Chapter 11
Flying Bricks otherwise, the world outside looked calm. Everwood smelled like early morning dew and fresh-cut hay.
Austin stood by the back door, tightening a new deadbolt.
“Is there such a thing as over-secure?” I asked, leaning on the counter with my mug.
He glanced back, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Not in my vocabulary.”
“That’s because you threw it out.”
He twirled the screwdriver like a conductor’s baton. “You’re just jealous of my system.”
“I am,” I said playfully, wistful, taking another sip.
He looked over his shoulder, his smile softening. A small crease furrowed between his brows. “You sleep better?”
“Some.” I set my mug down. “You?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t try.”
I wanted to press, but our peace still felt new and fragile, so I let it go.
The screen door squeaked, and Mrs. Winslow’s voice arrived before she did. “If you two aren’t married by Founders’ Day, I’m starting rumors.”
Austin groaned. “Too late.”
She marched in wearing a sunhat large enough to be used as a satellite dish and carrying a clipboard plastered with bingo stickers.
“Levi says someone’s been snooping near the feed store.
Might have been Arnie.” She gave me a pitying look, then her features went serious. “Either way, we need a plan.”
Austin’s shoulders went tight. “What kind of plan did you have in mind?”
“The Everwood kind. Coffee first, then panic, then we kick butt.”
Mrs. Winslow may be an older woman, but she was feisty to boot.
Cassie stumbled in behind her, juggling a bakery box. “Ignore her. She’s on her third cup of Ethel’s dark roast coffee.”
“Don’t laugh,” Mrs. Winslow said, plunking the box on the table. “Operation Milly is underway.”
Cassie shook her head and laughed. “You look like you need doughnuts and muffins.” We all nodded. She flipped the lid—rows of steaming strawberry and cinnamon muffins and maple doughnuts. “Sue sent these. She’s worried about you guys.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, stealing one. “Tell her thanks.”
Laughter bubbled through the kitchen; it felt almost normal again. Even Austin smiled—really smiled. The sight of it made my heart happy. I wanted to tuck that smile away, somewhere only I could reach.
I bumped Cassie’s shoulder. “He’s been out there since dawn reinforcing Sherlock’s fence. I swear he is Houdini.”
“He breaks everything I’ve tried,” Austin said through a mouthful of Sue’s muffins.
“Don’t lie, you just like using power tools,” Cassie shot back.
He didn’t argue, which made us laugh harder.
A few seconds later, Mason called through the screen, “All quiet on the western front!”
Mrs. Winslow saluted with a muffin in her hand. “For now. That’s what they want you to think.”
We all laughed again.
When it quieted, I caught Austin watching me again. His expression was gentle, but his gaze kept darting to the windows. Old habits die slow.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
He nodded once, like he wanted to believe it.
Outside, a jay shrieked in the maple tree. Sunlight stretched longer across the floor, golden and safe. For the first time in days, I thought maybe we’d outrun the chaos.
By late morning, the house had emptied. Cassie left for tutoring, Mrs. Winslow to make a perimeter run, and Austin finally sat long enough to drink coffee instead of refilling mine.
I pretended to do invoices at the table but mostly watched him—the way his fingers rested on the mug, the small crease between his brows finally smoothing. He wasn’t relaxed, not really, but closer than he’d been in days.
“You know,” I said, tapping my purple sparkly pen, “I don’t think Arnie is coming back.”
He studied his cup. “I’d like to believe that.”
“Well, believing’s free. You should try it sometime.”
His mouth twitched. “Do you really believe that?”
“Nope, but I’m optimistic.”
“Fair.” He took a sip. “You be optimistic, and I’ll live in reality.”
“Hey, I live in reality. Just mine isn’t as gloomy as yours.”
He looked at me then, and whatever he wanted to say stayed behind his eyes.
A knock rattled the screen door. Levi’s grin beamed through it. “You two decent?”
“No promises,” I called. Austin looked at me, shocked.
Levi stepped in anyway, holding a pie tin. “Janet made too many—blueberry. Thought you might need sugar after the other night.”
“Blueberry, yum. But really, we don’t need all this food.” I gestured to the other tins and containers that held a variety of foods, taking it from him.
“It’s a small town. You’ll get used to it.” He winked at Austin. “Town’s quiet again, but folks are jumpy. You want someone parked at the end of your drive?”
Austin shook his head. “We’ve got it covered. Besides, I feel if you tried to take it from Mrs. Winslow, she’d riot.”
Levi grinned. “You say that like you’ve already installed lasers.”
“He might have,” I muttered into my mug.
Levi laughed. “Call if you need anything. Mason’s running shifts. Fair warning, Mrs. Winslow signed up twice.”
“That’s so terrifying,” I said. “She’s feisty and wields that cane like a Bo staff.”
“She’s bringing binoculars and a thermos.”
We all laughed at that, and then, when Levi left, the quiet came back. Austin cut two pieces of pie and handed me one. It was bright and tart. For a minute, I let myself forget why we needed comfort food at all.
“I’m going to check the back gate.” Austin stood.
“You checked it this morning.”
“I’ll check it again.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, knowing I couldn’t stop him. It kept Austin in motion, a routine he fell back into that I’m sure made him comfortable. Like a checklist.
I watched from the window as he crossed the yard. He was confident, like he could hold the world up. Maybe he already was.
When he came back, his face carried that practiced calm he wore when he didn’t want me to worry. “Everything’s fine.”
“Good,” I said. “Because raccoons got in the feed this morning, their little handprints were on the stall mat. I swear they’re getting gutsy.”
He smiled, leaned on the counter, and for a while, we just stood there. The clock ticked steadily, like a heartbeat. Inspector stretched on the sill, paw over his face.
