Chapter 6
Six
Tarryn
I sink into the lounge chair and try to breathe like the world is quiet.
The tasting room closed an hour ago, but someone left the corner lamp on and the soft light makes the leather look warmer than it is.
Elise slides a board of crackers and fruit onto the low table and bumps it closer with her knee.
“Eat,” she says. “You ghosted lunch. I checked your calendar.”
“I didn’t ghost it,” I say. “I traded it for helping you in the tasting room.”
“I had to have the overnight delivery driver out four times today. Sales are going through the roof.”
“I really appreciate you coming in and helping Sadie out. She has the worst morning sickness. Poor thing. She’s seventeen weeks and not doing well.”
Ginny drifts in with two glasses and sets them down. “I poured a little. If you want more, there is more.” She means it as comfort, not pressure. She’s like that. Soft until she’s not.
Trinity shuts the door with her hip and leans on it like she might slide down the panel and nap. “If we don’t lock ourselves in here, someone will track us down and ask about something they deem important.”
“Close it,” Elise says. “We’re off the clock.”
“Off the clock,” Ginny echoes. “Let it be written.”
I laugh even though part of me wants to pace. “No writing on the walls. I just had them painted.”
“We know,” Trinity says. “You sent a photo with three arrows and the word finally.”
“I stand by that,” I say. “The painter committed art crimes with the old beige.”
“Justice was served,” Ginny says.
We pass the board clockwise. I bite like a good sport. I don’t want to talk about work or the fire and my plans for the cottage, or anything heavy. I want one hour where I’m not in charge of anything.
Elise tips one brow at me. “No work, lists, or what ifs. That’s the rule. Say you agree.”
“I agree,” I say.
Trinity lifts her glass like a salute. “To sisters and friends.”
Ginny smirks. “One hour. Then we can build a list of why we failed at no lists.”
“Don’t,” Elise says. She points the knife at the pear like it did something wrong. “We’re doing a thing called rest.”
“I’ve heard of it,” I say. “I can’t prove I’ve done it.”
Trinity leans on the arm of the couch and studies me. She has kind eyes when she’s worried. “How’s your chest?”
I frown. “My chest?”
“The tightness,” she says. “You keep pressing your palm there.”
I glance down at my hand. She’s right. I drop it fast. “It’s fine.”
Ginny gives me a look that says liar. Trinity clicks her tongue. “It would help if you slept more than four hours.”
“Thank you for that insight,” I say.
They laugh, but my mind will not stop flipping to gray eyes and a voice that knows how to cut me clean. I force my gaze to the table instead of the memory.
Elise watches me like a hawk. Calm and precise. “We can talk about anything. We don’t have to talk about that.”
“What is that?” Ginny says, too quick to be casual.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Which means everything,” Trinity says. She slides to the floor beside Ginny. “We didn’t come for nothing. We came for something. And the cheese.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sadie says as she joins us. “I came for the fruit.” She reaches for some red seedless grapes and pops them in her mouth.
“You came for both,” Ginny says. “We saw you eye the rind.”
Trinity nudges my knee. “Tell us why you’re wound tight when you said you wanted rest.”
I try to organize my words. They scatter.
Elise rescues me with a pivot I don’t expect. “Trinity, do you remember meeting Declan at your wedding?”
Trinity startles, then laughs. “I did? That whole day is a blur. I remember shoes and cake and my mother crying, asking me if I’d been at a wedding. I remember Sadie cutting my dress free from a nail before it snagged my dress as I walked the aisle. Declan is a smudge in the edge of that picture.”
“He carried the sound system,” Ginny says. “He didn’t wear a jacket. Said he ran hot.”
Sadie grins. “That checks out.”
“He said that,” Trinity says, her smile turning thoughtful. “I didn’t really know him. I talked to him during the reception.”
My stomach knots. “What did you talk about? He left the next day.”
“You’d run off to the bathroom as you were both leaving,” she says. “It was two minutes in a hallway. I was fixing my hair, and he stopped. He said something about how this family doesn’t do anything halfway. I laughed and told him that’s what makes us impossible to leave.”
“What did he say?” Ginny asks.
“That maybe impossible was the problem.” Trinity’s voice softens. “He wasn’t angry, just tired. Like someone who wanted to belong but didn’t know how. I asked if he was all right, and he said, ‘You’re lucky. You fit here.’ Then he smiled and said not to tell anyone he’d gone soft.”
The air in the room shifts. Even Sadie looks still.
“What did you think he meant?” I ask.
“That he loved you,” Trinity says simply. “And that it scared him.”
My pulse jumps. I drink water I don’t remember pouring.
