The afternoon light is fading by the time Grant and I get to the last shelf.
Grant’s humming quietly under his breath as he drills the last bracket into the wall, the rhythmic whine of the power tool filling the small space.
I’m crouched near the front window, sweeping away dust from the new trim and checking the caulking line.
“Once this dries,” Grant says, switching off the drill, “I think we’re done for the day. We could come in early tomorrow, hang the “Grand Reopening” sign, maybe restock the counter with those candles she likes.”
“Yeah. She’s gonna lose her mind when she sees it. In the best way.” I straighten and stretch my back until it pops.
“Hopefully. Or she’ll scold us for going out of our way like this.”
I’m about to reply when something outside makes me pause.
I catch a faint scraping sound, not loud but definitely out of place.
Like metal brushing against metal.
Grant stops too, catching the shift in my posture. “What?”
“Listen,” I murmur, lowering my voice.
For a second, all I hear is the creak of the old building settling in against the wind blowing past outside, and the ticking of the space heater in the corner.
Then it comes again, closer this time, a lowclinklike someone testing a lock.
Grant’s eyes meet mine, his jaw tightening.
We move in unison.
He sets the drill down quietly while I reach for the hammer lying on the floor close by me.
The sound comes again, louder now and is the definite jostle of the front door handle.
“Someone’s out there,” Grant mutters.
My pulse kicks up. “No one’s supposed to be stopping by. Dean shouldn’t be back from taking Eli to the movies until later.”
Grant steps toward the door, his boots whispering over the floorboards.
I follow a step behind, muscles tensed while my fingers tighten around the hammer’s handle.
The lock rattles again, followed by a muffled curse on the other side of the door.
Grant calls out, his voice loud and commanding. “Store’s closed!”
Something slams against the door then, rattling it hard against the frame.
I raise the hammer. “Fuck. They’re trying to break in.”
Grant’s already moving toward the door.
He grabs the handle, jerking it open in one swift motion, and suddenly the winter air blasts in.
Standing there on the other side of the threshold, half-shadowed by the dying sunlight behind him, is someone I never expected to see again.
Jared.
For a moment, my brain refuses to connect the dots.
