Mom bustled out of the kitchen, hands dusted with flour. “Mr. Rhodes!” She beamed. “So glad you stopped in. I have the documents in the office if you’ve got a minute.”
“Please call me Carter,” he said with a smooth nod. Then he caught sight of us. Something in his expression shifted—curious and just a touch surprised.
“Actually,” Mom added, turning slightly, “you haven’t met my eldest son yet. Landon, come here a second.”
I stood, brushing chalk dust from my hands and stepping forward as Mom gestured between us.
“This is my son, Landon. He’s helping me get the place back on its feet.”
The lawyer, Carter, extended a hand. “Carter Rhodes. It’s good to finally meet you. Your mom’s been singing your praises.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand firmly. “The Picasso over there is Kira.”
Kira gave a small nod before returning her focus to the mural.
“The files are in the back,” Mom said. “Liam, could you come with us too, please?”
It felt like Liam had been home less than an hour before he started taking over the diner. Tasks I should’ve been handling.
Carter and Liam followed Mom to the back office, leaving me and Kira alone. The only sound was the scratch of pencil against drywall as she kneeled beside her rough mural outline.
“Shouldn’t you be back there, too?” she asked without looking up.
I shrugged. “Liam’s always been better with spreadsheets and legal talk. He’s a business major, after all.”
“Sure, but you don’t need a degree to be good with this place. You’re the one who’s been here, scrubbing grease off ceiling tiles and fixing up cracked counters.”
I smiled faintly, watching the curve of her wrist as she sketched. “We each have our roles to play.”
She paused, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Nah,” I said too quickly.
She dropped her pencil pouch beside her knee and turned to face me fully, her knees curled beneath her like she’d settled in for something more serious. “Landon, between the diner, the bar, volunteering, and everything with”—her throat hitched slightly—“us…aren’t you overwhelmed?”
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “Sometimes.”
“Then why do it all?”
I exhaled slowly, my gaze drifting to the unfinished wall, the taped-off corners of the floor, the sunlight streaming through dust-smeared windows. All these little pieces that still needed fixing.
“Because staying busy makes the quiet easier to ignore,” I said. “When I’m working, I don’t have time to wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed. What Dad would say about me. Or if I screwed everything up with Liam. Or with you.”
Kira’s face softened, her brows drawn low with something close to sympathy. Or maybe understanding.
“It’s not exactly healthy,” I admitted with a half-laugh. “But when my hands are doing something like cleaning, baking, or fixing, I don’t spiral so much.”
She rose to her feet slowly, brushing chalk dust from her pants. “You don’t have to keep running from all that, you know.”
“I’m not running,” I said. “Just working through it. Loudly. With tools.”
She stepped closer, her voice gentler. “Maybe you can start working through it quietly, too. With people who care.”
Her eyes met mine, and for a second, neither of us moved.
Then the kitchen door creaked open, and Liam’s voice floated through. “Mom’s asking about the paint orders, Landon.”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Coming.”
