“Admit it,” she said, “this was a good idea.”
“I’ll never say that out loud. I have a reputation to protect.”
She laughed and passed me a lemon bar, sugar dusting her fingers. I brushed a crumb from her lip—gentle, unthinking—and she went still, smiling in that shy, startled way that made me forget how to breathe.
“If this is your version of a break,” she said softly, “I approve.”
“I never get tired of this,” I murmured.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The world had narrowed to sunlight, the hum of cicadas, and the easy rhythm of her heartbeat near mine.
Then my phone buzzed against the blanket—an unknown number flashing across the screen.
Milly tilted her head. “Ignore it.”
I almost did. But instinct runs deeper than peace, and habits built from years of caution don’t die easily. I thumbed the screen, lifting it to my ear.
“Regional power company,” a clipped voice said. “We’re tracking an outage at the Thomas property. Trucks are en route. Confirm no live lines?”
Every instinct in me shifted to alert. When I pressed for crew ID and verification, the line went dead.
Milly frowned. “Everything okay?”
“Power company,” I said, still listening to the static that wasn’t there. “They claimed we’ve got an outage at the house.”
She blinked. “We don’t. I left the porch light on for Inspector last night.”
“That’s what I thought.” I stared at the screen, watching it go dark. “No trucks scheduled. No caller ID.”
“You think it’s a scam?”
“Could be.” I forced a smile that didn’t feel steady. “Let’s head back anyway. I’d rather check than wonder.”
She studied me for a beat, the sunlight sharpening the concern in her eyes. “Austin, we’re fine. It’s a phone call.”
“Yeah,” I said, already packing the basket. “But peace of mind’s free.”
The drive home felt longer than it should have. Dust rose behind the truck like smoke, the road blurring in the heat. Milly tried small talk—something about Cassie’s new chicken coop—but my brain was already mapping possibilities. False outage reports weren’t common around here, but they weren’t harmless either. Someone had our address. Someone wanted to see how fast we’d react.
We turned up the gravel lane. The gate hung just as we’d left it, chain locked. Beyond it, the house stood still and ordinary under a wide blue sky. Too ordinary.
Milly caught the tension in my grip on the wheel. “You think someone’s there?”
“I think we check before assuming they’re not.”
I stopped short of the drive, scanning the yard. Fresh tire marks scored the dirt near the mailbox—deep treads, not ours.
Milly saw them too. “Delivery truck?”
“Maybe.” My pulse said otherwise.
We rolled through slowly, windows down, the hum of cicadas drowning the engine. Everything looked untouched—the barn doors closed, horses grazing, the windmill creaking its usual rhythm. Sherlock’s bleat split the stillness, cranky but unconcerned.
I exhaled, some part of me hating how relief always came laced with guilt.
“See?” Milly said softly. “No bogeymen.”
“Guess not.” I parked near the porch. “Stay here a sec.”
