The silence that followed, heavy and cruel.She’d felt it then, the shift, the moment where hope curdled into something small and sharp in her chest.
I thought last night...
She shook her head, cutting the thought off before it could finish forming.There was no point replaying it.No point wondering what she’d misread, or what she’d wanted that he hadn’t been willing to give.The conclusion had been clear enough.
He didn’t want her.Not really, and somehow, that knowledge had followed her straight into her work, poisoning it.
“Ivy?”
The voice startled her.She flinched, brush slipping in her grip, and turned to find Roach standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, expression unreadable beneath his perpetual half-smirk.
“What?”she said, sharper than she meant to.
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I asked if you wanted to break for lunch,” Roach explained.
“Oh.”Heat crept up her neck.“Sorry.”
He sighed, patient.
“I said it’s about that time.You want to grab something in the clubhouse?”he repeated.
She glanced back at the mural, at the section she wanted to rip apart and redo entirely.Her stomach gave a faint, traitorous twist, but she ignored it.
“I’ll eat later,” she said, already turning away.“I want to fix this while it’s still fresh.”
Roach studied her for a beat, clearly considering pushing back.Then he shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” he muttered.
She nodded absently and turned fully back to the wall, forcing her focus back into her hands.She mixed a new shade, lighter this time, softer.Ivy began laying it down carefully, correcting the angle of the bike’s frame, easing the tension she’d accidentally built into it.
Time slipped.The sun shifted overhead.Shadows crept across the yard.The steady rhythm of the compound continued around her, engines revving and fading, voices rising and falling, the low hum of a place that never truly slept.
Ivy lost herself in the process, correcting lines, softening edges, letting the mural breathe again.It helped a little.By the time she stepped back again, sweat dampening her hairline, her mouth felt dry as sandpaper.
She reached for her water bottle and frowned when her fingers closed on empty air.She could’ve sworn she’d set it down nearby.
Her gaze flicked to the side.A few feet away, perched on a low crate, sat a cold bottle of water and a sandwich wrapped neatly in plastic, condensation already beading along the surface.
Ivy blinked, surprised.She turned slowly and found Roach leaning against the fence, watching her from a distance.When their eyes met, he lifted his chin in a silent acknowledgment.
“Oh,” she said softly.
She walked over, picked up the bottle, and twisted the cap off, taking a long drink before the words could catch in her throat.The water tasted like relief.
“Thank you,” she said, holding up the bottle.
Roach shrugged like it was nothing.“You looked like you forgot how time works.”
She huffed a small laugh despite herself.“That obvious?”
“Only to people who’ve been there,” he replied.
She unwrapped the sandwich and took a cautious bite, realizing just how hungry she’d been.The simple act of eating grounded her, settled some of the restless ache in her chest.
King was paying her well for this job.Enough money that she could afford to take her time, afford supplies she normally hesitated over.Heck, Ivy could afford to breathe a little easier for the next few months.
