all the emails she’d sent in the past week, the links to bridal collections, the sample menus and magazine quizzes, her mortification deepened until she wished she could sink into the floor.
    Jayne would be kind. She’d pretend to be grateful, she’d make up some story designed to save Deneen’s feelings—“We passed this sweet little church and just couldn’t resist, you understand”—and she’d be forced to return home dragging one more failure behind her. Wedding planner—ha! The absurdity of it all—what had made her think she could succeed at a career for which she had no training, no experience and—perhaps worst of all—no clients except one who had no choice because she was family?
    Deneen started to sniffle, toting up the string of failures she’d accumulated since college. So many endeavors that fizzled out—so many jobs she turned out to be unsuited for. The dog walking business. The beauty school stint. The apprenticeship at the artisanal baker. The LSATs, when she’d foolishly thought that law school would impress her parents.
    All those dead ends. Each one making her feel a little smaller, her star a little dimmer.
    A sound at the back of the house…the door squeaked open and heavy boots stomped on the mat, and then there he was, taking up way too much space in the room—Jimmy, a smudge of something dark on one cheek, a tool belt slung around his hips. At least he was wearing his shirt.
    Deneen rubbed furiously at her face. She would not let him know she was crying. She would not admit defeat. Thank heavens he was a thick-skulled lunk when it came to emotions; there was no way he would notice—
    “Are you crying?”
    He was in front of her in two seconds, his callused fingertips tipping her chin up, his deep blue eyes gazing unblinkingly into her own. He used his thumb to gently wipe the tears from beneath her lashes, and brushed aside a section of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
    “I’m—I’m fine,” Deneen said, but to her horror, she was crying harder. Something about his kindness, about the fact that she was so pathetic that even lunk-headed Jimmy Mason felt sorry for her. “I was just, the holidays and all, and Jayne, and they’re probably off getting married right now and I, I just, why did I even come here—”
    He kissed her.
    Jimmy Mason bent down and brushed his lips against hers, silencing her words, making her heart just about jump out of her chest. Because he didn’t kiss like a Supergeek. Not at all.
    He pulled back and looked at her searchingly, unblinkingly, and for a split second Deneen was quite sure that he actually saw her, like really saw her, all the way down into the depths of her soul. He saw her and he apparently liked what he saw because he kissed her again, and this time it wasn’t just a mere brush of lips: it was for real.
    Deneen kissed back. She kissed like she was dying of thirst and he was the most glorious cold clear water. Like she was a tender new shoot and he was the sunshine that could make her grow. Like she was a panther and—wait,