Trinity lays a pear slice back on her plate, untouched. “He’s a good man, T. He just didn’t believe it yet. I didn’t say anything before because it felt private—his, not mine. But maybe you should know he wasn’t running from you. He was running from what he thought he couldn’t be.”
The word running lands in my chest and stays there. I want to shake it off, but it clings. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” she says. “It wasn’t mine to tell.”
Ginny leans in, her tone softer now. “You think he’ll stay this time?”
Trinity meets her gaze. “That depends on whether he’s still scared of belonging.”
I look at my friends. These are my people. They know when I’m hiding. The pull to keep it locked in tight wars with the pull to let it go.
“He’s back,” I say.
Trinity’s eyes widen before she schools them. “Declan.”
“Declan,” I confirm. The name lands heavy.
Ginny lights up like a cat spotting trouble. “When did you plan to tell us?”
“Now,” I say.
Sadie nudges my foot. “Start at the start.”
“The night of the fire,” I say. “For those of you who were only paying attention to the fire, he’s back, and he was on duty. He took care of us when we ran out of the house with barely anything on.”
Silence falls. I keep talking so I don’t choke. “He’s been feeding me information about what the fire investigator is finding. We met at Mikey’s, and I asked questions he didn’t want to answer. But we cleared the air.”
“That sounds like you,” Ginny says.
“It was a day ending in Y,” I say.
“Are you seeing him?” Sadie asks softly.
“No,” I say. “We’re not a thing. We’re two people in the same town. That’s all.”
Elise studies me. “Is that all?”
“Yes,” I say, too fast.
Ginny watches my face. “Your eyes disagree.”
“My face is out of practice,” I say.
Trinity watches me longer than I want her to. “I believe you mean it. I also think it doesn’t always stop what happens.”
I throw a cracker at her. “Rude.”
She laughs and eats it anyway.
Sadie’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You don’t have to talk about it tonight. Just don’t carry it alone.”
“I want a nap,” I say. “This should be the quiet part of the season, but not this year and I’m tired.”
Ginny claps. “Let’s finish this up and find some real food.”
Elise shakes her head. “We can’t. We have to say the hard thing.”
The room stills. I already know.
“I don’t think the fire was an accident,” I add. “And the fire investigator agrees.” I look around at everyone who is staring wide eye back at me. “I think someone did this.”
Ginny blurts, “Say it quieter so my brain doesn’t flip the table.”
Elise doesn’t blink. “The pattern was wrong. The smell was wrong. The detectors didn’t trip when they should have.”
“Could be wiring,” Trinity says. “Old builds do weird things.”
“It could,” Elise says. “But it doesn’t look like that.”
I shove up from my chair and pace. “We don’t have to decide this tonight.”
“We don’t,” Elise says. “But pretending it’s nothing will not protect us.”
Her words scrape at me. Images flash—the heat, the hiss, the way my throat burned. My breath stalls. I want boring answers. I want wiring. I don’t want her truth.
Sadie speaks softly, “Why would someone want you both dead?”
I can’t say that Max and Zach would love it if we weren’t around.
“If you’re right—and I believe you—we need a plan. One that helps and doesn’t make it worse.”
“Talk to Declan,” Ginny says.
“No,” I snap.
“Why not?” she pushes.
“Because I’ll not turn this into a line between us,” I say.
Trinity tilts her head. “You can talk and not sleep with him.”
If only she knew. It’s not that easy.
Elise cuts in. “This is not about him. It’s about us. We need information.”
“He won’t agree,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says. “But if he’ll give public updates, he can warn us what to watch for.”
“You think a call solves this,” I ask. “He may be telling me all he knows.”
“I think a call starts it,” she says. “And if nothing else we’ll find out if what he’s telling you is the same as what he will tell us.”
Sadie looks at me. “Who makes the call? You or someone else.”
Ginny surprises me by saying, “I will. I’ll ask for what is public. If he answers, fine. If not, I leave a message.”
She’s serious, not teasing. My throat eases. “Thank you.”
“I know you’d lose sleep if you did it,” she says. “Let me keep it boring.”
Relief and guilt wrestle in me. I nod.
Trinity shifts gears. “Greyson said you and Elise were thinking of finding an apartment together in town while they rebuild the cottage.”
The word stings. “We’re both living with our parents. I moved out for a reason.”
Elise touches my sleeve. “My dad sings in the shower—off tune.”
“If it is what you’re saying,” Trinity says, “then you need to stay where you’re at.”
Pride fights me. I want to refuse, but Sadie’s eyes shine wet. “We almost lost you both. Please do this.”
Her voice cracks just enough to cut through the pride. I nod. “Fine. We’re both staying with our parents.”
That lands like strategy, not defeat.
Ginny exhales. “Good. Thank you.”