It was such a perfectly normal moment.
The house fell silent. I dried another plate. Outside, the wind shifted—a hard gust rattled the shutters and made the screen door groan.
“Wind should fade by tonight,” Austin said.
“Forecast says clear for the next few days. I’d have to say I’m getting tired of the wind. Give me rain or snow, anything but the wind.”
“Yes, I agree.” He tensed, and the crease between his eyebrows deepened.
“What is it?” I listened but didn’t hear anything. “I don’t know, but doesn’t it feel like something’s off?”
I cocked my head to the side, thinking. I hated the wind, and today was no different.
He moved to the kitchen door, scanning the yard. His reflection ghosted in the glass. His brows creased as he went still.
In the cat tree, Inspector’s ears flicked. He leapt from his tree and shot down the hall. His tail fat and bushy.
Then—crash.
Glass exploded inward. A brick slammed into the far wall and dropped to the floor, trailing dirt and paper.
Austin leapt over the island and pulled me down behind the counter. Shards hit the tile like rain.
My pulse roared in my ears.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, throat dry. “I think so.”
He rose, careful. “Stay here.”
“No, not a chance.” I followed, glass crunching under my boots. Air poured through the broken pane; curtains whipped like wings.
A sheet of notebook paper lay near the brick, tied with horse twine. Austin stared at it, jaw tight.
“What is it?”
He hesitated, then read it aloud. Thick black letters scrawled across the page:
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE.
Everything slowed—the smell of dust and coffee, the sting of glass in my palms, the realization that we weren’t safe after all.
Austin’s voice came low. “Call Levi. Tell him we’ve had a breach.”
I swallowed. “And you?”
“I’ll review the cameras. And don’t touch a thing.”
The brick sat between us. The comfort we’d built that morning slipped away.
Five minutes later, Levi arrived first, eyes sweeping the yard. Mason followed. They moved through the house like a cleanup crew, slicing through the mess.
“Anyone hurt?” Levi asked.
“We’re fine,” I said, though my hands still shook. “Austin went to review the cameras.”
Just as I said his name, Austin appeared in the doorway. “Nothing on the cameras.” Then Austin pointed to the note.
Mason read it, cursed, then pulled out his phone, fingers moving like lightning across the screen.
Levi crouched by the brick. “Classic intimidation. They wanted noise, not blood.”
“Still feels personal,” I said.
“It is,” Austin murmured.
He looked wired tight, every muscle humming.
I could feel his frustration building. The tension in the room was palpable. Below Austin’s t-shirt, I could see his muscles flexing and relaxing as he fisted and relaxed his hands.
“It’s okay, Austin. We’ll figure this out,” I said, moving to face him, then reached up and rested my palms on his chest. Austin exhaled, looking a little more relaxed. He reached up and held my hands, still resting against his chest.
“I know, I just hate that I can’t control this.”
Mrs. Winslow arrived in a bathrobe, baseball bat in hand. “I knew it!”
“It’s alright, you can go home, Mrs. Winslow,” Mason said, chuckling.
“Can’t. Surveillance detail.” She peered out the window.
Austin and I both took in her attire, and when Mrs. Winslow moved to the window, Austin turned to me and mouthed, “bathrobe?”
I stifled a laugh and had to turn before she saw.
Levi rubbed his temple. “We’ll sweep the area. Stay inside.”
When they left, the house felt hollow. Wind whistled through the cracked pane.
Austin started picking up shards bare-handed. “Stop,” I said, catching his wrist. “You’re bleeding.”
He looked down. “Just scratches.”
“Let me.” I cleaned the blood with a towel.
My own adrenaline drained fast, but my training took over.
I’d had to think on the fly many times when an animal came out of anesthesia too early, when the cats at the shelter escaped because Pete, the volunteer, forgot to close and lock the cages.
But as I held his hand in mine, I shook slightly.
“You should sit,” he said.
“If I sit, I’ll start thinking. Let me grab my kit.”
He gave a tired smile. “Then don’t think, just sit.” He pulled me down into a chair.
I thought anyway—about the noise, the note, the illusion of safety we’d built.
“I hate that they can still reach us,” I said.
“They won’t for long.”
His tone made me believe him.
Inspector padded back in and climbed into my lap, a solid, purring weight. My heartbeat slowed.
Austin knelt in front of me, arms resting on his knees. “You scared me.”
“You think I wasn’t scared?”
He shook his head. “You didn’t show it.”
“I was too mad to.”
That pulled a rough laugh from him. “Guess we’re even.”
We stayed there for a long minute. Outside, Levi’s truck engine faded away.
“What now?” I asked.
“Tonight, we patch with cardboard. Tomorrow, we replace the window. Add sensors. Maybe add cameras at the gate or redirect a few to compensate.”
“Of course,” I said.
“You sound thrilled.”
“I sound like someone who’d rather bake a pie than live in a fortress.”
He glanced up, exhaustion easing into humor. “We can have both. I hear security and pie are often involved in tense situations.”
I covered his hand with mine. “We already have pie.” I pointed to the pie on the counter, realizing it would have to be thrown away now that it was covered in glass.
He turned his palm, fingers finding mine. We were still so fragile and vulnerable.
From down the hall, Mrs. Winslow’s voice floated through the not-quite-shut door. “If you need a decoy, I still fit in a trench coat!”
I looked at Austin and whispered, “I forgot she was here.”
Austin groaned. I laughed until the tightness in my chest eased.
“Welcome to Everwood,” I said.
“Wouldn’t trade it,” he replied.
Outside, the wind calmed. Inside, warmth crept back. The brick stayed on the counter, a reminder—but not the end.
We were still standing.