He stood between the two trailers, sleeves shoved up, dark hair mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. He was crouched near the stabilizer jacks, hands working with calm, practiced ease as he cranked the mechanism into place.
I should have looked away.
I didn’t.
There was something about the way he moved, unhurried and deliberate, that made it impossible not to watch. The flex of his forearms as he adjusted his grip. The steady pullof muscle under fabric when he leaned into the work. My stomach tightened, a small, inconvenient flutter I tried to ignore. If anything, it got worse the longer I watched him. The concentration in his face. The quiet strength of him in motion. The roll of his shoulder as he adjusted his position. Thosehands…
Heat crept up my neck, slow and unwelcome. My chest felt too tight for how still I was currently sitting. Every second I stayed there, watching him, something in me sharpened, awareness folding in on itself until it wasn’t just noticing anymore.
It was wanting.
And I couldn’t seem to look away long enough for it to fade.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. Not from fear. From something warmer. Something that felt dangerously close to relief—and want. I pulled into my spot and cut the engine, sitting there for a second longer than necessary, trying to get my bearings.
That trailer was close to mine. Too close. Our bedroom windows were side by side—mine with the crooked blinds and his parents’ trailer with a square window that lined up almost exactly with mine. I had a brief, mortifying flash of realizing how thin those walls were. How easily sound traveled in this place.
I stood there for a moment just looking at it, trying to work out the logic. His parents’ trailer. Here. In the same campground. In the spot directly beside mine, close enough that I could have reached out my window and knocked on his. That wasn’t a coincidence—this campground had at least thirty plots, and the odds of random placement landing us wall to wall were laughable. But it also wasn’t something I could confront without admitting I’d noticed, which meant admitting I cared, which was its own problem entirely.
What was he doing? What was he actually doing?
I opened my door, the gravel crunching under my boots. Levi looked up immediately.
Relief flickered across his face so fast I almost missed it, followed by something warmer. “Hey,” he said, pushing to his feet. “You’re home.”
“Yeah,” I said faintly, gesturing between the two trailers. “Is that your parents’ trailer?”
He smiled. “Yup.”
My brain scrambled to catch up. “Why is it right there?”
“Because that’s the only level spot,” he said easily. A pause. “And because it’s close.”
Our eyes met. Held. The air between us felt thicker. Charged. Like the space between our trailers was nothing compared to the space between what we were saying and what we weren’t.
I swallowed. “Matt asked you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Temporary. Just to keep an eye on things.”
Temporary.I turned that word over, not entirely convinced by it. Matt had pulled Levi into this—into my situation, my mess, my ongoing and apparently visible inability to hold things together—without telling him why, without asking me first, without apparently considering for one second what it would mean to have Levi Barrett parked five feet from my front door every single night. I made a mental note to have words with Matt. Several words. Possibly in a raised voice.
I searched Levi’s face. “He didn’t tell you why.”
“No,” Levi said honestly. “And I didn’t ask.”
That surprised me enough that I forgot to be annoyed for a second. “You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me. And if Matt thought I needed details, he’d give them.”
Something tightened in my chest at that, at the quiet trust baked into his words. No interrogation, no conditions, no making me justify the situation before he’d agree to show up.He’d just shown up. Because Matt had asked him to, yes, but also because that was so specifically and painfully Levi that I didn’t know what to do with it.
And now he was going to be here. Every day. Right there, through a wall thin enough that I’d already been mortified by the implications. I could see his window from mine. I was going to have to think about that every single morning when I opened my crooked blinds, and that was—that was a lot. That was genuinely a lot to process.
I was going to kill Matt.
“I’m not here to interrogate you,” Levi went on, gentler now. “I’m just… here. Whenever you need me. Consider me your friendly neighborhood fireman. Ready, willing, and able to do whatever you need.”
I looked at the two trailers. At the narrow strip of gravel between them. At the way his shadow stretched toward mine in the fading light. Part of me wanted to tell him it was fine, I was fine, everything was fine, I had it handled—the same reflex I always reached for. But I was tired, and he was here, and Matt had apparently decided that was how things were going to be, and maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to fight every single thing.
