The house came into view, porch light already burning, haloing Milly where she sat on the steps. She had her knees pulled up, apron over jeans, hair loose, lemon meringue pie cooling beside her. Inspector sprawled at her feet like he’d appointed himself her bodyguard.
She looked up when my truck tires crunched the gravel. “You missed dinner.”
“Recon ran long,” I said before my brain caught the slip.
She smiled faintly. “Oooh, you’re using military words. How bad was the mission?”
I climbed the steps, leaned against the post, and let the evening hum wrap around us—the crickets, the far-off bark of a dog, the hiss of the cooling truck engine. “Complicated. Sheriff’s chasing a few leads from last night.”
“And these leads worry you?”
“Everything worries me.”
“That’s not new.” She cut me a piece of bread, handed it over. It was still warm, edges crisp. “Here. This cures ninety percent of the world’s problems. Maybe ninety-one.”
I took it, the crust crackling under my thumb. “What about the other nine?”
“Those you talk about,” she said, quiet but sure.
I should have. I wanted to. But words have consequences, and once you let them out, you can’t herd them back in. “Just local chatter,” I said finally. “Sheriff thinks the equipment thefts from Red Hollow and Elm Creek might be tied to the truckswe saw. I told him I’d help him sort data. Keep things from spreading.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp, assessing. “Meaning you’re going to dig until you find something or it buries you.”
“That’s one interpretation.”
She studied me a second longer, then sighed, setting the knife down. “You ever notice how you only look peaceful when you’re in motion?”
I smiled despite myself. “Idle hands.”
“Dangerous hands,” she corrected. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Austin.”
That one landed deeper than she probably meant. The part of me that used to answer to rank and mission bristled on instinct; the rest just wanted to take the truth she was offering.
“I know,” I said, though my voice didn’t quite sound like agreement.
She reached out, brushing a smudge of flour off my sleeve. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Mm.” Her fingers lingered for a second before she drew back, pretending to check the bread instead of my face.
The porch light flickered as a moth circled it. Somewhere out in the field, a car engine rolled by on the highway—normal sound, familiar cadence—but it still made my shoulders tense until it faded.
She caught it. “That sound again?”
“Different truck,” I said, softer now. “I’ve been cataloguing too many lately.”
Milly looked toward the horizon, the last line of gold slipping under it. “You think it’s connected to Penny’s property?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Maybe. Or maybe Everwood’s finally attracting the wrong kind of business.”
“Small towns have always had both kinds. We just like to pretend the bad ones move away.”
“Do you pretend?”
“Not anymore,” she said. “You kind of cured me of that.”
That did it—the edges of my guard cracked. I set the bread down and sat beside her. The boards creaked under the weight.
