Zoey pretended a lot of things were nothing.
Was she pushing herself too hard again? Was she hunched over that laptop right now while Markie shouted obscenities in the background? Had she remembered to take the pain medication, or had she decided she didn’t need it the way she didn’t like needing help?
There was nothing I could do about any of that from here.
Work usually solved that kind of restless energy. If my hands stayed busy, my thoughts tended to follow. Except, it wasn’t working so well today.
Mr. Harlan was glowering at me. It took me a moment to realize he had been speaking again, and I had missed most of it.
I spoke before he could gather enough momentum to start over.
“Mr. Harlan,” I said quietly, “do you have anything better to do this morning than come over here and yell at people drinking coffee?”
Pete made a small choking sound behind me and I heard him turn away, probably hiding a smile.
Mr. Harlan’s mouth opened again, but no sound came out. His shoulders dropped a fraction and the anger drained from his face so quickly it caught me off guard. The reaction stirred the same surprise inside my chest. I hadn’t meant to snap at him.Frustration had slipped through the edges of my control without permission—that almost never happened.
I ran a hand over the back of my neck and forced myself to slow down.
This was not about Mr. Harlan.
The tension sitting under my ribs had a different source entirely, one that had followed me across the property.
I was worrying about someone who didn’t belong to me, someone who had made it very clear she preferred handling things on her own. The realization settled heavily in my gut. I was not behaving like my normal self, and the cause of that problem was currently sitting in a kitchen an hour away with blue hair and a stubborn refusal to let anyone take care of her.
Mr. Harlan looked down at the gravel. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”
The answer grabbed my attention immediately.
Wind moved through the trees behind us while Mr. Harlan studied the ground for several seconds, his shoulders slumping as though something had drained out of him.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Darlene used to keep me busy.”
The name settled between us. Pete straightened slowly behind me and the shift in his posture told me he recognized it too. Mr. Harlan continued staring at the gravel as he spoke.
“She died two years ago.”
The words came out flat, but they still carried weight.
“I keep thinking I’ll find something to do,” he continued. “Somewhere to go. Something to fix.” He gave a small shrug. “But the house is already fixed.”
Pete shifted quietly behind me.
Mr. Harlan cleared his throat. “So now I walk around complaining about noise.” He attempted a smile that faded almost as soon as it appeared. I recognized the shape of it. Griefhad a particular presence that was hard to miss once you knew it.
“Do you like venison stew?” I asked.
Mr. Harlan blinked at me. “What?”
“I’m making dinner tonight. Seven o’clock.”
He stared at me, confusion replacing the frustration that had been there earlier. I suspected the invitation surprised him as much as it surprised me. If I was honest, I needed something to occupy my thoughts this evening anyway.
Pete watched us with open approval.
Mr. Harlan frowned. “You’re inviting me to dinner?”
“Yes.”
