Before Harris realized what he was doing, his head bent low, and he squeezed Desiree's hand. Like an ox, he plowed through the glittering crowd toward Ablaze, tug-boating his date behind him. He had to see for himself, and before he exploded, whether Ablaze had genuine feelings for her boyfriend.

"She's so pretty," Desiree gasped behind his back.

If she ripped her hand from his, yelled at him to stop being such a dick, or even slapped him, he'd have dumped her right there and then. Her breathless whisper, however, brought him back. He slowed down. The collar of his best shirt released its grip on his windpipe, allowing for an intake of air. Dress shirts were monsters.

"The only thing I don't get is the need for this cringe screen name," Desiree continued, fanning herself. The gems and gold glittered against the nude glove on her wrist. "A keynote speaker Ablaze is hard to take seriously. This isn't TikTok."

The large screens announcing the order of the presentations agreed with Desiree. Agatha Leung, social influencer and activist, was written next to her photo. On it, she wore her graduation outfit. Her hair blended with the black of her cape and her soulful dark-brown eyes gazed at the viewer. At him.

"It's probably a cultural thing. If she wants to call herself Ablaze, what's the harm?" And if red gave her more spark, more joy, why did he make such a huge deal out of it being fake?

Harris continued his march toward the table front and center, where Ablaze stood with Oliver, but kept his pace more moderate. Desiree needed to glide on his arm, because this wasn't like his graduation, even though they were in the same place.

Back then, Harris moved in a long queue, stood briefly on this stage and his parents were the only ones to look especially at him.

Today, he and his date would join the head of the Academy, the major donors and the keynote speaker, Agatha 'the Ablaze' Leung. A lot more eyes would be on them.

Her eyes, just like on the screen, gazed directly at him.

Oliver pulled out a chair for Ablaze, like the right proper chap, but she ignored him. Or she simply forgot to sit down because she looked at Harris.

For his part, Harris couldn't take his eyes off of her either.

Plain black was never plain when it was haute couture, and every stitch of Ablaze's black dress was worth more than Harris' tux. Cut in Chinese style, with short sleeves and a narrow standing collar, slashed by a thin line of crimson at an angle, across the breast. Embroidery bloomed on one shoulder.

His mother might have pinched her lips, since it took away from the elegance of simplicity, but Harris wouldn't have it any other way. Without this gold-and-crimson burst, this fire-bird on her shoulder, Ablaze wouldn't be his Ablaze.

The fire-bird's wings must be down the back of the dress—and at Ablaze's back. Folded or opened, he wondered, as they finally stood face to face. For goodness' sake, were these wings folded or—

"Ablaze, good to see you. It's been so long!" He stepped in for a hand-shake, hoping his greeting would sound like a quip. It wasn't. The twenty-four hours since Friday dragged on for him. He had only come fully alive in her presence.

"Harris, it's lovely to see you too," Ablaze said.

The design above her breast loomed closer when she took his hand, and goosebumps crawled up his arms. It wasn't a fire-bird perched on her shoulder, but a fiery angel. "Uhm... allow me to introduce Desiree."

Ablaze smiled, and so did Desiree.

"Harris couldn't stop talking about you!" the two women exclaimed. They giggled at once. It was like some unseen force made them act together. It was impressive to see hostility reshaped into a no-man's zone, where outfits, hairdos and threat levels were assessed.

It should have been awkward, but Harris was just... their glam bubble drew him in.

For a wonderful second, he forgot he was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. That no matter what he glanced at in his house, it needed fixing. That his mother left Dad and him behind as losers.

He drank in the lights of the ballroom, the chandeliers and the white tablecloths, the virginal china and gleaming silverware. The wine glasses sparkling as if nobody ever touched them to their lips before. But most of all—the two women next to him. They were so different in their beauty, yet so equal, and so exquisite.

This was life on another plane of existence. If he could exist in this bubble forever, he probably would. It would be—

The fourth person intruded into their small group, and Harris' bubble burst.

Harris liked women as much as he disliked Oliver Appleby. Desiree was a tough competitor for Ablaze, so his rival balanced things out. But there was something else in the air. Something suffocating enough for Harris' finger to sink behind his stiff collar again.

Oliver ignored the glamor of their surroundings with the indifference of a man who came from money. Unlike Sam, he didn't even try to blend with the masses. He wore his tux with an effortless grace, while Harris—

He fiddled with his collar, then offered his hand to Oliver. "I loathe interrupting the ladies' fun, so allow me to introduce myself. I'm Harris Sarkisian. The firefighter."

