Becca screams, and Hemmy and Rogan step in. The other guys around the fire stand as well, ready to jump in and save their teammate.

The guy twists out of Duncan’s grasp and sidesteps, bouncing on his feet toward Rogan and Hemmy, who are now blocking off the circle, backlit by the fire’s dancing flames.

“Come back here, you pussy. If you’re going to talk to my girl like that, then you’re going to have to answer to me.” Duncan bounces back and forth, ready for a fight.

“Duncan, leave it,” Hemmy says, his voice cutting through the chilly night air like a knife.

“Are you going to cower now?” the drunk guy yells back. “You piece of shit! You think you can tackle me? You can barely knock over a bowling pin out on the football field.”

Ooh . . . I don’t think that’s going to go over well, and from the look in Duncan’s eyes, I think I’m right.

“Ralph, stop. He’ll destroy you,” Becca calls out.

Growing anxious, I hurry over to Rogan and tug on his hand. There are other guys who can defuse the situation. At this point, it’s probably best if we just go home.

“Let’s go.”

He looks down at me and raises his hand to cup my cheek—just as Duncan shouts a war cry and charges after Ralph.

As if in slow motion, Ralph shoots to the right, scooting right past a diving Duncan, who pummels Rogan right in the stomach. The brute force of Duncan’s shoulder knocks Rogan off balance; he stumbles backward into the fire, and his right leg ignites into flames.

I scream as he falls to the side, knocking over a few drinks. The red cups land on his legs, their contents further igniting the flames licking his leg, making them blaze higher.

A horrible, inhuman sound escapes him as he rolls across the lawn, his teammates ripping off their shirts, using them to smother the flames. It feels like Rogan’s leg is on fire for hours, the flames growing, singeing his pants right off him and eating up his flesh—but it’s over in less than a minute.

“Call 911!” Hemmy shouts to one of the guys, shirtless and hovering over Rogan. “Dude, don’t move.”

Numb from shock, I fall to Rogan’s side. His eyes are glassy, his face contorted in pain, the veins in his neck bulging as he takes deep breaths through his mouth, letting out a cry of agony that pierces my soul every few seconds.

The ambulance arrives after a few excruciatingly long minutes. The paramedics work quickly, blocking me off from his leg as they wrap it up, though they can’t block the smell of burnt flesh. Or phrases like fourth-degree burns and lose his leg, which wash over me, building a base of sorrow and guilt in the pit of my stomach.

I’m in the waiting room for hours, rocking back and forth, one sentence repeating itself in my mind: if Rogan had stayed home like he wanted, this never would have happened.

Rogan might lose his leg . . . because of me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

HARPER

“Sorry about the wait.” Griffin wipes his hands on a dishtowel and slings it over his shoulder. “How are you, Harper?”

“Good.” I take a seat at the counter in the Lobster Landing and stare around at the bustling shop. “Gosh, it’s busier than I expected.”

“Tour group came through, but it should be fine soon.” He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Griffin looks so much like his brothers, with the exception of a few laugh lines around his eyes and a bit more wisdom in his features.

“Snowbird tour?”

“What else? And even though you have to talk louder than I’d prefer, at least the groups always love spending their money at the fudge counter. The snowbird tours make it a good Christmas over in the Knightly household.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” I flip open my folder. “Mind if I go over a few things with you?”

“Not at all. Fire away.”

“Thanks. So Sally would love to use the Lobster Landing as the set for the old candy store, but they would need at least three days of no traffic to film. Do you think you can make that happen?”

“Three consecutive days?”

“Yes.” I wince.

He blows out a tight breath and looks out to the shop. “Yeah, I think we can make that happen. I was talking to Jen about what we would do if we had to shut down, and we think we’d just stock up on our most popular fudge and pastries and do a little pop-up stand over in the town square, next to the Snow Roast stall.”

“Oh wow, that’s a really cute idea.”

“We’ll make it happen on our end. You can tell them they can have the shop for three days, but no more.”

“Okay. That’s great.” I make a note. “They love the entire facade and decor, but they’ll have to take down merchandise and move a few things around on the counters, hang some props. Is that going to be okay?”

“Yup, just no extra holes.”

“Perfect.” I make another note.

“They were also wondering if any of the family members want to be extras. I already have Brig down. What about your parents?”

He plays with the towel hanging off his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll want a part. You can count them in. Ren and Jen as well.”

I lift a brow. “And you?”

“I’m good.”

“Come on.” I playfully shove his hand. “You’re telling me the famous Griffin Knightly, the town’s resident sweetheart, isn’t going to have a cameo in Port Snow’s first-ever movie?”

He scratches the side of his jaw, looking up toward the ceiling. His whiskers are starting to gather a small splattering of gray, despite him still being young. Probably all those fires and emergencies—and losing Claire.

“Do you think people will be looking for me in the movie? You know, the other lifers?”

I chuckle. “You’re basically the unofficial mayor. I think people would expect the golden boy to show up in the movie.”

“Calling me golden boy isn’t helping.”

“You know what I mean.” I smile.

“Fine. But just a background guy. No lines or anything.”

Satisfied, I write his name down as a yes for an extra. I know I shouldn’t really care, but it would feel weird if Griffin weren’t in the movie. He’s the guy who made the movie happen in the first place, who brought the town together and made it impossible for Lovemark to say no. And the publicity this will bring to the town will be unbelievable.

“I think that’s all I need from you now.”

“Awesome.” He smiles and then says, “You look like you’re in your element with all this production stuff.”

“It’s fun for sure, something I never thought I would be doing, but I love the opportunity.”

“After the movie is done, would you want to continue to work with them?”

I work my jaw side to side, mulling over his question. I think the job is fun and exciting, and helping such a small town be recognized for its beauty soothes my soul, but I’m not sure about the hours and the wandering around from town to town the job would bring. I feel like I just found my home; would I be willing to pack up and move around again?

Instead of answering him directly, I shrug and say, “You never know.”

“Nice avoidance,” he says with a knowing smirk. “I’ll accept that for now, but I do have another question for you.”

Oh boy. From the look in his eyes, I know I’m not going to like it.

“Does this have anything to do with your brother?” I put my pen in my purse, ready for his answer.

“No,” he says smugly.

“Huh. Well, that’s shocking. You know I adore you Knightlys, but man, you do not know how to leave each other alone.”

“Sticking our noses into other people’s business is our job. It’s what we do best. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” He pulls a cream-colored card from his back pocket and pushes it across the counter. Fall leaves decorate the border, and inscribed in a pretty brown font are the words You’re Invited. I don’t have to read the rest to know exactly what this is. I’ve received the card many times.

“Don’t think about who’s going to be there. Think about the food.”

I shake my head, unsure. “If you asked me seven years ago, you know I would have said yes.”

“You’re a part of this family, Harper.”

“Not anymore.” I look down, but he lifts my chin, meeting my eyes.

“You will always be a part of this family. I already spoke with your dad. He doesn’t have any plans for Thanksgiving, and he doesn’t want to cook. And I’m suspecting the only thing you can still make is boxed mac and cheese.”

“I can make quesadillas now.”

“Well, being that quesadillas aren’t Thanksgiving food, I’m going to count you and your dad as attending.”

“We’re doing dinner at the inn.”