Chapter 3
BELLE
There is a specific kind of humility that comes from brushing your teeth in a gym bathroom at seven in the morning while a woman named Denise aggressively blow-dries her bangs three inches from your elbow.
I’ve made peace with it. Mostly.
I balanced my toiletry bag on the narrow counter, doing that careful dance of not letting anything touch the questionable tile. My shower had been quick. Gym mornings were about efficiency. In and out.
I changed into cut-off shorts and an oversized t-shirt, twisting my damp hair into a bun. The mirror under fluorescent lighting was not kind, but it was honest.
“You look amazing,” I said to myself. She did not argue.
Outside, the air carried that early-morning chill. The suffocating humidity had not taken hold yet. I crossed the street to Bread Zeppelin and ordered the cheapest coffee again.
“Day off?” Otto asked.
“Technically,” I said. “Emotionally? Unclear.”
He laughed like I was joking.
I took my cup to the small patio table and wrapped both hands around it. Steam curled up into the cool air.
A free day. No houses scheduled. No coffee shop shifts.
No immediate task screaming for attention.
Days off were rare for me. I had multiple places I picked up shifts.
Although the coffee shop across town that serves as a bookstore cafe combo was where I worked a few shifts every week when I wasn’t cleaning houses.
A full day off meant my brain filled the silence, which wasn't always great.
I could visit Dad. The thought rose automatically.
I loved visiting with him, but then I pictured the invoice sitting in my email.
Step-up care increased rate seemed impossible when the current payment was already past due.
My stomach tightened. Every visit felt like a promise I might not be able to keep.
I hated that the math crept into the tenderness.
He deserved better than a daughter who calculated minutes in pennies.
I sipped my coffee and stared at the sidewalk.
“Don’t spiral before eight a.m.,” I muttered.
I pulled out my phone, opened my banking app, and closed it immediately. No. Absolutely not. I did not need that level of violence before breakfast.
My mind drifted, unhelpfully, to Raphael Renault.
There was something about that man. He was big in a way that I knew he was strong, but not defined to the level that made him feel like a gym bro.
And he had the perfect amount of salt and pepper in his beard.
As attractive as I found him, he was intense.
I completely understood why people called him the beast.
And yet, he had followed Geoffrey. Inserting himself in the tour was odd. I couldn’t quite figure him out.
Evaluated or escorted. His jaw had tightened when I asked.
He’d said he didn’t tolerate distraction, which was funny because he had been the only one distracted.
I rolled my shoulders, shaking it off. He was a client.
Even if he was a brooding one with architectural cheekbones and unsettling focus. That was all.
And tomorrow, I would clean his study and not think about how his eyes had tracked me like I was a variable he couldn’t categorize.
I checked the time.
Too early to drop by Long Creek without feeling like I was hovering.
Too much brain noise to sit alone.
Which left one option.
I pulled up Eleanor’s contact. Eleanor and her precious haunting daughter had moved to Briar Glenn early this year, and we’d become fast friends.
Since then, she had gotten together with my teammate’s partner’s ex-husband.
It sounds way more confusing than it is.
They lived next to each other and had this co-parenting, perfect little pod.
I could use a little bit of her kind consistency this morning.
She answered on the second ring.
“Please tell me you’re coming over,” she said immediately.
I smiled.
“How did you know?”
“Your ‘I’m fine’ voice yesterday was unconvincing.”
“Rude,” I said.
“Accurate,” was her only response.
“Is Ava awake?” I asked.
“Unfortunately. She’s been up since six alphabetizing my vinyl collection.”
“Excellent. I love a music-driven child.”
“I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“I’m on my way.”
I hung up and started the engine. The van rattled slightly before settling into its familiar hum. Free day. No schedule. Just coffee, my best friend, and a child who believed punk rock could save the world.
I pulled out of the parking lot and told myself this was enough. That I could take one morning off from calculating survival. That I could just exist in someone else’s living room without doing the math.
The lie was weak. But it held . . . for now.
Eleanor’s front door opened before I even knocked.
Ava stood there like a tiny little Wednesday Addams.
“Belle,” she said with a small nod before opening the door wide and inviting me in.
“Hello, tiny human,” I said, with a light shoulder pat. “You look aggressively awake.”
“I reorganized mom’s vinyl collection,” she informed me proudly.
“I heard. Visionary.”
Eleanor leaned against the doorway, coffee mug in hand, watching me over the rim.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I’m going for the grunge chic look. I think it’s working.”
