A utility shutoff warning filed with the county.
Two noise complaints from the past month.
A welfare check logged three weeks ago—no detailed report, just the initial call entry.
His gut tightened.
Something was definitely going on at that house. But how could he prove it?
What was the right thing to do in this situation?
The questions made his head pound.
As he leaned back in his chair, his thoughts shifted to Amayah.
After a moment of hesitation, he typed in the name of the local community page that had posted the door-judging footage.
There it was.
A video of him and Amayah standing side by side, her smiling as she pointed to a wreath, his head bent slightly toward her. The title underneath read: Christmas Door Contest: Viral Moment?
He clicked.
The video began with drone footage of the decorated street, carolers weaving faintly underneath. Then the camera cut to him and Amayah—walking close, him smiling at something she’d said.
Too close. Too easy. Too natural.
His stomach pulled taut.
There was the moment the young fan ran up to her, nearly bowling into them with excitement. There was Amayah comforting her, promising she mattered, offering that bright, gentle smile that made people lean in.
And there was Luke . . . watching Amayah with something that looked uncomfortably like admiration.
No wonder Linda was on edge.
A slow burn of frustration crept up his neck. The footage made the whole thing look intimate, cozy—like he and Amayah were partners in something soft and personal rather than a journalist and his subject. The camera didn’t care that he was analyzing every movement, collecting quotes, studying her interactions.
It cared only that they seemed to fit.
The comments didn’t help:
They look adorable together!
Is this guy her boyfriend?
Find someone who looks at you like he looks at her.
Luke scrubbed a hand over his face.
This wasn’t the image he wanted public, especially when he wasn’t even sure what he felt.
And yet . . . he replayed the moment where Amayah laughed at something he said, her eyes bright, her shoulders relaxing, her hand brushing his coat as she gestured to the garland on a stranger’s door.
Something warm flickered in his chest.
He clicked the browser closed a little too hard and leaned back in his seat, staring at his desk as if answers might appear in the wood grains.
He couldn’t afford distraction or softness.
