Keep smiling, flower girl.
The words were sharp, carved into the paper like a brand. My throat closed.
“No,” I whispered. “Not again.”
Eric’s voice barely contained his fury. “Same handwriting?”
I nodded. “Same ink. Same everything.”
He exhaled through his teeth, controlled rage simmering beneath every syllable. “They were here. While you were upstairs.”
“I don’t want Becket involved,” I whispered immediately.
His head snapped toward me. “Harmony?—”
“No police. I. . .I can’t have them here again. People already think I draw trouble with me everywhere I go. That I’m. . .”
“What?” His voice softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. “The problem?”
I looked down, ashamed. “Marcel Bellerose’s daughter. And that means…chaos.”
Something in Eric’s face softened and broke at the same time. He took a step toward me, slow and deliberate.
“You’re not him,” he said quietly. “And you never will be.”
My eyes burned.
He reached for my hand gently, like he was afraid I’d shatter. “You can’t stay here tonight.”
“I can’t leave,” I argued weakly. “This is my home.”
He looked around the darkened shop, at the note, at the thistle.
“This isn’t a warning,” he said. “It’s a claim.”
I swallowed hard. He took my face between his hands, grounding me in the storm. “Let me get you out of here. Just for tonight.”
“I don’t want to be someone else’s burden,” I whispered.
“You’re not a burden.” His voice dropped, warm and fierce. “You’re someone worth protecting.”
My walls cracked.
“…Okay,” I breathed, maybe because I was sick of running and lonely, but also because this was Eric, the boy who once claimed my heart and the man who still made it pound differently.
He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for minutes. “Grab whatever you need.”
Minutes later, we stepped out into the rain with Eric shielding me with his jacket, keeping me tucked tightly against his side. The storm soaked through my sweater instantly, but theheat of him steadied me. We climbed into his truck. He turned the heater on high.
As Main Street disappeared behind us, I whispered, barely audible, “I’m scared.”
His hand found mine across the console, warm and steady.
“I know,” he murmured. “But you’re not alone tonight.”
And for the first time in years, I believed him.
CHAPTER 18
