Me: Fine. Working. Employed. Thriving.
Three dots appeared.
Matt: If you want to crash at my place for a bit, the door’s open.
I closed my eyes. He offered to let me crash with him every time we talked.
Me: I’m okay where I am.
Another pause.
Matt: Just saying. The offer stands. I mean it.
I stared at the message for a second before typing back.
Me: I know, and I appreciate it. Love you.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and exhaled slowly, letting the familiar sounds of the store fill the space again. The hum of the coolers. The soft whir of the coffee machine. The bell chimed as another customer wandered in, oblivious and ordinary.
I rang them up, smiled when I was supposed to, and made change with steady hands.
From the outside, everything looked fine.
But even as the afternoon wore on, I kept catching myself glancing toward the windows, toward the door, toward the corner of the ceiling where the security camera blinked its steady red light. Not because I expected something to happen—but because I didn’t trust how quiet it all felt.
I should talk to Matt. I knew I should. Tell him about the red light, the podcast comment, and the weird vibes from the guy who was here earlier today. He’d listen. He wouldn’t tease me. He’d probably drive over right now, badge or no badge, and sit in the parking lot until closing just to make sure I was okay.
That was the problem. He’d always taken care of me. Our parents weren’t the best, and he was always there for me. It wasn’t fair to him.
Matt was the classic big brother. Overprotective didn’t even begin to cover it. He’d always been the one who checked the locks twice, who walked me to my car after dark, who once threatened to arrest a guy for looking at me wrong. If I told him everything, he’d go into full cop-brother mode—questions, surveillance, probably a patrol car parked outside my trailerevery night. He’d mean well. He always did. But I’d feel like a kid again, like I couldn’t handle my own life, like I needed rescuing. And he deserved to be free.
And right now, more than anything, I needed to prove I could stand on my own. Even if standing felt shaky. Even if the quiet made my skin crawl.
Levi’s presence still lingered, warm and comforting. The memory of his fingers brushing mine, the way he’d said “I’m here” like it was the simplest truth in the world. The faint warmth of his cheek when I’d kissed him still burned on my lips.
I told myself I was safe. I told myself this was just nerves, just exhaustion, just my life settling into a new normal.
When my shift finally ended, and I locked the door behind me, the bell silent for the night, I paused for a moment on the sidewalk, keys in hand.
Nothing had happened today.
Nothing at all.
But Levi’s quiet “I’m here” still echoed somewhere soft inside me. Matt’s text sat in my pocket—a reminder I wasn’t as alone as I sometimes felt.
I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and walked to my car. The night air was cool, the streetlights soft. And for the first time in days, the quiet didn’t feel quite so lonely. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew if I needed him—if the shadows ever got too much for me to handle—he’d be there.
Chapter 11
Becca
“Welcome back toSomebody Said in Sweetbriar. Sometimes the quiet after a long day is the loudest part.”
The drive home should have felt easy. I should’ve been replaying what happened at the Stop & Go and nothing else. The way Levi had looked at me when he said I could call him whenever. The way he hadn’t pushed, hadn’t asked for more than I could give. The way something between us had almost shifted back to the ease we used to have together.
I rolled down my window an inch, letting the cool air rush in, grounding myself as the road narrowed and the houses faded into my rearview. The hum of tires gave way to gravel, the sound changing as Riverside Pines came into view. I pulled in slower than usual, scanning for anything out of place, a habit I didn’t remember forming. Everything looked normal. And still, the feeling of unease didn’t go away.
I told myself it was nothing. A comedown from a rare, almost-good day. The residue of too many weeks spent on edge. I parked, cut the engine, and sat there a beat longer thannecessary, listening to the river beyond the trees. Something about the quiet felt wrong. Like everything might fall apart if I breathed too hard, and I couldn’t shake the feeling.
