“Understood,” Noah said. He kept his smile, kept his hands visible, kept his words short. The tech ran a clean line, labelled the breaker, and handed Sandy a single-page contact sheet. Harmony slid the sheet into a folder marked VENDORS and wrote the date on the tab. No speeches, no fuss.
On our side, I stood at the door and watched the sidewalk. Not because I thought they were going to try anything, but because it never hurts to stand here and make eye contact with people who deal in access.
Becket’s electrician came an hour later to fix the alley light and swap the back latch for something stronger. “If anyone wants that door now, they’ll need tools and time.”
“They won’t get either,” Sandy told him.
Harmony checked the light through the back window and came back to the counter. “We’re good, but I feel terrible my presence has everyone on edge.”
“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Pierre taught his boys to be cautious of everyone and everything. They would be taking these precautions, even if you weren’t here.”
Harmony exhaled, looking relieved.
Sandy was lying but it was for a good cause, so I kept my mouth shut. I wrote a quick note on our block sheet:Alley light replaced. Latch replaced.It was simple and didn’t involve any drama, which is exactly what we all wanted.
As the dinner rush hit, the line moved and the room settled into the rhythm I trust. I kept the distance with Harmony, but I didn’t pretend she wasn’t there. If she or Sandy waved from their door to ours, I lifted my chin and kept it moving. We didn’t need to pretend a friendship we didn’t have.
At close, I told Maya what to rotate in the morning and left the rest of the plan on the prep table for the new kid. When I clipped on my radio for my volunteer shift, I caught Harmony’s reflection in the florist shops glass across the street. She was turning off her sign. We made eye contact for half a second. She lifted a hand in a small “good night.” I gave her one back and kept walking.
The station smelled like rubber and metal and the kind of clean that isn’t about citrus. I changed, checked my gear, and timed myself on two drills I’d done a hundred times. We caught one false alarm and one car fire with more smoke than anything else. I still rolled hose and checked a valve because it’s the kind of habit that keeps you useful when it counts.
I drove home with the radio quiet and the road empty. The house windows were yellow in the dark. Inside, Becket’s jacket was on the chair, where he always left it, and Asher’s keys werein the bowl, where he never remembered to put them. I set my phone on the counter face down and pulled my sketch back out. I pictured the home I was going to build. I could see a short path to the creek and a space by the door, where boots could dry without tripping anyone. It was simple. It looked like a place I could sleep and wake up and still be myself.
“You’re really going to do it?” Asher said from the doorway, bare feet and a glass of water.
“Yeah,” I answered.
He leaned in to study the drawing. “Don’t make it too nice. Phoenix will want to have dinner there every night and I’ll never see you.”
“You’ll see me at the orchard at five,” I said. “In shoes.”
He grinned. “Mean.”
“True.”
He clapped my shoulder and wandered off. A minute later, Becket came through, looked once, and nodded. “Call before you sign,” he said. “I’ll read the contract.”
“Thanks.”
The house got quiet again. I could reach out to some friends in town and meet them for a drink. I could swing by the brewery and hang out with Phoenix and Cooper. I could do a lot of things. But instead, I poured myself a finger of whiskey and thought of Harmony.
She was there first, hood up, knees tucked, breath white in the air.Harmony Bellerosewasn’t pretty the way yearbook photos like; she was pretty the way you notice by accident and then couldn’t stop. Auburn hair escaping the hood,green eyes, a scatter offrecklesacross her nose that showed more when she was cold. She watched the ice like it had answers.
I meant to keep walking. I sat two rows down instead, again, for the second day in a row. I spent the night thinking ofour interaction yesterday, all the while something inside me felt like it was pulling me to see her again. My luck, she was here.
“You’re going to freeze,” I said.
“Already did,” she said. “Still here.”
We sat like that, not friends, not anything, until I said the thing I wasn’t saying at home. “My mom left and my dad pretends the house isn’t missing pieces.”
She didn’t look at me, just nodded once. “My mom died and my dad pretends the town owes him for it.”
Silence, but not the bad kind. I heard other students in the distance.
“What’s it like in your house?” I asked.
“Loud when it wants to be. Quiet when you need loud.” She tipped her chin at the rink. “What’s it like in yours?”
