Harmony
The smell of coffee reached me before the light did: rich, dark, and familiar. It sliced through the leftover chill in the room, warm enough to coax me out of sleep but not strong enough to chase away the memory of last night. My fingers tightened around the blanket, just for a second, grounding myself.
Maple Valley.
Eric’s family home.
Safety… or the closest thing I’d felt to it in years.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards were cold against my feet, the kind of cold that always followed a storm. Pale light filtered through the curtains, soft and gray. My reflection ghosted in the window, my hair tangled, dark circles under my eyes, but less panic than before. Less… haunted.
Downstairs, I heard a blur of voices, dishes clinking, the hum of pipes. Real, lived-in sounds. The kinds that used to fill the home I had before everything went wrong. I wrapped myself in a sweater and slipped on a pair of flannel pants, then followed the warmth into the kitchen. Sandy stood at the stove in a thick cardigan, stirring something that smelled faintly of maple andcinnamon. Pierre sat at the table with his glasses low on his nose, scanning the local paper.
“Well, good morning, sweetheart,” Sandy said, smiling. “Coffee? Strong? Sweet?”
“Both,” I murmured.
She laughed softly and poured me a mug.
“You sleep all right?” she asked.
I nodded, but Pierre’s eyes lifted over the newspaper, sharp in a way that made me wonder if he heard me come downstairs last night.
He folded the paper. “Eric’s been out since dawn,” he said. “Checking the foundation near the creek with the contractors. That boy’s determined to outrun winter.”
I moved toward the window. Outside, mist clung low over the orchard. The leaves were a mix of amber, rust, and gold. And there was Eric, hauling lumber like he’d been doing it his entire life. Even from here, he looked steady. Rooted. A vibration buzzed in my hand, and I looked down at my phone.
System alert:Failed login attempt — 3:17 a.m.
The blood froze in my veins. I hadn’t had a message like this. . .in I couldn’t remember how long. One attempt. Wrong passcode. Someone had tried to get in. I flicked the notification away before Sandy could turn from the stove. Old reflexes. Old skills. Ones I tried not to use anymore. What on earth was going on? Who was trying to log into my accounts?
Pierre tapped his tablet. “Noah updated the Main Street camera feeds last night. He said the festival committee wanted tighter coverage with tourists coming in.”
The words sat wrong in my stomach. Noah had beeneverywherelately, from Main Street to the square, even stopping by Sandy’s shop with vendor lists. People trusted himeasily. Pierre especially, but with my upbringing I was taught to never trust, especially a handsome guy with a slippery smile. I didn’t comment. I stayed quiet, mostly because I was still irked by the failed log in attempt. Who would try to access my old channels? Olivier and Nico didn’t seem that sophisticated, although a lot could’ve changed in the last eight years.
After breakfast, I borrowed one of Sandy’s scarves and stepped outside. The cold nipped at my nose. The storm had left everything slick and quiet, the world scrubbed clean.
Eric looked up as I approached, breath fogging in the morning air.
“You didn’t have to come out,” he called. “It’s freezing.”
“I’ve survived worse,” I replied.
Much worse. Even if no one here knew it.
He grinned, brushing sawdust off his glove. “Yeah? You sure about that?”
“Pretty sure.” I grinned.
He nodded toward the staked outline on the ground. “This’ll be the house. Small. Close to the orchard. Something that finally feels like mine.”
I stepped closer, boots sinking into soft mud. “It’s beautiful here. Peaceful.”
He gave me a soft, searching look. “You could have that too.”
I laughed under my breath. “Peace and I don’t get along. We tend to ruin each other.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said quietly.