She hummed, unconvinced.
The house smelled like coffee and something sweet. It was safe and lived-in. The kind of space that held you instead of testing your structural integrity.
Ava tugged on my sleeve before I could even set my bag down.
“Can we see your van?” she asked, eyes wide.
Eleanor’s eyebrow twitched.
“Of course we can,” I said brightly. “It’s basically a studio apartment with wheels and questionable insulation.”
Ava smiled and padded to the door before slipping on her black Crocs with little ghosts in the holes. We trooped back outside, and I opened the side door with a flourish.
“Welcome,” I announced, “to #vanlife.”
Ava climbed in immediately, kneeling on the little bench seat and inspecting the fairy lights.
“You have curtains,” she said reverently.
“Privacy is very chic.”
She ran her hands over the small rug. “This is cozy.”
“It’s minimalist,” I said.
Eleanor stood just outside, arms crossed loosely, taking it all in.
When I’d decided to live in my van full-time, I’d work hard to convince my team that it was what I wanted. That I would spend the summer in the van, travelling between derby Bouts and living a carefree life. Some of them believed me . . . and some of them saw right through it.
Eleanor, she saw right through me. Her gaze lingered on the storage bins. The folded blankets. The way everything had a place because there was no room for excess.
“You sleep here?” she asked quietly.
“Yep,” I said easily. “She’s got everything I need.” I gave my van a loving pat.
“Belle,” Eleanor said in a cautious tone.
I smiled at her. “What? It’s cute.”
Ava had discovered the tiny shelf where I kept my paperbacks and my extra charger. “It’s like a little house,” she declared.
I swallowed something that wanted to turn sharp.
“Yes,” I said lightly. “A mobile one.”
Eleanor didn’t smile.
Ava flopped dramatically onto the makeshift bed. “I love it.”
“Of course you do,” Eleanor muttered. “You love camping in the living room.”
“Leo and I are going to have a backyard campout tonight,” Ava confirmed.
I laughed and ushered us back inside before Eleanor could start asking questions that required honest answers.
We ate toast and scrambled eggs at the kitchen table. I told them about the estate in vague, sanitized terms.
“Big house,” I said. “Lots of stone. It feels like a castle out of place here in Ohio.”
“Did you meet him?” Eleanor asked, casual but not.
“Raphael Renault?” I took a sip of coffee. “Yes. He introduced himself. Followed us down the hallway like he was making sure I didn’t steal anything.”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened. “Followed?”
“In a professional way,” I said. “Minimal looming.”
She did not look reassured. “Be careful,” she said quietly.
“Why do you say that?”
“I have met him at a few events my mother dragged me to. He is . . . intense.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I said with a rough chuckle.
“You do know they call him the Beast.”
“I can Google, Eleanor.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a careful sip of coffee. “I’m just looking out for you.”
My phone buzzed against the table.
I glanced at Eleanor, then at the screen.
Geoffrey H. — Renault Estate
That made my pulse do something strange.
I opened it.
Ms. Blythe,
Mr. Renault requires assistance with a project this afternoon. He would like to organize and catalog some of the estate's items. It would be out of your scope, and the estate would pay you directly. Double the rate for your time. If available.
I felt Eleanor watching me.
“You good?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said automatically.
My brain was already calculating. Double rate could cover—Stop. I typed back before I could overthink it.
Belle - Available. What time?
The response came quickly.
Geoffrey - As soon as convenient. Twelve p.m. would suffice.
Two hours.
Plenty of time to pretend I wasn’t jumping at it.
“I have to head out later,” I said, setting my phone down like it weighed nothing. “Extra work.”
Eleanor’s jaw tightened slightly. “I thought you were supposed to have today off.”
“I was,” I said brightly. “I’m choosing productivity.”
“Belle.”
“It’s double time.”
Silence. That was the wrong thing to say. Ava slid off her chair and wandered toward the living room, mercifully distracted by something shiny.
Eleanor leaned forward. “You don’t have to run yourself into the ground,” she said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I held her gaze. “I’m fine.”
We both knew that was a partial truth at best.
After spending a couple of hours catching up with her and watching Ava and Leo create a massive art piece on the driveway, it was time to go. I stood and grabbed my bag.
“Free day’s been lovely,” I said lightly. “But capitalism calls.”
Eleanor didn’t laugh. She hugged me instead.