The change in my father’s posture is immediate and heartbreaking. The tension across his shoulders melts away, and for the first time in weeks, he looks like he can actually breathe. He takes the money with hands that shake slightly, counting through it with the efficiency of someone who’s been juggling bills for too long.
“This is…” He stops, swallows hard. “This is enough to cover the truck maintenance we’ve needed, and the insurance payment.”
Before I can react, he pulls me into one of his rare hugs. It’s the kind that smells like coffee and motor oil and makes me feel like I’m ten years old again. The embrace is fierce but careful, mindful of his back, and I can feel some of the constant worry he carries start to ease.
“Thank you, Junebug,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “I know this hasn’t been easy, taking over the routes. But you’re saving our asses out there.”
The gratitude in his voice makes my throat tight. If he only knew that my mysterious benefactor had his own very specific ideas about compensation and courtship rituals. But seeing Dad’s relief makes every confusing, terrifying, exhilarating moment worth it.
“Just doing my job,” I manage, pulling back before my expression gives anything away. “I should get moving. Long day ahead.”
Dad nods, already turning back toward the office with noticeably lighter steps. “Drive safe, Junebug.”
“Always do.”
I finish loading the truck in record time, my mind still spinning from yesterday.
Will Riven need another delivery from us? Will I ever get to see that horrifying, magnificent creature again?
By the time I’m behind the wheel, I’m wound so tight I might snap. I need coffee, carbs, and a dose of normalcy before I start my routes.
Merry’s Diner it is.
The bell above the doorchimes as I step into the warm, grease-scented sanctuary of Merry’s Diner. The morning rush is in full swing. Loggers grab coffee before their shift, early-rising retirees claim their usual booths, and the comforting chaos of small-town breakfast service fills the air.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite delivery girl,” Merry Thompson calls out as I slide onto my regular stool. She’s already pouring my coffee before I can ask, her practical bun fighting a losing battle with her gray curls. “Though you’re three minutes late by your usual standards.”
I check my watch. “You know my schedule?”
“Honey, you’re the only person in Pine Ridge I can set a clock by. When you’re off schedule, it makes me begin to worry that the apocalypse is finally happening.” Her fingers hook the handle of a fresh mug of coffee, sliding it my way like she’s done this a thousand times before. “So what threw the great June Hartwell’s timing off this morning? Road closure? Truck trouble?”
The real answer is that I spent those extra minutes debating which pair of pants would best conceal the silk underwearcurrently clinging to me. Not that I’m about to share that with anyone.
“Just… took my time loading the truck today,” I lie, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
Merry narrows her eyes, not buying it for a second. “Uh-huh. And I’m secretly a mermaid on my days off.” She leans forward, dropping her voice. “You’re fidgeting like you’ve got ants in your pants, which is very un-June-like. What gives?”
I shift on the stool. “Nothing gives. I’m fine. I’m just… thinking about routes.”
“Routes, huh?” Merry’s eyebrows lift toward her hairline. “Must be some mighty interesting routes to have you blushing like that.”
I’m saved from having to respond by the bell over the door, but my relief turns to mild dread when I see who’s walking in.
Deputy Dale Brennan fills the doorway with his broad shoulders and that serious expression he wears like a uniform. His light brown hair is perfectly styled, and his pale eyes scan the diner with professional habit before landing on me.
“Morning, Dale,” Merry calls cheerfully. “Usual?”
“Thanks, Merry.” He settles onto the stool next to mine with an easy confidence. “June. Good to see you.”
“Morning, Deputy.” I keep my tone polite but not encouraging. Dale’s always been perfectly nice, but there’s something about his attention that can be a bit much sometimes. Like he’sconstantly looking for problems to solve, whether I want them solved or not.
“How are the routes treating you?” He accepts his coffee with a nod of thanks to Merry. “I know taking over for your dad can’t be easy.”
“I’m managing fine.” I take another sip of coffee, hoping he’ll take the hint and keep the conversation brief.
But Dale’s never been good at reading hints. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. We had an incident earlier this week. Property damage out at the old Hendricks place. Looks like something went through there like a tornado.”
My stomach clenches with unease. “What kind of damage?”
