But deep down, in the part of me that still remembered how small towns really worked, I knew better. I wasn’t as invisible as I’d thought. And whatever I’d just witnessed—whatever I’d justsaid out loud—could have made me part of it.
Chapter 7
Levi
Iwoke with the same prickle I get right before a call drops—skin-tight awareness that something was wrong even when everything looked quiet.
The townhouse was still except for the low hum of the heater and Jude’s faint snoring drifting down the hall. Early light slipped through the blinds, gray and thin, the color of rain waiting to fall. I lay there longer than I usually let myself, staring at the ceiling, listening to my own heartbeat, and trying to name the feeling coiled under my ribs.
It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. It was deeper. The kind of worry that settled in your bones when someone you loved was hurting and pretending they weren’t, when every instinct screamed to shield them, but pushing too hard would only make them run farther away from you.
Heaving out a sigh, I got up to start my day.
By midmorning, Sweetbriar was moving at its slow, familiar pace, and the fact that nothing ever changed wasn’t comforting today. I told myself I was just running errands when I parked near Violet’s. I told myself I wasn’t scanning every doorway, every sidewalk, hoping for a glimpse of her.
Then she stepped out, holding a takeout cup in one hand, tote slung over her shoulder, hair escaping its knot in soft wisps around her temples. The same stubborn mouth, the same warm eyes, but shadows lived under them now, deeper than last week. And she was jumpy.
I saw it the second she stepped onto the sidewalk, the quick scan left-right, the way her shoulders stayed high, braced, the tiny flinch when a delivery truck rumbled past two blocks away. She was wired.
I didn’t call out. Instead, I pushed off the wall and crossed toward her slowly, the way you’d approach someone who was already listening too hard to everything around them. I said her name quietly when I was close enough that it wouldn’t carry, giving her time to place me before I reached her.
She didn’t hear it.
She was somewhere else entirely, eyes moving over the street with that tight, watchful energy, and I was close enough to touch her before she registered me at all. I reached out and set my fingers lightly on her arm.
She startled anyway. A full-body flinch, sharp and involuntary, and she spun toward me with her breath already caught, hand jumping toward her bag before her brain caught up.
Then she saw it was me, and something went out of her face.
“Levi.” My name came out on an exhale. Half relief, half something she was trying to tuck back out of sight before I noticed it.
I’d noticed it.
Whatever she’d told herself was probably nothing—I could see clearly, standing right in front of her, that some part of her hadn’t believed it for a second.
Every protective instinct I had roared awake.
I huffed a laugh. “You look tired.”
“Rude,” she shot back, but the humor was forced.
“Observant,” I corrected gently.
“Well, I’m fine,” she said, already turning toward her car. “Totally fine.”
We reached her door at the same time. She unlocked it, then didn’t get in. Just stood there, fingers tight around the cup, eyes flicking once, twice, down the street like she was checking for something.
She was scared. And the sight of it—of her trying to hide fear behind quick smiles and faster steps—tore at me in ways I hadn’t felt since we were kids and she’d broken her arm falling out of the oak tree at the park. Back then, I’d carried her three blocks to get help because she was too stubborn to cry. I wished I could carry her now. Carry her away from whatever was freaking her out.
“You good?” I asked, softer this time.
“Yep.” Instant. Too instant. “Just busy.”
“With what?”
She shrugged, but her shoulders stayed high, defensive. “Life. Existing. Being charming and mysterious.”
“You’re very mysterious lately,” I said, trying to keep it easy. “And charming will always be your default.”
