How did they get my number?
Across town, Silas straightened in his chair.
“That’s new,” he said quietly.
He watched as her breathing changed—faster now, sharper. Watched her glance toward the door like someone might already be there.
“They’re getting sloppy,” he added. “And bold.”
He stood.
“Which means she’s closer than she thinks.”
Beccalocked the phone and set it face down on the counter, palms flat beside it. The shop suddenly felt too open. Too exposed.
For the first time since opening the doors that morning, she wished—really wished—someone else was there.
She didn’t know it yet.
But someone already was.
Watching.
Waiting.
And not about to let them take what was hers.
Becca closed the shop early.
She didn’t announce it. Didn’t explain herself. Just flipped the sign, shut down the machines, and stood there for a moment with her hand resting against the glass door like she was steadying herself before a storm.
The conversation with Inez still lingered in her chest — warm, grounding, familiar in a way nothing else had been lately.
A weekend visit.
A date on the calendar.
Something solid to look forward to.
For the first time in days, Becca felt like shecould breathe again.
The drive home was quiet. No music. Just the hum of tires against pavement and the low ache behind her ribs that came whenever she knew she was done avoiding something.
By the time she pulled into her driveway, the sky had dimmed to that soft blue-gray hour where everything looked suspended. Her house sat exactly the way she’d left it that morning — calm, unassuming, a lie of safety she both loved and resented.
Inside, she kicked off her boots and set her keys down with intention.
Tonight wasn’t about spiraling.
Tonight was about answers.
She poured herself a glass of water instead of wine. Sat at the kitchen island. Opened her laptop.
The real estate agent’s emails stared back at her — polite, persistent, relentless.
Just wanted to check in.
There’s considerable interest.
