Chapter 24
Joy hummed as she rearranged the small display shelf near the service window of Velvet Mornings where it was parked back in the storage garage. The subtle changes she’d made since the festival had transformed the space from merely functional to perfectly efficient. She stepped back, admiring the way the morning light caught the crystal vases she’d added for fresh flowers.
“Much better,” she murmured, adjusting one final detail.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Another notification from the Teton Tastes blog post. The comments section had exploded since Madeline had published her glowing review yesterday.
Joy grinned as she scrolled through the latest reactions, still unable to believe the response. Three different people had stopped her in the grocery store yesterday, asking when she’d be opening Velvet Mornings in Oak Creek. Mrs. Fuller had practically cornered her outside the post office, insisting she needed to try those fancy French toast sticks everyone was talking about. And also still asking about her casserole dish.
A notification popped up—another local business had shared the review.
“Guess the cat’s out of the bag now,” she said to herself, setting her phone down.
She grabbed her paintbrush and the small container of soft pink paint she’d mixed to touch up a scuff mark near the serving window. The color matched perfectly, blending the repair seamlessly with the rest of the truck’s exterior.
She took a step back to admire her work when it hit her—that familiar, heavy weight settling between her shoulder blades.
The distinct feeling of being watched.
Her muscles tensed instinctively. The brush froze mid-stroke.
“Bear?” she called, not turning around yet. It had to be him. “I thought you were working until five.”
Nothing. Just the distant sound of birds and the occasional car passing on the main road.
“Bear, I know you’re there,” she tried again, forcing lightness into her voice. She refused to let herself get panicked. “Did you finish early?”
The silence stretched, heavy and expectant.
She slowly lowered the paintbrush and turned, stepping down the stepladder. She scanned the area outside the garage’s open door, expecting to see Bear’s broad shoulders and easy smile, maybe leaning against his truck with that look he got whenever he caught her working—half pride, half something much more heated.
But the driveway was empty. So was the street beyond.
A chill that had nothing to do with the November air crept up her spine.
“Hello?” she called, hating how her voice wavered slightly. “Anyone there?”
The wind rustled through the trees along the fence line, sending dried leaves skittering across the pavement. Nothing else moved.
Her hand found the railing of the ladder, gripping it tightly. Her heartbeat quickened as she scanned the property more thoroughly—the empty area next to the garage, the tree line on the opposite side.
No one.
But God, she could swear someone was watching.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “No one’s here. This is all inside your fucked-up brain.”
But the sensation lingered, that prickling awareness that had haunted her for weeks after the attack. She’d been so sure it was finally gone. She hadn’t felt it since cleaning her house, since reclaiming her space and her life.
Since Bear.
Joy exhaled sharply, forcing her shoulders to relax. Her phone buzzed again on the counter inside the truck, startling her.
“Seriously, Joy,” she scolded herself. “Pull it together.”
She climbed back inside, grabbing her phone. It was a text from Sloane.
Heard you’re a celebrity now. When do we get to see Velvet Mornings in all her glory?
Joy laughed, the sound breaking the tension that had gripped her moments before. Her fingers flew across the screen as she replied.
Maybe this weekend? Still figuring out Oak Creek schedule.
She walked back outside and picked up her paintbrush again, dipping it into the pink paint. As she returned to her touch-up work, she glanced out the service window, scanning the outside area once more.
Still empty.
But she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that someone had been there. Watching. Waiting.
Joy stepped back from her finished touch-up, wiping her hands on a rag. She needed to talk to Hudson about cutting back her shifts at the Eagle’s Nest. After the festival, she knew Velvet Mornings could support her. It was time to take that leap.
She checked her watch. Bear would be off work soon. Maybe he’d help her go through the numbers, make a real business plan. The thought of his steady presence beside her, his unwavering support, loosened some of the tension in her shoulders.
Yeah, she’d finish a few more things around here then head out. Time with Bear would help her feel better.
* * *
The next time Joy looked at her phone, she let out a curse—8:47 p.m.
“Damn,” she muttered. She’d meant to be home hours ago.
She’d gotten caught up with preparing the things she wanted to go over with Bear. Numbers and calculations still swam through her head—projected sales figures, supply costs, staffing needs. She’d lost track of time entirely.
At least the day had ended up being productive. She’d called Hudson to talk about reducing her shifts at the Eagle’s Nest, and he’d been surprisingly supportive.
This was finally going to happen.
She switched off the storage garage lights and locked the door. She slid into her car, cranking the heat against the biting November cold. The Oak Creek streets were nearly empty as she drove, storefronts dark except for the occasional bar or restaurant.
Two weeks. In two weeks, Velvet Mornings would be more than just a dream scribbled in notebooks and tested in her kitchen. It would be real—as real as the successful day at the festival had been. She could still hardly believe Madeline Chen’s write-up. People were actually excited to try her food.
By the time Joy pulled into her driveway, the temperature had dropped even further. She hurried up the porch steps, fumbling with her keys, eager to get inside where it was warm.
Her house welcomed her with familiar shadows. She flipped on the lights, hanging her coat on the hook by the door.
“Home sweet home,” she said to the empty room, but something in her voice sounded hollow.
That feeling from earlier—the sensation of being watched—had faded during her busy afternoon, but now, in the quiet of her house, a whisper of unease returned.
She shook it off and moved into the living room, switching on lamps as she went. Everything was fine. Normal. Quiet.
Then she froze.
