“What happened?”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says quickly. “He’s fine.”
Holt.
My knees almost give, and I brace a hand against the side of the inn.
“What—what do you meanfine?”
“There was a call. Minor structure fire. He took a hit to the ribs, but he’s already cleared. He asked me to let you know in case someone mentioned it before he could.”
The words buzz as he continues. The world around me grows fuzzy until Mac repeats that Holt’s fine.
He’s fine.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quieter now.
“Of course.”
The line clicks dead, and I lower the phone slowly. My heart is still racing. My hands aren’t steady as I shove my phone into my back pocket. And the worst part—the part I can’t ignore anymore—is how immediate that fear was. How fast it hit. How deep it went.
I close my eyes, just for a second, then open them again. And everything feels different.
I don’t stay long after that, telling Nolan I need to head back early. He doesn’t argue, which is something new for him. He just nods once, his gaze sharper than before, and reminds me that his crew will be arriving next week.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way his gaze drops to my hands, then lifts again. But he doesn’t push, and that’s new for him. Or maybe not new. Maybe he’s always known when pushing would only make me bleed harder.
“Go,” he says.
I frown. “What?”
“Whatever just happened, you’re already halfway out the door.” He picks up his pencil again, but his voice stays quieter. “I’ll lock up.”
Suspicion prickles beneath my relief. “You’re suddenly fine with me leaving?”
His mouth tightens. “I was never trying to keep you here, Lark.”
That lands strangely.
Like maybe I’ve been hearing “control” when he meant “concern.”
Or maybe that’s exactly what he wants me to think.
Holt’s truck is already back at the farm when I pull in, which is unexpected. But I assume with the injury, his captain sent him home for the remainder of his shift.
Relief hits fast, and I don’t slow down when I get out of the car. Don’t give myself time to think.
I head straight for the house, push the door open… and stop.
He’s there in the kitchen. One hand braced on the counter, the other wrapped around his waist as he cradled himself, the material of his shirt pulled tight against his bicep.
He looks up, sees me, and something in his expression shifts immediately.
