“But,” she added, glancing sideways, “if you’d never told me, I would’ve stopped trusting you completely.”
“So either way, I’d lose.”
“Not tonight.” She reached over and laced our fingers again.
I looked at our hands. Her fingers weaving through mine, the hope and trust in her eyes, mixed with something like contentment. I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, almost involuntarily. The mission had made its way into my heart. Milly leaned on me and rested her head on my shoulder. It wasnothing explosive or heated, but it was devastatingly intimate, and I knew I was hooked.
For a moment, the only sound was crickets and an owl hooting in the distance.
I squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth of it chase away the cold still coiled in my chest. “I can live with that.”
She smiled faintly. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet, Mr. Adams.”
Chapter 11
Flying Bricks & Fretting
Milly
The morning started with coffee.
Austin had tinkered with the percolator until it brewed a perfect cup—strong enough to wake the dead, smooth as silk. It had been three days since the diner, and the town had really pulled together.
Sunlight spilled across the kitchen like everything was normal, and nothing had ever happened. The trees outside the kitchen window swayed lightly in a small breeze; otherwise, the world outside looked calm. Everwood smelled like early morning dew and fresh-cut hay.
Austin stood by the back door, tightening a new deadbolt.
“Is there such a thing as over-secure?” I asked, leaning on the counter with my mug.
He glanced back, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Not in my vocabulary.”
“That’s because you threw it out.”
He twirled the screwdriver like a conductor’s baton. “You’re just jealous of my system.”
“I am,” I said playfully, wistful, taking another sip.
He looked over his shoulder, his smile softening. A small crease furrowed between his brows. “You sleep better?”
“Some.” I set my mug down. “You?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t try.”
I wanted to press, but our peace still felt new and fragile, so I let it go.
The screen door squeaked, and Mrs. Winslow’s voice arrived before she did. “If you two aren’t married by Founders’ Day, I’m starting rumors.”
Austin groaned. “Too late.”
She marched in wearing a sunhat large enough to be used as a satellite dish and carrying a clipboard plastered with bingo stickers. “Levi says someone’s been snooping near the feed store. Might have been Arnie.” She gave me a pitying look, then her features went serious. “Either way, we need a plan.”
Austin’s shoulders went tight. “What kind of plan did you have in mind?”
“The Everwood kind. Coffee first, then panic, then we kick butt.”
Mrs. Winslow may be an older woman, but she was feisty to boot.
Cassie stumbled in behind her, juggling a bakery box. “Ignore her. She’s on her third cup of Ethel’s dark roast coffee.”
