She ignored that, of course, hopping out beside me. Together we walked the perimeter, gravel crunching under our boots. Nothing broken, no signs of forced entry. The only footprints belonged to us and a stray cat.
Still, my gut wouldn’t unclench.
Inside, everything was exactly where we’d left it. The smell of lemon bars lingered faintly in the air, a ghost of calm that made the unease worse. I checked the breaker box, then the back-door latch, trying not to let her see how automatic it all was—this old habit of searching rooms that didn’t need searching.
Finally, she leaned against the counter. “Satisfied?”
“Almost.” I pulled out my phone, snapping a few photos of the tire tracks before they vanished in the dust. “I’ll send these to Palmer, just in case.”
Her tone softened. “You think someone’s watching?”
“I think Penny’s name still stirs dust in Red Hollow.”
She didn’t argue, just crossed the room and set a hand on my arm. “Hey. Whatever this is, we’ll handle it. Together.”
That word—together—hit deeper than I expected.
Thunder rolled far off over the ridge, a single low growl that promised rain.
The storm arrived like an old friend. Clouds stacked over the horizon, wind stirring the wheat grass into restless silver waves. We finished locking up just as the first drops hit. She darted under the awning, laughing when a gust chased a spray of water across the steps.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “You’d think you scheduled it.”
“Efficient,” I said, and she shook her head, smiling.
Lightning flashed, followed by the soft crack of thunder. The world smelled of rain and pine sap. She leaned against the railing, arms folded, gaze lost somewhere in the curtain of water.
“Kind of pretty, isn’t it?” she said.
“Depends on whether it takes the power lines again.”
She nudged my shoulder. “You could find a storm cloud in a sunshine parade.”
I started to reply, but she turned, face lit faintly by the porch light, and all the careful words scattered.
“Milly,” I said instead, “whoever made that call… if they’re trying to spook us, they’re wasting their time.”
She tilted her head, rain, light flickering across her smile. “Us?”
“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a heartbeat, she searched my face, as if deciding whether to believe me. Then she stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on my chest. “Good. Because I’m done being scared.”
The porch light buzzed once and went out, leaving us in the soft gray of rain and lightning. I could see her eyes, bright even in the dark.
“I love you,” she said quietly. “Even when life’s just lemon bars and weird phone calls.”
A laugh caught somewhere in my throat. “That’s specific.”
“It’s our kind of specific.”
I touched her cheek, rain dampening the air between us, and kissed her—slow, certain. When we parted, she was still smiling.
“I love you too, Milly,” I said. “And I’ll keep saying it until you’re sick of dessert.”
She laughed softly. “Never going to happen.”
We stayed there until the storm gentled, the rain sliding off the roof in long steady sheets. She leaned against me, head tucked beneath my chin, and the world seemed—for one impossible hour—safe again.
