Page 118 of No Good Fight

A car passes on the road, slow enough that I stop turning the screw.

Alex follows my line of sight. The car keeps going. Gray sedan, older model, no front plate issue, one brake light dim.

When I look down, Alex is holding the tray higher.

“Here,” she says, because I need the next screw, and because she’s not going to let me drift too far from the task at hand.

The camera feed opens on my phone a minute later when I finish the installation. Garage. Side yard, and shows a sliver of the road. Better angle than before, though not perfect. Nothing is perfect. A person could still stay low near the woodpile or they could come in from the drainage ditch if they didn’t care about mud. A person desperate enough to risk daylight could risk a camera too.

Alex steps close enough to see the screen. Her hair brushes my arm. “That dark spot by the stacked wood.”

“I saw it.”

She nods once and writes something on the map balanced against the side of the ladder.

Woodpile of Bad Intentions.

I should argue but I don’t because Alex is taking my fear and anxiety about this, and she’s turning it into something we can fix together.

We work through the afternoon, and I’m not even ashamed to admit that it’s the best time I’ve ever spent with someone. And it reminds me that I need to take her on an actual date.

I mount the east camera while Alex labels the feed Bad Vibes Side Yard. I install the window sensors while she follows with the app open, testing each alert and renaming them in ways that would make a security professional question both of us.

Porch Witness. Garage Goblin. Murder Maple. Back Door Drama. I let her have her fun for a few minutes before taking the phone from her and changing Back Door Drama to Kitchen Entry.

She changes it back when I’m tightening the motion light under the eave.

By the time I notice, she’s at the kitchen table pretending to read the router backup instructions, her mouth tucked like she’s hiding a smile.

The normalness of it catches me worse than the anxiety of her being hurt did.

I want all of it, and I’m going to do what I have to keep these moments forever.

Alex in my kitchen, marker smudged on her thumb. Her stealing a sip from my coffee even though hers is right there and definitely filled with her fancy creamer in a way mine isn’t. Her phone charging beside mine near the outlet, with a much sparklier charging cord. Those ridiculous labels filling my security app until my house looks less like a fortress and more like a place someone plans to live their best life in.

I stand in the doorway too long with the drill hanging from one hand.

She looks up from the instruction booklet. “What?”

I shake my head and cross to the table for the battery pack. Her eyes narrow, but she lets me have the silence because I’m not ready to tell her that I need her forever. Not yet.

That might be the most dangerous thing about her. She doesn’t always force the door open to a conversation. Sometimes she waits beside it until I walk through on my own.

The router backup takes longer than it should because the outlet behind the cabinet is blocked by a stack of old cookbooks I never use and a bag of zip ties I absolutely do. Alex crouches beside me and passes me cords while I work. Every few minutes, her knee bumps mine. Every time, I have to remind myself that touching her doesn’t have to mean checking for damage. I can touch her just because I enjoy it, and I want to.

The power strip clicks on and the router light holds steady. I test the backup twice, cutting power and watching the feed stay live without even a momentary loss.

Alex sits back on her heels. “That makes me feel better.”

I look at her before I can stop myself. I know her words aren’t to be taken lightly. Her gaze is on the monitors, not me.

“I wish it was enough,” I tell her.

She picks up the marker from the floor and caps it with a firm click. “I’m not asking for more. This is enough. I like knowing what we have.”

We.

The word stays in the room after she moves away.