Chapter 4
NATALIE
The bell above the Merc’s front door jingles with more customers entering, and I don’t even look at who as I drop two bags of flour on the counter, the paper crinkling under my arm as I lean into it with a sigh. Ruby glances up from the espresso machine, looking as if she’s been waiting to pounce.
“Morning, sugar,” she says with too much cheer for someone who has been awake since before the sun. “You look like somebody said pumpkin spice lattes were outlawed.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, brushing a strand of hair from my face and dusting flour off my shirt. “Just tired. And maybe on the verge of a mild structural crisis.”
Ruby hums like she’s heard worse before lunch. “Let me guess. The shelf in your pantry finally gave up the ghost?”
“No. The pantry’s still standing,” I say. “But the faucet in my laundry room started leaking last night, and this morning I opened the cabinet under the sink to find it looked like a toddler pool.”
Ruby leans over the counter and raises one perfectly plucked brow. “You need help?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I say, which is code for: I will duct tape this together until it either holds or floods the house.
“Or, and hear me out, you could let someone help. Owen’s off today. I can ask him to swing by.”
The thought of Owen, bless him, tripping over my laundry baskets and trying not to break anything with his giant hands, makes my eye twitch.
“Thanks, but I don’t know if I want another person rummaging under my sink.
Last time someone helped me with plumbing, I ended up with a broken pipe and a flooded bathroom. ”
“Mmm.” Ruby wipes the steamer wand with a towel. “You sure it’s the plumbing you don’t trust? Or the people?”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
She smirks like she’s already won. “Well, if you change your mind, I know a few capable men.”
“I’m sure you do.” I start for the door, pausing only when she adds, “Maybe one in particular who just fixed the heater at the community center and happened to mention he’s decent with tools.”
I roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out of my head. “Ruby.”
“I’m just saying,” she calls as the door jingles behind me. “He’s already proven he can take care of things. Maybe let him try something smaller than your heart.”
I mutter something not appropriate for daylight hours and head back to my car. By the time I get home and open the front door, Hades is already stretched across my front porch, every inch of him radiating ownership. He blinks slowly up at me, sunning himself like a fat cat in a wolf’s body.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you somehow heard all of that.”
He yawns, then thumps his tail exactly once, which I take as approval or judgment. Hard to tell with him.
As I lug the flour into the kitchen, I try to ignore the rhythmic drip coming from the back of the house. The leak has gotten worse. I throw a towel down and grab a snack for Hades as a knock sounds on the door.
When I swing it open, Kacen is standing there in jeans and a gray Henley that fits him like a dare. He holds up a red toolbox and shrugs.
“Heard you were about to flood the place.”
I blink at him. “Did Ruby text you?”
“She didn’t have to. You talk louder than you think. And I happened to be at the Merc. Maybe I heard you muttering something about ‘no more men at my house’ on your way out.”
“I didn’t mean you.”
He steps inside, gaze flicking down to my wet feet as I toss Hades his snack. “I figured. Still, I’m already here.”
I let him in, suddenly hyperaware of how my living room looks.
There’s a throw blanket half-folded on the couch, a framed photo of my mom and me from when I was twelve, and a sticky note on the fridge reminding me to buy coffee.
He pauses just inside the door, eyes flicking across everything as if he’s trying to read me through the furniture.
“This place feels like you,” he says, and I hate how that warms something in my chest.
“The sink’s this way,” I mutter, leading him toward the leak.
While he crouches under the cabinet, muttering about rusted fittings and shoddy sealant, I hover awkwardly nearby, arms crossed, trying not to stare at the way his shirt rides up when he reaches for a wrench.
“I can handle things myself,” I say eventually, more to fill the silence than anything.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” he says, voice calm. “But even capable people need help sometimes.”
I lean against the doorframe. “That what your brother taught you?”
He chuckles, glancing up with a smudge of dirt on his cheek. “Something like that. Kingston always said a real man knows how to say three things: ‘I was wrong,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘how can I help.’ Took me longer than it should have to get good at any of them.”
I watch him tighten a fitting, hands steady. “And now?”
He looks at me, serious in a way that makes something flutter in my chest. “Now I try not to waste chances to say them.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly, as I busy myself with wiping the countertop.
He crouches under the sink and pulls out his tools. His forearm flexes as he twists the wrench, the muscle shifting under the ink that disappears beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his flannel. There’s a hiss of water, then a quick curse. I grab a towel and drop it on his shoulder.
“I didn’t break it on purpose,” I say.
He glances up, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Would’ve been a good excuse to get me over here.”
“Please. I’d call Hades before I called you.”
He makes a few trips to his truck and even shows me where to turn the water off to the house.
When he finishes, the leak is gone, and I feel off balance in my own kitchen.
I offer dinner as a thank you, mostly because I feel guilty, but also because I need to sort out what this strange, new version of Kacen is doing to my head.
We end up at that little cafe in town, the one with the booths that squeak and the pie that tastes like summer. The waitress recognizes Kacen immediately and brings us two lemonades without asking.
“Small towns,” I mutter, stirring mine.
He smiles. “Kind of nice though. People remembering.”
“Depends on what they remember.”
Before he can respond, a voice cuts in as we pass the front booth.
“Well, if it isn’t Kacen Raines. Thought I saw a ghost.”
He smiles. “Hey, Slade. You’re still breathing, huh?”
“Barely. Raising cattle will kill a man slower than whiskey, but with the same outcome.” He claps Kance on the shoulder and pulls him into a quick hug, the kind that says we go way back, even if we haven’t talked in a while.
I hang back for a second, watching, unsure.
Kacen nods toward me. “You remember Natalie, right?”
Slade tips his head. “Course I do. Mustang Mountain’s best cookie maker.” He winks at me, then lowers his voice like he’s sharing a state secret. “You did not hear me say that in front of Lily, though. I’ll never live it down.”
I laugh. “Your secret’s safe.”
Slade turns back to Kacen. “So, what’s the deal? You home for good, or just passing through?”
“Feels like I’m staying,” he says. “Helping my brother with his PR stuff. Getting my hands dirty.”
Slade's eyes widen a little. “You? Working a real job, in PR, really? Man, you really have changed.”
Kacen chuckles. “Trying. Kingston keeps me in line.”
“You needed it back then,” Slade says, but there’s no bite in his tone. Just truth and a grin. “Glad to see you back, though. We could use more people who know what the hell they’re doing.”
“Appreciate that.”
Slade glances between me and Kacen. Something flickers in his expression, but he doesn’t say anything. Just gives a nod that feels a lot like approval. “Well, I’ll let y’all get back to it. Tell your brother he still owes me a beer.”
“Only if you want to listen to him talk about financial security and spreadsheets.”
He snorts. “That’s what whiskey’s for.”
As he walks back to an open booth, I lean closer, voice soft. “He likes you.”
Kacen shrugs. “We weren’t always tight, but I helped him dig his truck out of a ditch once during senior year. Guess that sticks.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes, but it’s not awkward. It’s something else. Something tentative and full of weight I can’t name yet.
When I glance across the table at him, I don’t see the boy who once humiliated me in the hallway. I don’t see the reckless guy I swore I’d never trust again.
I see a man who came to fix something that didn’t belong to him because he wanted to make it right. I see a man who stood up without making a show of it. I see someone I might not know at all, but want to.
Once back at my place, he heads out, and I sit in my car for a minute too long. I watch him disappear down the road, then lean my head back against the seat.
The problem with seeing someone clearly for the first time is that it makes it really hard to keep pretending you don’t care.
And I don’t know what scares me more.
That I might want to believe him.
Or that I already do.