“It was a tiny scratch!” Sadie protests, her hands on her hips. “A masterpiece would have been a much better solution.”
“I’m sure it would have been,” Shepard says, his smile widening. “But some of us prefer our cars to be a single, uniform color.”
Sadie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You guys are no fun.”
Shepard’s gaze shifts to me, his expression turning more serious. “I heard there was a bit of a problem at the Cocoa Nook,” he says. “It was closed up all of yesterday. Is everything alright?”
I feel a flush of heat creep up my neck. “There was a misunderstanding,” I say tightly. “But we’re hoping to reopen soon.”
He nods, his expression sympathetic. “Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need anything.”
Elias walks over then, a clipboard in his hand. “Here’s the quote for your truck,” he says, handing it to Shepard. He scans the paper, his brow furrowed. “Looks fair,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “Let’s get this taken care of.”
They handle the transaction, a quick, efficient exchange of cash and paperwork.
I say my goodbyes to Shepard and Sadie, promising to stop by the library once it’s up and running again. Then I turn my attention to the reason we’re here.
The truck’s sitting in the corner of the garage, a mangled, twisted wreck of metal and glass. The front end is completely caved in, the radiator pushed back into the engine block, thehood crumpled like a piece of paper. It looks even worse than I remember.
Elias walks with me, his expression grim. “It’s not pretty,” he explains. “But I think I can fix her. It’s going to take some time, and it’s not going to be cheap, but she’s a good, solid truck. She’s worth saving.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Thanks, Elias. I appreciate it.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about a thing, son. I’ll take good care of her.”
We finish up the consultation, discussing timelines and parts, the details a blur of technical jargon that I barely comprehend. My mind is elsewhere, drifting back to Millie, to the look on her face when I walked in, to the scent of Maddox clinging to her skin.
We’re back in the truck, the engine a low, comforting rumble, when I break the silence. “Can you believe Millie had a crush on that guy?”
“Elias?” Knox asks, his gaze fixed on the road.
“No, Shepard,” I clarify.
I watch him think about it for a moment.
“The quiet, intelligent librarian with the kind eyes and the gentle smile? It’s not a stretch.”
“I can see it,” I admit. “He’s a good guy.”
“She really has no type, huh?” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.
We both laugh, a shared moment of absurdity in the midst of everything.
“No,” I say. “But I’m glad we at least made the cut.”
“Me too.” His gaze softens. “Me too.”
He’s talking again, his voice a low, excited drone about sticky buns and cream cheese frosting, about the importance of a good breakfast before a long day of dealing with the town’s problems. I’m only half-listening, my mind still reeling from theconversation about Shepard, from the realization of how wrong I’ve been.
And then my phone rings.
I pull it out of my pocket, my heart already starting to pound in my chest. The caller ID displays my best friend’s name.
I answer it, my hand suddenly trembling. “Maddox?”
“Liam,” he says, his voice a frantic, panicked rush of words. “Thank god. I’ve been trying to call you.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, my blood running cold. “Is it Millie? Is she okay?”
