Chapter 11
Kayla
I heard Ben’s truck pull into the driveway next door just after seven. The engine cut, a door closed, and I absolutely did not set down my pencil and listen.
I was sketching. The deck had good light this time of day, and the Barley deadline wasn’t getting any further away. I had no reason to be paying attention to sounds from the front of the house.
But my brain had already conjured the image anyway—like how it kept doing lately, at inconvenient moments, without my permission.
If I’d had to draw Ben from memory, I could have done it without hesitating. A strong jaw, deep-set eyes that changed color depending on the light—brown in shadow, green-gold in the sun. A face that was all clean angles, interesting rather than pretty, the kind that would only improve with age.
Nothing like Craig, who’d been all product-in-the-hair, watches-himself-in-every-reflective-surface good looks. Ben was less polished and more real.
Yesterday, he’d knocked on my door to return the plate from the chicken dinner. He’d also been holding a to-go cup of lemon ginger tea from the shop on Elm. Still warm. Two sugars.
We’d stood in my doorway trading thank-yous while the steam curled between us, and neither of us had known how to turn the moment into an actual conversation.
Then William had come barreling outside, yelling that Jolly was at the fence, and Ben had spent twenty minutes throwing pinecones with my son and his dog while I’d watched from the kitchen and forgotten how to breathe normally.
Because that was the other thing. The fence.
Jolly had broken another slat, and instead of replacing it, Ben had pulled down two more on either side.
Older ones, weathered and starting to split.
He’d cleared them out and left a gap about a foot and a half wide at the bottom—big enough for a boy to sit cross-legged on one side and a dog to lie on his belly on the other, nose to nose through the opening.
He hadn’t asked. Hadn’t mentioned it. He’d just done it. Like dismantling a fence for a six-year-old and a dog was the most practical decision in the world.
Everything about this man pulled at me, and that pull terrified me.
The last time I’d let myself feel this affectionate, dangerous tug toward someone, I’d chosen Craig Dutton. And my son had paid the price.
My laptop was on the table beside my sketchbook, notification light blinking. I tapped the screen awake out of habit.
Two new emails. One from my editor. The other from an address I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t need to. Craig cycled through new accounts the way other people cycled through passwords. The subject line was all I saw before I closed my eyes.
You can keep running, but we both know how this ends. You’re not built to be alone, Kayla. I’ve been patient. More patient than you deserve. But my patience has a—
I dragged it to the Evidence folder without opening it. My hands weren’t shaking. A few months ago, they would have been. But steady hands didn’t mean steady everything—my chest was tight, and the warmth had drained out of the afternoon like someone had pulled a plug.
I didn’t believe his words anymore. Therapy had dismantled that particular lie, piece by piece.
But the fear underneath was harder to reach.
Not that no one would want me, but that I’d choose wrong again.
That I’d look at a man and see something solid and real, and it would turn out to be another mirage.
William’s laughter rose over the fence, bright and wild, and I let it push Craig’s voice back where it belonged.
I tried to work on Barley’s ears, but my focus was gone.
I set the sketchbook aside and watched William instead.
He was on his belly in the grass, face inches from the gap in the fence.
Jolly mirrored him on the other side—dark head resting on his front paws, tail sweeping the ground.
William was talking, earnest and steady, the voice he used when he was telling Jolly something important.
My phone rang before I could pick the pencil back up. Trish.
“Okay, don’t panic, but I have terrible news.” She got the words out before I could even say hello.
I laughed. “The last time you said that, Theo had flushed a Hot Wheels car down your toilet.”
“This is worse. The reptile guy canceled for the assembly tomorrow.”
I sat up straighter. “What? Why?”
“Sick. The zoo called an hour ago. No snakes, no lizards, no boa constrictor. It’s off.”
“The assembly is tomorrow, Trish.”
“I’m aware. Mrs. Patterson is having a meltdown.
I’ve been working the phones for the last hour—magicians, science presenters, that bubble show guy.
Everyone’s either booked or can’t come on this short notice.
” A pause. “I’m seriously considering just standing up in front of two hundred kids and doing card tricks.
I don’t know any card tricks, but how hard can it be? ”
“Please don’t do card tricks.”
