Chapter 5
One Week Later
Kyla paused at thethreshold, shifted her tote higher on her shoulder, and let the clang of cots and the thin edge of crying children sharpen her focus.The high school gym carried the smell of damp wool, industrial coffee, and nerves that never settled.
Wet sneakers slapped across the court as someone rushed past, leaving a streak of muddy water she stepped over without breaking stride.Rain tapped harder against the high windows, a steady buildup that blurred the outside into streaks of gray.
She pressed her tongue to her back teeth and counted through the reasons she was here.She could run a kitchen without thinking.No man, no matter how local or broad through the shoulders, would see her lose control.
Folding tables lined the walls, stacked with donations that leaned toward excess in some places and scarcity in others.Cans of beans, boxes of diapers, trays of cookies wrapped in plastic that had already begun to soften.
The court itself had disappeared beneath cots and borrowed blankets, bodies drawn close together as if proximity alone could keep everything from slipping further.
Tension showed in small movements: a cough pressed into a sleeve, a teenager staring too hard at a dark phone screen, two boys darting between rows until a woman reached out and caught one by the collar without looking.
Kyla kept moving, her boots striking the worn floor with a steady rhythm as she passed a makeshift desk set beneath a trophy case.Someone tried to hand her a clipboard.She declined with a single shake of her head that ended the exchange before it began.
The kitchen pass-through glowed on the far side, fluorescent light cutting through the softer tones of the gym.Through the smeared window above the counter, she caught a flash of a red bandana and a thick forearm working a ladle through a steel vat.
Titus.Of course.
A figure stepped out from near the snack bar, boots heavy, keys shifting with each step.Sheriff Mitchell tipped his chin and lifted two fingers toward the kitchen doors.No explanation, no instructions—just the look that said enough.
Kyla resisted the urge to react.Mitchell’s ideas about pairing people had never been subtle, but the whole town had shown up tonight.She wiped her palms against her jeans, squared her shoulders, and crossed the floor toward the kitchen.
The swing door pushed back with resistance as she drove through it, and the change in temperature struck immediately.Heat pressed in, thick with garlic and spice, the air dense with the work already underway.
For a second, Titus didn’t look up.His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, forearms streaked, wrist flexing as he stirred a pot large enough to feed most of the gym.
His posture gave away more than his expression did.Back straight.Jaw tight.Movement steady, though the fatigue at the edges of it showed if she let herself look long enough.
She didn’t.
Kyla set her bag down on a crate of potatoes, found an apron that passed for clean, and tied it at her waist with quick, practiced movements.She stepped into the space without waiting to be acknowledged, reached for a knife, and pulled an onion from the nearest bin.
“You got a plan, Brooks,” she said, setting the blade to the board, “or are you hoping brute strength solves dinner?”
Titus didn’t stop stirring.“Didn’t know you preferred it thin.”
She cut through the onion with clean, even strokes.“Didn’t know you could taste anything with that sense of humor.”
The exchange settled into place as if it had been waiting for them.The radio near the sink pushed out a low country song that no one listened to closely.Kyla moved into the prep rhythm, sliding skins aside, keeping her hands busy and her focus locked where it belonged.Even so, she tracked him without meaning to: the shift of his stance, the way his grip changed on the spoon, the quiet tap of his boot against the floor.
The kitchen held the heat while rain struck the gym windows outside, the sound faint but persistent.She worked faster, letting the pace carry her through the first layer of tension.
A sharp clang cut through the space as Titus set a lid down harder than necessary.He turned, closing the distance by a step without crowding her outright.“If you’re talking, make it useful.That side needs garlic.”