The throw blanket on her couch was folded—neatly, precisely—with its corners aligned. But she could’ve sworn she’d left it rumpled this morning, tossed aside when Bear had called.
Her gaze swept the room, catching on other details. The stack of books on her coffee table had been straightened. The one on top—a novel she’d been reading—was closed, though she distinctly remembered leaving it open, facedown.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “You’re imagining things.”
But her feet carried her toward the kitchen, her movements careful, measured. She checked the back door—the dead bolt was locked. Had she locked it this morning? She couldn’t remember.
The rational part of her brain offered logical explanations: she’d straightened before leaving, forgotten about it in her rush. She’d absent-mindedly locked the dead bolt out of recent habit, even though she’d never tended to do it before.
But the other part of her was two point four seconds from complete panic. She pressed her back against the counter, her breathing shallow.
“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “You’re being ridiculous.”
She forced herself to move, opening the refrigerator, taking out ingredients for a late dinner. Her movements were mechanical, her mind elsewhere. The knife felt wrong in her hand as she chopped vegetables, too similar to other weapons, other threats.
Her phone’s ring nearly made her drop it.
Amari’s name flashed on the screen. Joy pressed it to her ear, grateful for the distraction.
“Hey! I was just thinking about you,” Joy lied, her voice deliberately light.
“Were you? I’m flattered,” Amari laughed. “I just called to tell you again how much fun I had at the festival. It was like old times, us working together in chaos.”
Joy relaxed slightly, cradling the phone as she abandoned her meal prep. “It would’ve been a disaster without you.”
“Oh please, you would’ve managed. You always do.” There was a pause. “I’ve been thinking, if you need help when you launch in Oak Creek, I could maybe swing another visit.”
“Really? You’d do that?”
“For you and Velvet Mornings? Absolutely. Especially if I get my choice of crepes,” Amari’s voice softened. “Besides, it was nice seeing you so happy. You and Bear both.”
Heat crept into Joy’s cheeks. “He was pretty amazing, wasn’t he?”
“The man drove an hour just to help you serve coffee. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
Joy sank onto a kitchen chair, her earlier unease momentarily forgotten. “Yeah, he’s… It’s different with him, Amari. It always has been.”
“Different, how?”
“It’s like…” Joy searched for the words. “Like I don’t have to pretend. He sees all of me—the mess, the doubts, the strength, the weakness. And he’s still there.”
“Oh my God,” Amari gasped dramatically. “You’re in love with him.”
Joy laughed despite herself. “I’ve been in love with Bear Bollinger since I was eight years old and he fixed my bike. This isn’t exactly breaking news.”
“No, but it’s different now. It’s real. Adult. Mutual.”
“It is,” Joy admitted softly. “And honestly? It terrifies me sometimes, how much I…” She trailed off as her gaze caught on the kitchen window. The blinds were tilted at a different angle than when she’d left this morning. She hadn’t been able to get the string to cooperate.
“Joy? You still there?”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“What’s wrong?” Amari’s tone shifted, concern edging in. “You sound off suddenly.”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter.
“Joy Davis, I’ve known you since we were in diapers. Talk to me.”
Joy rubbed her eyes, exhaustion and anxiety crashing into her. “It’s nothing. I’m just being paranoid.”
“About what?”
“I—” Joy broke off, unable to admit that after all this progress, after sleeping in her own bed for over a week, after putting her life back together, she was right back where she started.
Jumping at shadows. Seeing threats where there were none.
“It’s just been a long day,” she finished lamely.
There was a pause. “If you say so,” Amari said, clearly not believing her. “But if something’s going on?—”
“It’s not. Really. Only in my mind.”
Joy changed the subject by asking about Amari’s latest medical drama, and they chatted for a few more minutes. After they hung up, Joy stood in her silent kitchen, the half-prepared meal forgotten. There was no way she could eat now.
She tried to force herself back to normal. Turned on music. Made herself a cup of tea. Sat down with her book.
But her gaze kept drifting to the window, to the door, to the shadows in the corners. Every creak of the house settling sent her heart racing. Every whisper of wind against the siding sounded like footsteps.
When her phone buzzed with a text from Bear, she nearly jumped.
Still awake? Sorry I’m so late. Hudson needed help behind the bar. I can come over if you want company.
Joy stared at the message, torn between wanting him there and shame at her regression.
Long day for both of us. I’m about to crash anyway. See you tomorrow?
Count on it. Sweet dreams, Bug.
Sweet dreams. As if.
Joy’s eyes burned with frustrated tears as she locked and rechecked every door and window. She tried to lie down in her bed, but after twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, flinching at every sound, she gave up.
“This is pathetic,” she whispered to herself, grabbing her pillow and an extra blanket.
The cold night air bit at her skin as she crossed the yard to the playhouse. It was exactly as she’d left it ten days ago—small, cramped, but somehow safer than her own home. The insulation Bear had added kept it from being completely freezing.
She curled onto the narrow cot, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself. This felt like such a massive step backward. All that progress, all that healing—gone in a single day of paranoia.
She closed her eyes, embarrassment and frustration burning in her chest. What would Bear think if he knew she was out here again? What would any of her friends think? They’d all worked so hard to help her reclaim her house, and here she was, abandoning it at the first hint of unease.
As sleep finally began to pull at her, one thought circled relentlessly: maybe she would never be normal again. Maybe this broken, fearful version of herself was who she would always be now.
Maybe the attack had taken more from her than she’d ever be able to get back.