“You’re right. I’d panic and throw the cards. It would be a disaster.” The humor drained from her voice. “Kayla, William’s class has been counting down the days. Theo made a paper chain to count them. A paper chain.”
“I know. Let me think. If anything comes to me, I’ll call you right back.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You listened to me spiral. That counts.”
I hung up and dropped the phone on the table. Two hundred kids and no backup plan. I turned it over while the light went soft around me, shadows stretching long across the yard, but nothing came.
“William.” I walked to the edge of the deck. “Time to come inside.”
His head popped up from the grass. “Five more minutes?”
“You’ve had five more minutes three times already.”
“But Jolly and I are in the middle of something.”
“How about tomorrow, okay? Go get a snack and pick out some books. I’ll be in to help you wash up in a few minutes.”
He pushed himself up with exaggerated slowness, crouched at the gap in the fence to whisper something to Jolly—a private goodbye I couldn’t hear—and dragged his feet across the yard toward the deck.
“Jolly’s going to miss me,” he said as he passed.
“He’ll survive until morning.”
William disappeared inside, the screen door slapping shut behind him.
I turned back toward the yard and stopped.
Ben was standing at the new fence opening, one hand resting on the top of a remaining slat. Jolly sat beside him, leaning into his leg, tail sweeping the ground. Ben must have come out while I was talking to William. I walked across the yard to them.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He glanced at the opening. “I should explain the renovations.”
“You mean the part where you demolished my fence?”
“Pretty sure neither of us owns it. Which means, technically, I vandalized our landlords’ property.” He tested the stability of the slat under his hand. “Those slats were going to fail anyway. Controlled demolition was better than letting Jolly handle it.”
“His approach being overly enthusiastic to return pinecones.”
“His approach being a seventy-five-pound wrecking ball with no respect for property lines.” He tested the stability of the slat under his hand. “I should’ve asked first. If you want me to put them back—”
“Don’t you dare.”
His eyes warmed. Not quite a smile but something that changed the whole temperature of his expression. A degree of openness.
“Okay. They stay down.”
“William would never forgive either of us if that gap disappeared.”
“Jolly either. He beelines here every time we get home.” Sure enough, Jolly was sticking his head through the opening, obviously looking for William.
I patted Jolly’s head. “Best friends who can’t even be in the same yard.”
“Romeo and Juliet. If Romeo was a Belgian Malinois and Juliet was a first grader.”
I snorted. “Did you just make a Shakespeare reference?”
“Hey, I went to high school. Barely.” The faintest movement appeared at the corner of his mouth again. “I also want to thank you again for dinner the other night. That chicken and rice might have saved my life.”
“It was chicken and rice, not a defibrillator.”
“You haven’t seen what I’ve been eating. A gas-station burrito almost took me out last week.”
“A gas-station burrito. Ben. No.” I clutched my chest in mock horror.
“It was late. I was desperate. Mistakes were made.”
I laughed—a real one, surprised out of me before I could catch it. He watched my reaction with that quiet attention, and I caught something tender behind his eyes, there and gone.
“Well, again, if you ever need rescuing from gas-station food again, I usually cook more than William and I can eat.”
Was that flirting? That sounded like flirting. I hadn’t flirted with anyone in so long, I wasn’t sure I’d recognize it coming out of my own mouth.
“And the tea was a thank-you. For the dinner. Not a bribe.”
“I didn’t think it was a bribe.”
“Good. Because I don’t know what I’d be bribing you for.”
“Continued fence-destruction privileges. Obviously.”
Something flickered at the corner of his mouth. If this was flirting, neither of us was going to win any awards for it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Trish again.
No luck. Called every presenter on the list. Nobody available. 200 kids + broken promises = mutiny. I’m open to literally any idea.
I sighed.
“Everything okay?” Ben asked.
“School drama. William’s elementary school had an assembly scheduled for tomorrow.
We had arranged for the reptile guy from the zoo to come.
Live snakes, the whole thing. Kids have been counting down for weeks.
He just canceled. Sick. That was my friend Trish on the PTA.
She’s been calling every backup option she can find with no luck. ”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Two hundred kids expecting a boa constrictor and bearded dragons, about to get a movie in the gym instead.”
