Evie lifts both hands to the ceiling like she’s appealing to a higher power. “UNDER CONTROL, HE SAYS.”
Oh good. She’s reached the dramatic-monologue portion of her meltdown.
I shoot Hayes an apologetic look. He shakes his head once, slow, reassuring. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “She’s right to be upset.”
Evie blinks rapidly, thrown off balance by his calm. “Well… yeah. I am. Because I was picturing every worst-case scenario. I was freaking out while Emmy was off pretending she hadn’t inhaled smoke all night?—”
“I didn’t?—”
“You DID,” she snaps. Then her voice softens on the edges again. “I just… I was scared.”
The knot in my stomach pulls tighter.
Hayes looks between us, reading the unspoken things like he always does. His voice goes quieter, steadier. “She’s okay,” he says, directing the words to Evie but looking at me. “I wouldn’t have left her last night if she wasn’t.”
My breath catches.
Evie notices.
Of course she does.
Her gaze sharpens, flipping from Hayes to me to Hayes again. Suspicion. Realization. Curiosity. Oh no. The trifecta.
“Oh,” she says slowly, like the universe has just handed her a very interesting puzzle. “Is that so?”
“Evie,” I warn.
But she’s not listening anymore. She’s staring at Hayes like she’s discovered a Hallmark movie subplot happening right under her nose.
Hayes clears his throat. “Rhett’s on his way with a bunch of things,” he says, stepping back into firefighter mode. “We’ll check the wiring, replace what needs replacing, make sure everything’s safe before you open.”
Evie blinks. “You… you’re doing all that?”
He nods once. “Yeah. Well, me and Rhett are.”
“For us?”
“For Em,” he says without thinking.
The air leaves my lungs.
Evie’s jaw drops.
And Hayes freezes a split second too late, the words already hanging between us—warm, unguarded, true.
I whisper, “Hayes…”
His eyes flick to mine, storm-gray and steady. “Let me help,” he says. “Please.”
There’s no universe in which I can refuse him.
Next to me, Evie mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch before grabbing a coffee, clutching it like a lifeline, and announcing, “I’ll…just be over here. Not…watching the two of you. At all.”
She is absolutely going to watch.
He looks at me with those deep blue eyes. I can tell he doesn’t care who’s watching.
Evie retreats to the opposite counter, but she does it with the subtlety of a marching band. Every cabinet she opens is too loud.Every utensil she picks up clatters like she’s issuing a warning that she’s keeping an eye on both of us.
