"Test it," I said once the deadbolt was installed.
She turned the new key in the lock. The mechanism engaged with a solidclickthat echoed in the stairwell. She tried the handle from the outside—locked tight. Unlocked it, stepped through, locked it from the inside.
"Oh my God." She tested it again, and relief washed over her face. "It actually locks."
"It actually locks," I confirmed. "Nobody's getting through that without serious equipment and a lot of noise."
She pressed her forehead against the door for a moment, and her shoulders relaxed. The tension she'd been carrying finally eased.
"Hey." I moved close enough to touch her arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She turned, and her eyes were a little wet. "I just—I didn't realize how scared I've been. How much I've been trying to pretend this broken lock didn't matter."
"It matters." I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You matter."
She kissed me then—soft and quick, but it still made my chest tight.
"Come on," she said, pulling back with a smile. "Show me how to check the camera feed on my phone."
By the time we finished, it was nearly noon. The deadbolt was solid, the camera was live, and the motion light was ready to illuminate anyone who approached the building after dark.
"I'll test the light tonight," I said, packing up my tools. "Make sure it's angled right."
"Okay." Lacey checked the camera feed on her phone one more time, watching the stairwell appear on her screen. "This is incredible. Thank you."
"You keep thanking me."
"Because I'm grateful." She touched my face, thumb brushing my jaw. "And because I'm not used to someone doing something nice without expecting something in return."
That hit harder than it should have. "I don't expect anything, Lacey."
"I know." She met my eyes. "That's why it means something."
My stomach chose that moment to growl, loud enough to echo in the empty studio.
Lacey laughed. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Coffee counts, right?"
"No." She grabbed her jacket. "Come on. I'm buying you lunch."
"You're not—"
"I'm buying you lunch," she repeated, that steel underneath the sweetness. "Don't argue with me, Sheriff."
I held up my hands in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it."
***
Faye's Kitchen was packed—Sunday after church in Crosswell, the busiest time of the week. Booths full of families finishing late breakfasts and older couples reading the paper over coffee. The smell of bacon and fresh biscuits hit me as soon as we walked in.
"Gage! Lacey!" Faye Lovelace, who'd owned the place longer than I'd been alive, did a visible double take seeing us walk in together. Her knowing smile spread across her weathered face. "Well, well."
She grabbed two plastic-covered menus and led us to a corner booth.
We slid in, and I was aware of the eyes tracking us. Mrs. Henderson from the animal hospital. Judd Nelson from the feed store. Half the damn town, apparently.
"They're staring," Lacey murmured, studying her menu like it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.