Ben was quiet for a moment. He looked down at Jolly, who had shifted from sitting to lying flat, chin on his paws, eyes tracking between us.
“Jolly and I have done school events before. K9 demonstrations—obedience, commands, some of the detection work. The kid-friendly version.” He paused. “It’s no bearded dragon, by any means. But if it would help, we could step in.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“You’d do that?”
“It’s not a big deal. Jolly’s good with kids.”
“Ben, you would be saving two hundred children from the crushing disappointment of a canceled snake show. That is, by definition, a big deal.”
One shoulder lifted. Minimal effort, maximum understatement. “We’re free. Jolly likes an audience.”
I typed fast.
What if I could get a K9 handler and his dog to do a demonstration? Real police K9. My neighbor—he’s helping Summit Falls PD set up their K9 program. Professional, great with kids.
…
ARE YOU SERIOUS??!!
Yes.
KAYLA CAFFERTY, IF YOU ARE MESSING WITH ME, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!
Not messing. He just offered.
I COULD KISS YOU. Actually, I could kiss HIM. Is he single? Never mind. YES! A thousand times yes. Calling Mrs. Patterson now. Tell your neighbor he is a HERO.
I looked up. “Trish says yes. Also that you’re a hero. Also, she wants to know if you’re single, but I’m ignoring that part.”
“Noted.”
“I’ll get you the details later tonight. Exact time, location, how many kids for certain.”
“We’ll be ready.” He scratched behind Jolly’s ears. “He hasn’t done a school visit in a while. He’ll enjoy it.”
The evening had gone gold around us. That mountain light that made everything look warmer than it was saturating the yard, the fence, the man standing three feet away with his hand on his dog’s head.
He’d torn down a fence for my son. Brought me tea with two sugars because he’d been paying attention. And now he was volunteering to walk into a gym full of two hundred children because someone he barely knew needed help.
“Ben.”
He looked up from Jolly.
I didn’t think about it. If I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t have done it. I’d have cataloged the reasons it was too soon, too risky, too much.
I’d have let the fear win.
Instead, I leaned across the gap where the fence used to be and kissed him.
Brief. His mouth was warm, and he went completely still—not pulling away, not pushing forward. My hand found the top of the slat beside his, rough wood under my fingers. His breath caught, just barely, a sound I felt more than heard.
I pulled back. My heart was hammering.
Ben hadn’t moved. His hand was still on the fence. His eyes were on my face, and what I saw in them was the most unguarded thing he’d shown me. Not surprise exactly, but something that had been held carefully in place for a very long time and was now quietly rearranging itself.
“Sorry,” I said, because apparently kissing someone and immediately apologizing was my new signature move. “I don’t know why I—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t apologize for that.”
His voice was low, quiet, and absolutely certain. He was looking at me with a steadiness that left no room for doubt. Jolly’s tail thumped the ground between us. The only sound in the yard.
“Okay,” I said. “I won’t.”
He held my gaze for another beat. Then he looked down at Jolly, and when he looked back up, some of the composure had returned—not all the way, not like before, but enough.
“I should confirm the schedule with Donovan. Make sure we don’t have a conflict at the station tomorrow.”
“And I should go help William wash up before he falls asleep in a pile of books.”
Neither of us moved.
Jolly let out a long, suffering sigh and dropped his head to his paws.
“Goodnight, Kayla.”
“Goodnight, Ben.”
I walked back across the yard at a normal, adult pace. I did not touch my mouth. I did not look back.
But by the time I reached the deck, I was smiling so hard my face ached.
Inside, William was on the couch with a stack of picture books and a granola bar, already in his pajamas.
“Mom, I picked four books. Is four okay?”
“Four is perfect, buddy.”
He looked at me, head tilted.
“You look happy,” he said.
I sat beside him and pressed my lips to the top of his head. “I am happy. Because of a lot of things.” I wanted to tell him about Ben and Jolly and the assembly, but I knew better. We needed one hundred percent confirmation first, just in case. “Now, which book first?”
He held up a well-worn copy of a book about a dog who saves a farm.
“This one.”
I took it from his hands, opened to the first page, and started to read.