“Do we?” But I don’t think she pays attention to my question, since she’s already heading for the door, leaving me no choice but to follow.
The second we step inside, the scent wraps around us—a mix of lavender, citrus, and something warm, like cedar. The shop feels alive, filled with neatly arranged shelves of essential oils, sachets, and soaps, each labeled with a touch of whimsy. It’s both charming and overwhelming, like stepping into a world that runs entirely on calm vibes.
Before we can take another step, a woman appears from behind a curtain that separates the shop from what must be the back room. She’s petite, her dark hair tied back in a loose braid, and she wears an apron with lavender-colored flowers. Her smile could light the whole town.
“Hello there,” she says, clapping her hands together. “I’m Nydia. I don’t think I’ve seen you two before—first time visiting?”
“Yes,” Gale says, already enchanted. “I couldn’t resist.”
“Well, come on in. Let me show you around,” Nydia says, as if we’ve known her for years. “This is my little corner of Luna Harbor. Everything here is made with lavender from my farm just up the hill.”
She launches into a tour of the shop, her enthusiasm is contagious. She explains the benefits of lavender oil with the passion of a scientist and talks about her hand-poured candles like they’re children she raised herself. Gale listens intently, asking questions, while I mostly watch them, caught between amusement and quiet awe.
When Gale picks up a small sachet and inhales deeply, Nydia nods approvingly. “That one’s my personal favorite. Keep it in your pillowcase—sweet dreams guaranteed. And if not, you can send me an angry letter.”
By the time we’re ready to leave, we’ve been sent off with a bag bursting at the seams—candles, oils, sachets, and probably a year’s supply of lavender-infused candy. Nydia presses a handwritten card into Gale’s hand as we head for the door.
“In case you run out or just want to say hi,” she says with a wink. “And don’t be strangers. Next time, come by the farm. We’ll make it a proper visit.”
As we step outside, Gale turns to me, clutching the bag like it’s a trophy. “She might be my new favorite person.”
“She just gave us more lavender than we’ll ever know what to do with,” I say, shaking my head, but even I can’t keep the smile off my face. “It was like visiting a long-lost cousin you didn’t know you had.”
“Exactly,” Gale says, linking her arm through mine. “I already can’t wait to come back.”
By the time we’re back at my place, the sun’s dipping low, painting the horizon in shades of gold and pink. Gale is smiling, her cheeks slightly flushed from the cool breeze, and for a moment, I let myself believe that everything is fine. That we can stay like this.
But I know better.
We bring takeout from the burger place down the street. After dinner, the conversation shifts. It’s inevitable.
“We need to call Mal,” I say, leaning back against the kitchen counter, my arms crossed. Gale sits at the table, her expression unreadable as she traces the rim of her glass with her finger.
“I know,” she replies quietly. “We have to know what happened. Do you think he’ll send our call to voicemail . . . again?”
He’s been avoiding us the same way we’ve been avoiding it. That’s exactly what we’ve been doing. But the explosion, the mansion, everything we left behind in Birchwood Springs—it’s not going to disappear just because we’ve escaped for a few days.
I grab my phone, my thumb hovering over Malerick’s name as if pressing dial might detonate something neither of us is ready for. The tension between Gale and me is thick, the kind that comes from knowing this call might change everything.
“You ready?” I ask, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.
She meets my gaze, her eyes steady, though I catch the flicker of unease just beneath the surface. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, and something in her tone twists in my chest.
I hit the button, the ringing loud in the silence between us. Once. Twice.
“Ledger,” Malerick answers, his voice low and clipped.
I waste no time. “We need answers, Mal. What the hell is going on?”
There’s a pause, just long enough to send a ripple of doubt through me, and then he speaks. “First, tell me—are you both safe?”
Safe? The word feels meaningless now, even with the two bodyguards trailing us everywhere, blending into the background but never really out of sight. I glance at Gale, her expression calm on the surface but with a tension in her eyes that mirrors the knot tightening in my stomach.
“Define safe,” I say. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like we are.”
Mal exhales audibly, the sound setting my nerves on edge. “We need to talk.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh, the sarcasm practically dripping off me. “Ya think? Because I figured we’d just keep playing house while dodging explosions. Talking sounds like such a novel idea.”
