I took a breath, grounding myself in the checklist still buzzing through my head. “Okay, the community room needs chairs in a circle for the reading. Cozy, not cramped.” I pointed toward the stack in the back, metal folding chairs that had seen better decades.
Cavil’s nod was barely more than a tilt of his head. “Walk me through it.”
Something about the way he said it—simple, unhurried—steadied my nerves. I shifted into motion again.
“Tables along that wall,” I said, pointing. “That way they’re close to the cider and snacks. And I want lights strung across the windows—not too high. Just enough to soften the room.”
“All right.” He moved without needing more. No follow-up questions, no commentary. Just stepped in, grabbed the nearest table, and adjusted the angle until it lined up clean.
“Thanks,” I murmured, more grateful than I meant to sound.
We worked in tandem, the kind of quiet cooperation that didn’t need anything. His presence filled the silence without demanding anything of it. My voice steadied the more we moved—the nerves Leo had kicked up slowly dissolving under the scrape of chair legs and the warm hum of Christmas lights overhead.
“You think that’ll hold?” he asked, bracing one of the older tables with a glance over his shoulder.
I eyed it, then nodded. “Yeah, just—maybe an inch closer to the wall?”
He didn’t question the adjustment. Just shifted it without a word while I stood there, arms crossed, watching the shape of the space start to change.
“Snacks get here at six,” I said, settling into a rhythm, “and the authors start reading at seven. I’ve got a schedule in the front desk drawer but it’s all up here.” I tapped my temple.
“Bet it is.”
I smiled, surprised by the softness in his tone. Not teasing—just certain.
Then I blinked, mind blanking suddenly. “What was I saying?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Dalrymple’s cookies.”
“Right.” I let out a breath. “Thank God for that woman.”
He didn’t smile, exactly—but the corner of his mouth ticked up, just enough.
We kept moving. Hanging garland. Straightening displays. He passed me a roll of tape without asking and steadied a step stool when I reached too high. He never crowded. Just… stayed.
And in that quiet, with his steady presence behind me, the edges of the day dulled. The shop no longer felt like a storm I had to weather alone. It felt like something warm was settling in—something solid I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting for.
I shoved the last gift bag onto the display shelf, fingers unsteady despite my best effort to act like everything was fine. Cinnamon and pine filled the air, soft and sweet—like the store was trying to calm me down. I wished it would work.
Cavil stood near the counter, not moving much. Just… there. Solid. Like if anything tried to come at me again, it’d have to go through him first. I kept my head down, arranging ribbon that didn’t need arranging, trying not to crumble under the weight of what Leo had said—or how easily it had gotten under my skin.
Then, quiet and even:
“He always talk to you like that?”
It wasn’t a question so much as a read. Like he’d already guessed the answer and just needed to hear me say it out loud.
I didn’t look at him. “He likes control.” My voice sounded smaller than I wanted.
Cavil didn’t respond right away. I could feel the silence pull tight. Then he reached into the box beside me, pulled out a gift bag, and handed it over.
His knuckles brushed mine.
“Not here,” he said.
Just two words, but they cut through the noise in my chest like a blade—clean and true. I swallowed hard, trying not to show how much it got to me. But something in me eased. Not all the way, but enough.
I nodded once, and the corner of my mouth twitched—almost a smile. “Thanks.”
