“You shouldn’t still call me that,” I whispered.
He smiled faintly. “I shouldn’t do a lot of things.”
His fingers stayed where they were, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. My breath stuttered.Don’t fall into this again,I told myself. But the part of me that had missed him didn’t care.
“I’m not that girl anymore,” I said. “The girl who fell in love too easily, who saw the good in everyone and relied on other people to save her.” After everything I’d been through with testifying against my father, surviving being ostracized by my town, and learning to rebuild myself; I had become stronger and guarded. Life had hardened me. My innocence and naivete had floundered at eighteen when I walked away from this town, from Eric and my family. I wasn’t in a position to get swept away with emotions. I had to be careful who I trusted.
“I know. But she’s still in there somewhere. The one who taught me how to bake bread that actually rose, who believed this town could be better.”
“She also ran,” I reminded him.
He shook his head slowly. “No. She survived a difficult situation.” He blinked and swallowed hard like he was understanding the gravity of why I ran.
The kettle clicked again, echoing too loud in the quiet. I stood to pour more tea, mostly because I needed distance.
“You can’t keep showing up every time something happens,” I said to him. “I’ve become good at taking care of myself.”
“I’m not here because I have to be, I’m here because I want to be.”
I froze my hand, tightened around the mug. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but something in it uncoiled a knot I’d been holding for years.
“Eric…”
He pushed back his chair, standing too close. “You don’t have to say anything.”
The air between us hummed, electric and warm. I could smell the rain still clinging to his jacket, the faint trace of coffee and smoke from the morning’s cleanup. My pulse thudded in my throat.
He reached up, gently tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear. The touch was soft, reverent, dangerous. “You still shake when you’re trying not to cry,” he murmured.
I managed a laugh, barely. “Occupational hazard.”
He smiled, but his eyes were all heat. “You always did fix things for everyone else. When’s the last time someone fixed something for you?”
“I don’t need fixing,” I assured.
“I didn’t say you did.” His gaze dropped to my lips and lingered there.
The rain hit harder against the windows, a steady drumbeat. I could have leaned in. I wanted to. Instead, I stepped back, breath unsteady.
“You should go before it gets worse out there.” It took everything inside me to deny him, but this is what had to be done. This is what I needed to do to keep my guard up.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Lock your door tonight.”
“I always do.”
He walked to the door, boots in hand, and turned once more before stepping into the hall. “Be careful, Sunshine.”
When the door closed, the loft felt too quiet. I leaned against the counter, palms pressed to the cool surface, heart still racing. Outside, the rain softened to a whisper. Through the window, I could see him walking away down Main Street, head bent against the drizzle, jacket dark with water.
I whispered to the glass, “Goodnight, hero.” Because that’s what he had always been. The word pulled a memory out of me like a tide I couldn’t fight. Another storm, years agothunder rolling off the river, rain hammering the road so hard it blurred the headlights. My father had sent me out with Olivier, said it was a quick errand. “The wicked never rest,” he’d joked as we left, like that made it fine to send his teenage daughter into a downpour. We were supposed to pick up an envelope from someone waiting near the docks, money for one of his “shipments.” I didn’t ask questions back then; asking only got you silence or a look that promised worse.
The river was high that night, the current swollen and mean. Olivier parked by the embankment, muttered something about being quick, and jumped out. I followed, slipping on the wet grass. The ground gave way beneath me, my foot catching in a tangle of roots and broken branches. I went down hard, ankle twisting. By the time I called his name, Olivier was already gone, his engine fading into the rain. That was my brother, always thinking about himself before anyone else. The pain in my ankle came sharp and fast. Water rushed around my leg, cold enough to steal my breath. I tried to pull free, but the branch held like iron. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers shaking, and scrolled through contacts I shouldn’t have memorized. I didn’t think. I just called Eric.
He answered on the first ring. “Harmony?”
My voice cracked. “I—I’m by the river. My foot’s stuck. I can’t. . .”
“Stay where you are,” he said, already moving. “I’m coming.” I broke into a sob. What would I have done if I hadn’t met him? Who would I have called?
