Except my fingers were shaking.
Subtle at first. Then not.
“Becca.”
His voice was quieter this time.
I ignored it, reaching for a mug that was already clean.
“Becca.”
A hand closed gently over mine before I could move again.
Not stopping me like I was doing something wrong, just… anchoring me.
My breath caught.
When I looked up, he was closer than he had been a second ago, like he’d simply decided distance wasn’t helping. His grip was steady, warm, deliberate in a way that made everything else feel louder.
“It’s okay,” he said, low. “You’re okay.”
Something in my chest loosened without permission.
For a second, I just let him hold my hands there, like I didn’t have to fix anything, like I didn’t have to prove I was fine.
Then a car door slammed outside.
Both of us turned at the same time.
Harper burst through the door a moment later, cheeks pink from the damp air, eyes wide. “I saw Travis tearing out of herelike his ass was on fire. Now take a guess—on a scale of one to ten—how close was I to committing vehicular manslaughter?”
“About an eight,” I guessed. “But Levi already handled the standoff portion.”
Harper’s gaze flicked between us, softening as it landed on Levi. “Good. Then my services as backup are no longer required.” She tipped her head toward the door. “You ready for knitting? Auntie Eileen’s texted me four times now. Someone brought the really good cheese.”
Levi cleared his throat. “I should head out.”
“Thanks for the food,” I said. “And, um, for everything.”
He met my eyes for a beat longer than necessary. “Anytime. Seriously. If he comes back?—”
“I’ll call.”
He nodded once, then stepped out and headed to his truck. The trailer felt smaller the second he was gone. I put the bag of food in the fridge and smiled weakly at Harper.
She looped her arm through mine. “Come on. Snacks. Yarn. And you’re telling me every detail of whatever you’re currently pretending didn’t just happen.”
Aunt Aggie’s Airstream was warm and loud and smelled faintly like lavender, wool, and something buttery. Folding chairs circled the tiny table, every surface already claimed by yarn baskets, knitting needles, half-finished scarves, and an impressive spread of snacks. Gerald, occupying the best chair, the one nearest the space heater, with the authority of someone whose name was on the lease. He was not knitting. He was judging.
Someone handed me a paper plate loaded with cheese cubes, crackers, and brownie bites.
“Eat,” Aunt Aggie ordered. “You’re too thin.”
“I’m not?—”
“Eat,” she repeated, sharper this time.
I ate.
