I finally turn to him. He looks like a man who slept in his own bed the last two nights and probably didn’t wake up smelling smoke.
“People don’t like burned towns either,” I say.
That gives him pause. Just a flicker. A crack in the polish. He shifts his weight, clears his throat.
“Well,” he says, recovering fast, “that’s why we don’t panic. Panic makes people irrational.”
Tommy lets out a humorless laugh. “Funny. Thought panic was what kept half this valley from losing everything.”
Sammy smiles, humoring Tommy. “Look, I get it. It was scary. But we can’t let one bad week dictate the whole summer.”
“One bad week?” Terry echoes.
I set the sack of feed down harder than necessary. The thud echoes in the small space.
“That fire moved faster than anything I’ve seen,” I say evenly. “Jumped water. Changed direction without wind. Crews said it behaved outside prediction models.”
Sammy nods, quick and dismissive. “Yeah, yeah. Unprecedented. I’ve heard the word. But unprecedented doesn’t mean unstoppable.”
“It means unpredictable,” I correct. “And unpredictable doesn’t mix well with crowds, livestock trailers, fireworks, and alcohol.”
That earns me a tight smile.
“That’s why we plan,” he says. “And you’ll help figure it out. You always do.”
He claps my shoulder as he passes. We’re teammates in something straightforward. This is just another logistical puzzle and not a warning shot.
That’s the thing about being reliable. Folks decide who you are for you. They see a problem and assume you’ll shoulder it, because you always have.
When the door closes behind him, the bell rings softer somehow. The store itself disapproved.
The silence afterward is heavier than before.
Tommy shakes his head slowly. “Man’s allergic to reality.”
“He’s not wrong about one thing,” Terry says after a moment. “Town needs something to hold onto.”
I stare at the floorboards, at the grooves worn deep by generations of boots. “Normal doesn’t come back just because you ask it to.”
“And it sure as hell doesn’t come back because you schedule it,” Tommy adds.
Neither of them argue.
I pay, nod once, and head back out into the daylight.
I don’t plan to stop at the bakery. I just… do.
My boots slow as I pass the window, the glass fogged slightly from warmth inside.
The bell above the door is softer than the one at the feed store. Friendlier. It expects people to come in carrying good news, or at least an appetite.
The smell hits me the second I step inside.
Butter. Sugar. Yeast.
The kind of smells that exist because someone got up early and decided the world was worth feeding, even if it didn’t feel that way yesterday. Maybe especially then.
Millie McDougal looks up from behind the counter, flour dusted on her apron. She’s been wrestling dough since dawn.Her eyes sharpen the way they always do when she clocks exactly who just walked in.
