Chapter 10
Becca
“Welcome back to Somebody Said in Sweetbriar, where I’ve recently learned that stability comes in the form of fluorescent lighting, a name tag, and knowing exactly where the Slim Jims are.
And also in the form of a borrowed jacket that still smells faintly like clean laundry and someone who looks at you like you’re worth remembering. ”
Afew days after Holloway’s with Levi, I was hired at the Stop & Go.
I hadn’t planned for this to be my life.
Then again, I hadn’t planned on any of it—the trailer, the river, rebuilding everything from scratch at an age when I’d expected to be building something else entirely.
But plans and I had a complicated relationship, and the Stop & Go had a schedule taped to the breakroom wall, a regular paycheck, and my old friend Elizabeth, who knew when not to ask questions.
For now, that was enough.
The Sweetbriar Stop & Go sat right in the middle of town.
Four slightly crooked gas pumps wrapped around the side, always occupied by someone waving apologetically while taking forever.
Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, scuffed linoleum stuck a little under my sneakers, and coolers hummed along the back wall like patient old friends, and shelves packed tight with snacks that somehow knew exactly when you were trying not to buy them, especially the Cool Ranch Doritos.
It was kind of famous, though—not for the gas, definitely not for the bathrooms, but for the breakfast burritos.
Foil-wrapped, suspiciously heavy, the kind of thing people planned their mornings around.
Contractors swore by them. High school kids lived on them.
Half the town pretended they didn’t eat gas station food while absolutely eating the Stop & Go’s breakfast burritos.
By eight a.m., the warmer was usually empty.
By nine, someone was complaining about it like a personal betrayal while begging Elizabeth’s Aunt Donna to make more.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, the familiar mix of burnt coffee, spicy burritos, and faintly sweet cinnamon rolls greeting me like an old acquaintance. I clocked in, pinned my name tag to my jacket, and took my place behind the counter.
Elizabeth had hired me the same way she did most things, efficiently, with mild sarcasm and no unnecessary sympathy. We’d gone through school together, traveling in the same circles of friends since kindergarten. She was sarcastic, always good for a laugh, and one of my favorite people in town.
“Show up on time, don’t steal, and don’t freak out when someone pays in change,” she’d said. “Congratulations. You’re qualified.”
I knew the rhythm of the place now—the slow afternoons when the sun slanted through the windows and painted long golden rectangles on the floor, the regulars who bought the same scratchers every day, the exact shelf where the good beef jerky disappeared first. I liked the predictability.
I liked that the worst decision I had to make on most shifts was whether to restock the cooler or wipe down the counters first.
Elizabeth was already there when I showed up, leaning against the counter with a coffee and a look on her face that said she was already over the day.
She glanced up as I came out of the back, eyes flicking over me with practiced efficiency as she balled up a burrito wrapper and tossed it into the trash.
“You’re early,” she said.
“I respect the sanctity of breakfast burritos,” I replied. “And the people who would riot without them.”
She snorted. “Good answer. You restocked the bathrooms yesterday, right?”
“Yes. And the chip display.”
“Excellent.” She took a sip of her coffee, then tilted her head at me. “Did you sleep last night?”
One time. On my first day, I mentioned I was tired. That I couldn’t sleep. She asked me about it every shift. But she was cool. Just enough concern to let me lie to her without turning it into a whole thing.
“A few hours,” I said.
She nodded once, like that was acceptable. “Good. I’ve got paperwork and a dentist appointment I’m pretending not to dread. Try not to burn the place down while I’m out.”
“I make no promises. But I’ll do my best.”
“Hey, that’s all I can ask.” She grinned, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Oh—and if anyone asks, we’re out of breakfast burritos because you personally ate the last one. I would never.”
“I’ll cover for you,” I laughed, as the bell chimed behind her.
The store settled into its afternoon pace almost immediately.
A contractor came in for snacks and a soda, grumbling good-naturedly about the price of gas.
A mom with two kids argued over candy choices at the register.
