"They deserve to be protected from unnecessary fear until we understand what we're protecting them from." I pick up my spoon again, stirring the vegetables around. "This is my town, Brakkor. I've spent my entire adult life making sure nothing disrupts what we have here."
He eats in silence for several moments, and I watch the hard lines around his eyes soften slightly. "You really do care about these people."
"More than anything."
"Even more than the story."
I smile, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. "The story matters because they matter. And you know what? If you stopped thinking of your time here as punishment and started seeing it as an opportunity to experience something genuinely beautiful, you might grow to love them too."
He considers this, taking another careful bite. The domestic quiet settles around us—the gentle tick of the mantel clock, thesoft bubble of leftover stew on the stove, the distant sound of Mrs. Bramblewood calling her cats in for the evening.
"Alright," he says finally. "What do you think our next step should be?"
I feel a small spark of satisfaction at the word 'our.' "We need to look more carefully at who's been affected. Your records showed that most businesses have suffered losses, but there's one notable exception."
"Exception?"
"Garron Pike." I set my empty bowl aside. "His construction supply business has actually seen increased orders recently. Strange, considering his family has been building and maintaining virtually every structure in Harvest Hollow for three generations."
Brakkor pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth. "I hadn't thought of that."
"I could be wrong, of course." I sink back in my chair, watching the way the firelight plays across his weathered features. "But we might as well go talk to Garron and see how he's doing. Find out where these orders are coming from."
Brakkor nods slowly, setting his empty bowl on the side table. "Makes sense. If everyone else is struggling and he's thriving..."
"Exactly." I rise to collect our dishes, stacking them with practiced efficiency. "And come to think of it, Thornak must be doing well too, since he runs the lumber mill. If Garron's getting increased construction orders, he'd need more wood."
"Right." Brakkor stretches in Father's chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. "Though I have to admit, I wouldn't know Thornak from any other person in town. Hell, I don't really know anyone here."
He pauses, running his hands through his dark hair. "Except for you, and honestly? I haven't actually liked you until the last twenty-four hours."
I bark out a laugh, the sound sharp in the quiet cottage. "Thanks."
"What I mean is—" He holds up a hand, but I'm already grinning.
"No, no, I understand completely. The feeling was mutual." I carry the bowls to the kitchen, speaking over my shoulder. "You showed up like some kind of journalistic tornado, ready to tear apart everything I've spent years building."
"And you seemed determined to bury every story worth telling under a mountain of cautious editing."
"Cautious editing that keeps this town functioning." I face him, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Though I suppose your approach has its merits too."
He stands, moving to the window that overlooks my small garden. The wildflowers catch moonlight like scattered stars, and I watch his expression soften as he takes in the view.
"It really is beautiful here," he admits quietly.
"It is." I join him at the window, noting how his presence seems less overwhelming now, more like it belongs. "Which is why we need to be smart about how we handle this. Garron's been part of this community for decades—his family built half the houses in Harvest Hollow. If he's involved in something questionable..."
"We approach carefully." Brakkor glances at me, and I catch something like respect in his tired eyes. "Your way."
"Our way," I correct, surprising myself with how easily the words come. "We'll visit him tomorrow morning, casual-like. Maybe I'll mention needing some repairs done on the Whistle's office."
"Good cover." He moves toward the door, then hesitates. "Thank you. For dinner, for... Well, just thanks."
"No problem, really." The cottage suddenly feels too small again, but this time it's not uncomfortable. "Thank you for not pushing when I asked you to step back today."
He nods, reaching for the door handle. "See you in the morning, Calla."
CHAPTER 10