"Oliver," the man replied, meeting his hand with a bit of a slap, before clasping it. The handshake felt like a test in a lab, something mechanical, tensile strength, for example. "Oliver Appleby, at your service."

His British twang sounded posh. He had lightly freckled pink skin, a long, humorous face, pale gray eyes, high brows and high forehead, and thick blond hair. Every part of Oliver seemed bleached till it was spotless and generic. Scrubbed, Sam had described him, before he bailed, and that was exactly how Oliver appeared to Harris. Scrubbed to a True Brit as identity, until he could be an extra in every Regency movie.

"I'm forever in your debt." Oliver's arm wrapped around Ablaze's tiny waist again as if he was lassoing her away from a plebe like Harris. "Your selfless bravery saved the most treasured soul in my life."

'I don't remember saving you', hung on the tip of Harris's tongue, but he pretended his lips were curled because he just couldn't help smiling. He found Desiree's hand and held it. "Just doing my job, Oliver. Just doing my job, as you do yours. That's how the world is. Some walk into the fire to save lives, others don't. All jobs are important."

"He's too modest!" Desiree exclaimed, right into his ear. "When I saw the footage in the news, I had goosebumps all over. Dear Lord, that fireball! Made me glad I was safely in front of my TV."

Ablaze's glance took on a harrowed look at the mention of the fireball. Oliver's arm tightened around her torso even more, but he motioned to the table with the other one pretty casually. "Shall we take our seats? Those heels look stupendous, but it would be prudent to save the ladies' feet for dancing."

"Yes, I'm a little... I would rather sit." Ablaze collapsed into the chair, guided by the arm over the small of her back.

Walking Desiree to her seat, Harris finally saw the hidden embroidery on Ablaze's dress. The angel's wings were folded. Yet each feather was so lovingly picked with red and gold threads, it seemed they could open and carry the angel into the sky.

Ablaze was two seats away from Harris, with Desiree and Oliver in between. Everyone else at the tables was old, important, and all knew each other through city politics. Harris said hello to his left-hand neighbor, then stretched toward 'his' crowd. Despite their rivalries, the four of them closed ranks, like the students trying their best to impress their teachers.

Quick as a flash, Desiree grabbed his hand under the table, their fingers twining together. Her fingers were pretty, even prettier with her fake nails. Her eyes sparkled at him with such sincere joy, he blushed, almost missing the silence that fell.

He forced himself to look up. "So, Oliver. You're in the coffee business, aren't you?"

The man nodded. "I confess, I'm guilty of wringing adventure out of my humble profession. I started with brokering at the whole-sale events, but then—" he held a pause, creating suspense. Distant chatter and laughter from other tables and clanging of plates on the servers' trays filled in the gap.

Satisfied that he had their undivided attention, Oliver continued, "I can only describe it as the thrill of the hunt. It took a hold of my heart, driving me farther and farther afield, searching for smaller and more precious crops."

Desiree chuckled. "I always thought coffee was just a bitter necessity in the morning."

"It is, if you want it to be." Oliver's smile turned smug—or so it appeared to Harris. Maybe Ablaze found it charming. She sat quietly in her chair, her gaze fixed on Oliver's face. His profile was likely all she's seeing.

"But the rare gourmet varieties I hunt, well, you won't find it in your office coffee machine."

"Are you sure?" Desiree's laughter chimed like a silver bell. "Oliver, our machine is the best. It makes both espresso and cappuccino."

Harris felt like burrowing his face into his date's hair, whispering, ′thank you'. Thanks to Desiree, not only did he look like a man of distinction, he could watch Oliver's face for any signs of conceit. So far, it was unnervingly open.

He could watch Ablaze too. Oliver's aura clearly affected her. Though what exactly about him impressed her so much was hard to say. The man was reasonably handsome, but he was by no means a Hollywood-tier heartthrob. Rich, but not exuberantly so. Pleasant on the surface, confident, but also more self-satisfied than a cat. Ablaze outshined him by a mile. Why was she bewitched?

"The price is whatever people wish to pay," Oliver lectured Desiree in the meantime. "I wouldn't quote, even if we're in America where people are more forgiving of faux pas. Classy is the mark of my trade."

God only knows why, they all laughed after that, and Harris joined in. "Fascinating! I take it you travel a lot with this job?"

"Yes. I saw the places that made me dizzy with excitement when I read their names as a kid. Sumatra, Columbia, Thailand... nothing like going off the grid to find something truly special."

What Harris heard was a list of troubled places, far out of the way, full of dangerous connections to make for a villain. It was hard for him not to squint like a detective in one of his dad's crime dramatizations.

