Outside, it’s nothing but indigo. The storm blew through fast and hard, but left the sky scrubbed clean. Bright sun over wet eaves, a shine to every slick surface. Somewhere out there, a crow cackles loud enough to make me flinch. Smug little bastard.
I reach for my phone. The signal’s weak, but a few texts slide in at once—Bobby asking about the inn, Isla checking on the trees, even Juneberry, who somehow managed to blast out a marketing update about their peppermint mocha special.
I tap Bobby’s name and call.
He answers on the second ring, chipper as ever. “It’s Bobby Brindle, what can I do for ya?”
I laugh, startled. “Hi. Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Elsie? It’s ten fifteen.”
“Oh.” Right. Time doesn’t work the same in a blackout.
“Storm scramble, huh?”
“Sort of. I was calling to ask—did the power go out in town last night?”
“Nope. Kept flickering, but never actually dropped.”
I wrinkle my nose, unsettled. “We lost it here. Full blackout for hours.”
He whistles. “Ridge must’ve taken a direct hit, but I didn’t see any outages on the grid map this morning. You got power back?”
The house, I think. Not the ridge.
She wanted to prove a point, and she did. Whether it was to punish me for wanting to sell, to shove Wells and me closer together, or to remind me she meant business—I don’t know.
Maybe all three. Maybe none. I wouldn’t put it past her to cut the lights again just to make me sweat. Scared of the dark? I’ll show you how inconvenient I can be.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing again at the blinking stove clock. “Still need a little time to set everything right.”
“Anything busted?”
“A branch came down out back, but it missed the house. No other damage we could see in the dark.” I don’t mention the fact that I still haven’t looked for myself or that I’m too chickenshit to go investigating if Wells is already out there walking the perimeter without me.
“I can send a guy up to check the pole near the fence line. I know Wells could do it, but if there’s damage on the transformer, you’ll need a crew.”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
“Already on it. And hey, the store’s open if you need anything.”
“I think we might.” I glance toward the back door. Still no sign of him. “We’ll stop by later.”
After I hang up, I don’t move right away. I let the silence fold over me like a too-heavy coat. My tea’s still lukewarm, going bitter in the fox mug. I don’t bother reheating it.
I’m practically pacing the grooves into the floorboards by the time Wells drifts in.
His dark blond hair is damp, curling faintly at the ends. He’s wearing an old sweatshirt unzipped over a well-worn T-shirt. There’s something about the shape of his shoulders in it, the way the collar’s gone soft at the edges, that makes my chest feel like a bruise.
He moves through the kitchen without a word. Rinses a mug at the sink. Fills it with coffee. Leans against the counter. We’re strangers boarding the same train, I guess, and that’s somehow worse than if we’d never crossed paths at all.
I’m not sure how we can pretend last night didn’t happen. Pretend we didn’t touch every bare inch of each other until therewas nothing left to hide. We’ve dismantled something, and I can’t put any of it back where it was before.
I want to ask what he’s thinking. Want to rewind and replay it all with the lights on. But he’s making it clear that we’re meant to brush things under the rug, so I let the silence thicken instead. Let it settle in the space between us like dust we’re both too proud to sweep.
“Would you want to go into town with me?” I ask instead. It’s better to move than sit in it. Keeps us both distracted. Keeps us both from slipping back into something we’re not ready to name.
His gaze lifts.
