“Order,” I said. “Rules that sound like safety until they feel overwhelming and overboard, and it just makes you want to run.”
She huffed a laugh. “Sounds familiar.”
That’s how it started: not with a line, withagreement. A week later, we ended up at the gas station on the highway at the same time after school. She bought a hot chocolate and an apple “Balance,” she said. I paid for both before she could argue. Outside, we leaned against the brick wall and split the apple. Her hair smelled like cold and shampoo. The freckles were darker up close.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“Me either.”
She looked at me like she’d decided something. “Let’s be bad at the same time, then.”
It should’ve been a joke. It wasn’t. I kissed her because it felt like we were already falling, and pretending we weren’t was just another rule. She kissed me back like she was done withrules too. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t smart. It wasrealin a way nothing had been for a long time.
After that, it was small stolen places: my truck by the lake, the back row at the old theater, the far corner of the library—where the heater clicked and no one looked. We didn’t say “girlfriend” or “boyfriend.” We said “here” and meant”I see you.” She’d trace a line over my wrist and say, “You don’t have to carry everything.”
I’d touch the freckles on her nose and say, “You don’t have to be the problem you were born into.”
We knew the cost. Her father. My father. The town that sees and remembers. Maybe that’s why it burned fast. Maybe that’s why losing it still feels like I left a door open in winter and can’t get the heat back. I finished the whiskey in one gulp and went upstairs to take a warm shower. Having Harmony back in town wasn’t easy. Not when we had unfinished business. Add to it, she was everywhere I looked. I felt like I was at my wits’ end. After my shower I spent too much time staring at my ceiling until I fell into a dreamless sleep.
The next day started the way they all do, early and already moving. I unloaded fruit, checked proof windows, and made sure the new kid could tell “pale” from “done” without me breathing down his neck. Across the street, Harmony unlocked the floral shop, flipped the sign, and stood for a second at the window like she was checking the reflection for anything that didn’t belong. When she turned, she didn’t scan our door for me. That was a relief I didn’t want to name.
Maya handled a line that didn’t end for twenty minutes. In between orders, she said, “Vendor chat is quieter. Becket trimmed the list. Also, that guy who was spreading rumors about Sandy came back and apologized to Sandy and bought a plant.”
“Good,” I said.
“He still called Pierre ‘Chief,’” she added.
“He’s allowed to be wrong twice in one morning,” I said. “As long as he pays.”
Harmony stopped by with a paid invoice for a pastry order for the festival committee. She set it on the counter and kept her hand on it until I looked up. “Call me if delivery windows change,” she said. “We’ll be staffed, but I don’t want anyone waiting in the alley.”
“No alley,” I said. “Daylight only. If anyone even says ‘after close,’ it’s a no.”
“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes a little playfully. I was all about safety and rules now. Just the way Dad wanted me. I learned the hard way that living outside the box didn’t get me anywhere. Harmony left with no extra words. It was better this way, even if a part of me wanted more. Maybe an explanation, an apology. I blinked and cleared the thought. There was no point going down that road.
Around noon, my phone buzzed with a link.
Isabelle:Luc says this one finishes on time. Good subs. He’s used them off-season near Montreal. They won’t vanish mid-foundation.
Isabelle:Eat something green today.
Typical.
Me:Tell Luc thanks.Stop managing my vegetables.
Isabelle:Someone has to.See you at the wedding. Philly is chaos.
Me:Chaos can be good.
I pocketed the phone and got back to work. The afternoon passed without anything special happening. That counted as a win. Although I may have peeked across the street to watch Harmony at work. A young guy came in. I watched her laugh and watched him leave with a plant.
At closing, I scrubbed the last sheet tray and set it to dry. The alley light behind the florist’s clicked on like it was supposed to.I texted Becket a quick picture and got back a thumbs-up and a short:Good. Keep routing access through me.My brother, who was forever the protector, knew Harmony’s return was a lot more complicated than we realized. I asked Becket to keep an extra eye on her, but even if I hadn’t, my brother knew what was on the line and did his job too well.
I stood at the front window a second longer than I should have. Harmony pulled her shade, checked her lock twice, and disappeared up the narrow stairwell. I was not in charge of whether she was safe every minute of the day. I was in charge of making sure the parts I could control stayed controlled. That was enough for now.
On the drive back to Maple Valley, the sky went the color it gets before the first cold week. I thought about the ridge and the porch and the way the house would look in that light. I thought about Thursday nights at the fire station and not giving them up. I thought about keeping the bakery and the orchard steady by hiring help where I had to, instead of pretending I could do all of it myself.
When I got home, Dad was on the steps, jacket off, staring at the rows of trees like they might answer him back. We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to. Harmony was back in town, and nothing about that was simple. I could feel it every time I looked across the street and pretended I wasn’t looking. I didn’t reach for things I couldn’t fix. I didn’t chase what already walked away. I focused on the work in front of me and let the rest stay where it was. That was how I’d always survived.
