That could mean anything, I told myself. People talked. People speculated. The river was public. Everyone knew about the mayor and his pet projects. It was probably nothing more than someone being clever.
Probably.Right?
But the rational loop kept breaking. What if it wasn’t random? What if they’d been listening that night? What if they knew it was me talking?
I locked my phone and set it face down on the counter, suddenly aware of how quiet the trailer felt. The river murmured on, steady and unconcerned.
I laughed softly to myself. “Get a grip,” I muttered.
I tried to shake it off. But the questions wouldn’t stop circling.
What if the red light hadn’t been a cigarette? What if it were a scope? A camera? What if someone had been watchingmewatchthem? Or just watching them? There was no way to spin that red light into something good.
I had nothing to give. No land. No money. No secrets worth blackmailing. Except I had a voice. A platform. Small, anonymous—but apparently not invisible. Not anymore. If someone wanted to silence questions before they started, or discredit a witness before she even understood what she’d seen…
My pulse kicked up again, fast and shallow.
I paced the narrow length of the trailer—three steps one way, three steps back—like movement could outrun the thought. My reflection caught in the mirror by the door. Wide eyes, pale face, hair falling out of its knot. I looked hunted. I felt hunted.
And underneath it all, Levi’s face kept surfacing, his steady gaze, the way he’d looked at me like he could see every crack I was trying to hide. The way his hand had lingered on my arm just long enough to make me keep feeling it hours later.
I hated how much I wanted to call him. How much I wanted to go to his place, knock on the door, and just stand in his doorway. Let him see how badly I was fraying. Let him pull me inside and tell me I wasn’t crazy. I hated it because wanting that felt dangerous. Like opening a door I’d spent years keeping locked.
I grabbed my bag, telling myself that fresh air and getting out of the house would help. Motion always helped. Being away from my trailer and the phone that had just reminded me I wasn’t as invisible as I wanted to be would definitely help.
I parked near Main and ducked into the hardware store for more duct tape I didn’t urgently need. The place smelled like sawdust and rain-soaked coats, and I was pretending to be deeply invested in which color I should choose when I felt it—that familiar awareness.
Then Levi laughed.
I glanced sideways, and there he was at the register, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of a dark hoodie, one hand braced on the counter as he talked to the clerk. He looked relaxed in a way that made me want to run to him. He sounded like familiar comfort, like the solid ground under your feet when everything else felt wobbly.
He turned, caught me staring, and smiled.
My pulse kicked, soft, unsteady, and freaked way the heck out.
Heat crept up my neck. I looked away too fast, pretending to study the duct tape display like it held the secrets of the universe.
“Well,” he said, stepping closer, voice low and warm enough to make my skin prickle gently, “this is either a coincidence or Sweetbriar doing what it does best.”
I glanced around the checkout line, then back at him. It was a mistake. His eyes were on me, soft, searching, like he could already see the storm behind my forced calm. The way he looked at me made something inside me relax just a little.
“Let me guess,” I said, trying for light, “shoving people into each other’s paths until they give up pretending it’s accidental?”
His grin turned soft. “Something like that. How are you?”
There it was again. The question I’d been dodging for so long, I didn’t know if I could answer it honestly, even if I tried.
“I’m fine,” I lied, then winced at how fake it sounded. “Actually—” I stopped, and swallowed hard. “Do you still want to eat? I mean… with me? Like lunch or a snack, or coffee? I don’t know, we can do whatever…”
His brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face before something gentle replaced it. His gaze held mine, steady and kind as always. “Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than before. “I do.”
I hesitated for half a heartbeat, long enough to feel the weight of my own fear, the longing of wanting him closer, then nodded. “Okay. Yes. Please.”
Relief crossed his face so fast it almost hurt to see. His shoulders eased, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said, quieter now. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
He didn’t ask why. Didn’t tease me. Didn’t make it into a thing.