Oliver pulled Ablaze closer, ignoring Harris' glare. "Never thought I'd say that, but I'm ready to settle down. I'm giving up my nomadic life for her."

Harris perked up, pointedly ignoring the hint of the relationship moving to a committed stage. Ablaze wouldn't have teased him for a week if she were serious about Oliver. Well, maybe verbally she would, because flirting was a part of her image. But the subliminal signals... she couldn't fake those. She liked him. 'Liked' liked him. Even though it sounded cheesy in his head, it was the only way to capture his feelings.

"Business is slowing down, Oliver?" Harris asked about as sweetly as Desiree and Ablaze giggled when they'd just met.

"No, no. I truly am ready to settle down. I lucked out and picked one of the most elite coffee houses in Asia for a song."

Harris cringed, imagining what 'a song' might represent for these people. A sum far beyond his reach was their pocket change. Luckily, the first course arrived, and he hid how frustrated he was by inhaling the earthy aroma of a wild mushroom soup. The flakes of parsley, cracked peppercorns, and curls of purple, yellow and pink carrot floated on the creamy surface. "My dad would have loved the presentation!"

Oliver waited for the women to start, then dipped his spoon, pulled a tiny mushroom and eviscerated it with his bleached-white teeth. If the world was fair, the black gills of the fungus or parsley would have stuck to them. Harris would have never pointed it out to him... But no, Oliver's teeth shone as they did before, when he put his silver spoon down and smiled.

"I want to expand the chain and make it more hip. The Leungs are interested in franchising my start-up at their resorts. I'm afraid I'll be traveling to the office and back from now on," he said.

"Uh-huh!" Harris exclaimed, like he knew anything about big business. He filed the information away. However, instead of pumping Oliver for information on his potentially shady business dealings, Harris got distracted by a more personal concern: Ablaze moved her spoon around the plate but didn't take a single bite. He felt his dad's spirit took over his soul, even though he didn't make the soup. "Ablaze, you're not eating? You don't like it? Do you want something else?"

"No. It's delicious." She circled her spoon in the soup again, then lifted her gaze at him. It twinkled with a secret smile. "It doesn't have coconut."

He basked in their private joke. "Nor cinnamon."

"She's just worried about her speech," Oliver cut in. "Darling, you don't have to go all out for these people. Just say a few words."

"Ablaze has an audience of millions wanting to hear her speak." Harris normally hated every one of those needy fans. Normally. But when Oliver talked over her, Harris was going to champion them. Yes, he was bristling because Oliver was so blasé about Ablaze's profession... and Desiree's nail traced his neck in a warning to chill.

Ablaze's glance flickered to the goings-on above his collar, then flickered away. "I'll be fine," she said with a toss of her head. Her usual energy was coming back. She even pushed to her feet, when her name was announced and waved to the polite applause. "Can I ask you a favor, Harris?"

"Anything." It sounded loaded. He didn't regret it.

Her hand gripped the white tablecloth at the edge of the table. "I want you to sit with the panel during my keynote speech."

Harris glanced toward the stage.

There was a stand for the speaker, and next to it sat a table draped with dark cloth, long enough for twelve chairs with oval backs to spread down its length. Most were filled, but some offered their cushioned seats for the important people's butts. He imagined himself centre-stage, staring at the ballroom full of white round tables and ovals of faces.

It didn't seem right for a simple firefighter, but this was America, the land of self-made people. Plus, Ablaze wanted him there. Perhaps, to infuse a personal note into her speech and awake sentiment with a public expression of gratitude. Perhaps she felt safer with him close by, and....

And it would be him and her in the public eye again.

He sucked his teeth.

"Will you?" An unsure note lilted in Ablaze;s request, as if she was making an inappropriate proposition to him. She sat too far to touch him, but her gaze felt like warm fingers brushing his cheek, as real as Desiree's. She needed him. He'd just promised he'd do 'anything'. A promise was a promise..

He smiled, ready to say yes, and Desiree's nails tapped his forearm. Don't get entangled, darling. Or, maybe, she reminded him not to be a jerk, lusting after another guy's woman at a party, abandoning his own date.

He catches Desiree's fingers and squeezes them for reassurance. "Would you mind if I leave you for just a bit?" They came together, they'll leave together. That much he owed.

Desiree lifted one brow. "Not at all." She said it as if she understood he needed to be there, on that stage, with Ablaze. They had to prove to Oliver that things could still change.

"Well then, I'm coming." Harris kept his voice light. "Just say when."

"Right about now," Ablaze replied.

He jumped to his feet instead of an answer. Chivalry, dead? Never!