I need that, desperately, almost hungrily. The thought of it is the only thing that keeps me moving when everything else feels too heavy to carry.
Then finally, I can exhale and move on.
8
WELLS
Two days in,and she’s already wearing me down.
Begging for a reprieve, blinking up at me with those glassy, wounded eyes. It’s hard to believe she’s not fishing for sympathy, but I’ve watched her flinch at kindness and apologize for her own feelings. I’m led to believe she doesn’t have enough energy left in her to be calculated.
She’s simply lost her way.
And somehow, I’ve become the fool standing here in the hardware store, trying to keep her stitched together after making her cry for the first time in eight years. Eight years. That’s got to be some kind of record.
It doesn’t help that Bobby’s now staring at me like I’ve kicked a kitten.
“You okay, Lil’ Miss?” he asks. “Wells didn’t forget to shower again, did he?”
Elsie doesn’t answer right away. She sniffs twice, pats her cheeks.
I take a step back, suddenly aware of how big I must seem next to her, of how small she’s made herself. I want to fix it—I’m not too proud to admit that—but I know better than to crowd her.
She clears her throat. “I’m fine. I swear. Just ... a little emotional.”
Bobby chuckles. “This town’ll do that to you. Blessing and a curse.”
I glance at her again, trying to read what’s left behind in her expression. She’s already rebuilding the wall, quick patchwork. Chin up, shoulders set. I know the signs because I do the same damn thing.
“Do you have any of the small radiant heaters left?” she asks. “I don’t need anything fancy. Just enough to keep my bedroom from icing over again.”
“Sure do. I’ll grab one from the back.”
Bobby shoots me a pointed look as he walks past, and I grimace. This morning, I thought I had the upper hand. Now, I feel like a kid who’s broken his mother’s best vase.
“I know you said you were due for it, but I really didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You didn’tmakeme.”
We don’t speak again until Bobby returns with the heater, sets it on the counter, and rings it up with a theatrical whistle. “Town discount,” he says, tapping a few buttons. “Elspeth always got one. Seems fair it applies to her granddaughter, too.”
Elsie gives a slow blink. “Oh. That’s—thanks.”
I wave goodbye to Bobby, but he ignores me in favor of giving Elsie a warm, fatherly smile. It feels like I’m not even in the room, like I’ve been demoted to furniture. He may be trying to keep her from selling before the town has its say, but he’s still charmed by her.
Rolling my eyes, I carry the heater out for her without asking. She doesn’t argue.
Haven & Hearth is right next door. The antique shop’s green-painted door creaks as we push it open, and the windows are crowded with too many things—milk glass lamps, woven rugs,wooden carvings of birds and boats and horses. The same sort of jumble that spills through the inn.
Elspeth curated it that way. Stories in every corner. A hundred small, beautiful things watching from the shelves.
Inside, Ms. Quinn stands behind the counter in a gray wool cardigan buttoned to her throat. She looks me over and purses her lips.
“Rourke,” she says, voice dry as kindling. “You patching up the alcove again? Because I told you last time, those old cabinets are a lost cause.”
“We’re here for some window latches. And to browse a little.” I hold up both hands. “No harm done.”
“Don’t touch the clock shelf,” she warns, narrowing her eyes before turning to Elsie. “And you—your face looks familiar.”