I wiped down the counter, straightened a crooked rack of sunglasses, and told myself—again—that I was perfectly fine. I was safe here.
The Stop & Go was the kind of place everyone passed through, whether they meant to or not.
I liked that it was central. Public. Visible.
I liked that there were windows on three sides and a camera mounted in the corner near the ceiling, angled just enough to catch the counter and the front door.
Elizabeth had pointed it out on my first day, tapping the monitor with her pen.
It records, she’d said. It helped. Knowing that.
The bell chimed, and a man I didn’t recognize stepped inside.
Mid-thirties, maybe. Clean jacket. Nice boots. The kind of smile that looked easy without being warm. He paused just inside the door, eyes moving slowly over the store like he was taking it in.
“Afternoon,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral.
He wandered the aisles without picking anything up, fingers brushing the edge of the shelves. Stopped by the front window, gaze drifting past the gas pumps, toward the road. Toward the river beyond it.
“Busy today?” he asked.
“Comes and goes.”
He nodded, as if that answered something for him. “Nice town.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
He bought a bottle of Coke. Then gave me a small, polite wave and left, the bell chiming cheerfully behind him.
I stood there for a moment after he was gone, staring at the door.
The image of him walking away slid uncomfortably into place alongside the memory of that red light blinking through the trees.
Of a shape half-hidden by branches. Of the feeling that someone had been there.
It was the vibes he gave me. I told myself it didn’t mean anything.
But my hands shook anyway, and no amount of fluorescent light made that feeling go away.
It was probably nothing. Who freaked out over freaking vibes?
Paranoid wierdos, that’s who. But my heart was still beating a little too fast, my skin buzzing like it hadn’t gotten the memo.
I glanced at the security camera’s red light and shuddered as I thought of Levi’s quiet “Text me if you need anything.”
I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over his name.
I didn’t text. But knowing I could made the quiet feel a little less heavy.
I was still standing there when the bell chimed again. This time I jumped.
“Whoa—hey, hey—sorry,” a familiar voice said quickly.
Levi.
Of course, it was Levi. Did he have a sixth sense of knowing when I needed him? I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anybody. What the hell was wrong with me?
He stood just inside the door, palms up like I was a skittish horse he was trying not to spook, eyes already scanning me with concern.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Totally,” I said immediately. “Thriving. Flourishing. Living my best gas-station-attendant life.”
He didn’t smile right away. He stepped closer and rested his palms on the counter. Close enough that I caught the faint cedar-and-smoke scent that always clung to him. Close enough that the knot in my chest loosened just a fraction.
“You jumped,” he said softly. “When I came in. I—”
“You startled me,” I admitted before he could ask questions. “That’s all.”
His gaze held mine. “If it’s more than that, you can tell me.
” He studied me for another second, then leaned forward, close enough that I could see the faint line between his brows.
The one he got when he was worried but trying not to push.
“Did Travis stop by?” he asked quietly. He assumed I was jumpy because of Travis.
I blinked. “No.”
His jaw flexed once. Protective without being bossy about it.
It did something extremely unhelpful to my pulse.
“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping lower, eyes flicking over my face like he was cataloging every micro-expression.
“You can tell me. I wish you would. I’ll handle him for you. I’ll do anything you need.”
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” I said. Then, to change the mood, “You’re going to give the guy an ego if you keep assuming he’s lurking around every corner.”
Levi exhaled through his nose, the tiniest almost-laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” I said, softer now. “I’m okay.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. I wasn’t in immediate danger. I was just vibrating internally like a live wire. Half because I was still freaked out, and the other half because of the six-foot-four-inch firefighter currently standing way too close and looking at me like I was the only thing worth seeing.
He tilted his head, studying me with that slow, deliberate gaze that made my stomach flip. The silence stretched, warm and electric, full of everything we weren’t saying out loud.
“Okay,” he said finally, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned one hip against the counter, arms crossed loosely, like he had all night. “If you say so.”
“You just startled me, that’s all.” I smiled. Big and bright, forcing myself out of the fear that had taken over. “Promise. I’m okay.”