Her expression softened. “I’ll lock up. I promise.”
I wanted to argue, but the determination in her voice was steady, quiet, and stubborn. It was the part of her I’d always admired.
My fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear before I could stop myself. “Call me if anything feels off.”
“I will,” she assured, giving me a half smile.
Later, on Main Street, I slowed as I passed Petals and Pines. Harmony stood behind the counter arranging bouquets, lost in her work. Relief loosened something tight in my chest. She was safe, focused, and looking more like herself than she had in days. I almost kept driving. Almost, until I saw a flicker of movement behind the upstairs window. Too fast to name. Too deliberate to ignore. I stared until my eyes burned, until the curtain settled back into place like it had never moved at all. The feeling that followed wasn’t panic. It was memory. Every moment I’d been too late. Every time she’d needed me and I hadn’t known it yet. I stared at the upstairs window again, waiting for the curtain to move. It didn’t, but that didn’t mean anything. Except I’d sworn I saw someone there.
CHAPTER 17
Harmony
By the time I closed up the shop, the rain had settled into a steady hiss against the windows. It sounded like a low, relentless whisper that made the whole building feel smaller than usual. I finished wiping down the counters, turned off the overhead lights, and lingered in the doorway between the shop and the stairwell.
Eric’s last text still glowed on my screen.
Eric:Thought I saw something. Just… keep the door locked, okay?
Humor me. Lock it.
And I had. Twice.
I swallowed, sliding the bolt into place before heading upstairs to the loft. The stairwell creaked under my feet; the sound swallowed quickly by the storm outside. The loft was dim, except for the lamp on my worktable. I kicked off my shoes, rubbed my tired eyes, and tried to just breathe.Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.But the lie didn’t settle.
I kept replaying the way Eric’s voice had come across over text, it felt tight, edged with something he didn’t say. And the way he’d looked when Noah wandered near the porch windowthis morning, gaze tracking the cabins as if mapping them. A shiver rolled down my spine. Tea. I needed tea, it always seemed to calm me. I set the kettle on the small burner, letting the familiar routine calm my racing mind. Mom used to brew chamomile when storms rattled the windows, humming under her breath, her hands always smelling faintly of lemon from the zest she used in her baking. My chest tightened. I forced the memory away.
I reached for a mug. . .
Then froze.
A sound.
Faint but unmistakable. The shop bell downstairs chimed softly. My breath stopped. I hadn’t imagined that. IknewI hadn’t imagined that. I moved silently toward the stairwell, my heart thudding so loudly I swore it shook the banister. The lights were off below. The darkness pooled thick in the corners, broken only by the streetlamp glow filtering through the front windows. Another sound followed and it was a soft scrape, like a shoe against the floor. My mouth went dry. I fumbled for my phone with trembling hands. Eric’s name lit up instantly at the top of my favorites. Before I could hit call, a stronger gust rattled the frame of the loft door behind me. It wasn’t locked. I had locked it. I was sure I had. The knob shifted half an inch, pushed by wind or…No. I didn’t want to finish that thought.
My phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed in the loft like a gunshot. I sucked in a shaky breath, crouched, and grabbed the nearest thing that could pass as a weapon, a metal watering can. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. But it was all I had. I inched toward the stairs . . .
“Harmony?”
I jerked so violently the watering can clattered from my grip again.
“Eric!” My voice cracked.
He was already halfway up the stairs, flashlight beam cutting through the dimness, rain dripping from his jacket.
“I called,” he said, breathless. “You didn’t answer. I came right over.”
Relief flooded my entire body. My knees weakened. He reached the landing and steadied me, one hand warm at my waist, one gripping the banister behind me.
“You okay?” His chest was rising too fast, like he had run hard.
“I heard someone downstairs.” My voice shook. “And the loft door…it wasn’t closed.”
His jaw tightened. “Stay here.”
He moved past me, flashlight slicing through the shadows as he descended into the shop. I followed, closer than I needed to be, every muscle coiled tight. He scanned the entryway, the flower displays, the counter. Then he stilled. At first, I didn’t see it. Then I did.
A single thistle lay on the counter. Its stem bound in red twine. A small, folded note was beneath it. My stomach hollowed. Eric lifted the note by the corner, careful not to smudge the ink.
