Chapter 10
Harmony
Two days after the storm, Val-Du-Lys was still in recovery mode.
The storm had stripped the trees bare and left the sidewalks slick, but the town refused to stay down.
People swept debris into piles, strung up tarps, and opened their doors like nothing had happened.
The air smelled of wet earth and woodsmoke, a mix that always reminded me of autumn in this place.
I was outside Petals and Pines with a broom, pushing puddles toward the curb when Sandy came out holding two mugs of coffee.
“Looks like the town’s almost back to normal,” she said, handing me one.
“Val-Du-Lys doesn’t waste time,” I said, taking a sip.
Sandy smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Becket stopped by earlier. Wanted to ask you a few more questions.”
My stomach dipped. “About Olivier and Nico?”
She nodded. “He caught them near the old mechanic shop. The one that used to handle town repairs before it shut down. Said it’s the same place that worked on Maggie Chabot’s car before the crash.”
I froze, the coffee cooling in my hand. Elyna had been a couple of years ahead of me in school, but I remembered when she lost her mom. We’d grown close after that, two girls finding comfort in shared hurt. I saw what Maggie’s death did to her. “You’re saying Becket thinks it’s all connected?”
“He didn’t give me details,” she said carefully, “but he’s not convinced last week’s incident at the shop was just two angry men trying to scare you. He thinks it’s tied to something bigger.”
I glanced toward the cracked latch on our front door. The repairman was supposed to come tomorrow, but for now, the metal sat bent and bruised, like a reminder of how close danger could get.
“They didn’t have to break in,” I murmured. “They just wanted me to know they could.”
Sandy’s voice softened. “They’re angry you testified against Marcel. Becket said as much. They think you turned on family.”
“They’re right,” I said quietly. “I did.”
She touched my arm. “You did the right thing, Harmony.”
“Tell that to them.”
Her hand dropped away. “Becket thinks that old mechanic shop might be their front now. He’s looking into who bought it. Said the paperwork traces back to a holding company in Sherbrooke.”
A chill moved through me. “You think Marcel’s still running things from inside?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Across the street, the sound of hammering drew my attention. Eric was outside the bakery, helping repair a fence that had blown down in the storm. His sleeves were rolled, forearms streaked with sawdust, his baseball cap sat backward on his head. He moved with purpose.
When he caught me watching, he gave a small nod. A second later, he crossed the street.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag.
“I don’t do resting well.”
“Apparently not.” His gaze flicked toward the door. “Have you received more messages?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m guessing it’s Olivier since Nico knows better than to stalk me.”
His jaw tensed. I had dated Nico before Eric, and I could tell he still didn’t like the mention of his name. I was selfishly hoping he was jealous but that wouldn’t be fair of me, so I dropped the thought.
“I ignore his messages. I don’t think he’ll ever leave me be. Not after what I did to our father,” I said, trying for lightness I didn’t feel.
He took a deep breath. “That’s why you shouldn’t be here alone.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes softened. “You keep saying that.”
He looked past me, toward the bent latch.
“Becket caught them near the old repair shop, you know. Same one that worked on Maggie Chabot’s car before the crash.
Turns out it changed ownership twice, but the most recent buyer is a holding company out of Sherbrooke.
Beck’s pretty sure that company’s tied to Marcel. ”
The breath left my chest. “Sandy just told me about Becket’s theory. I don’t know what to think. I tried to run away and it didn’t work so I came back. It seems like I can never rid myself of the Bellerose curse.”
“Sorry,” he sighed. “I can’t imagine how hard it is for you. It’s just that my brother is kind of obsessed with what happened to Maggie Chabot.”
“I remember when she died. It was pretty close to the time I lost. . .” the words clogged in my throat.
“Your mom,” Eric said softly.
I nodded.
“Elyna and I became friends at that point,” I said to him.
“Yeah, well, my mom didn’t die, but it felt like she did with the way she took off. Becket can’t let it go and he thinks Marcel is involved somehow.”
I chuckled sadly. “Because my father is the root of evil in this town.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You have nothing to apologize for. That’s my inheritance,” I claimed.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said softly.
“Wishful thinking,” I snorted. “Some things never change, Eric.” I felt sick. “Becket shouldn’t be digging into this alone. My father is involved with very dangerous men.”
“He won’t stop,” Eric said quietly. “He’s convinced whatever happened to Maggie and your father’s business deals were connected. And now, with Marcel’s name back in the mix...” He trailed off. “It’s a lot.”
“Everything in this town is,” I said.
He gave a small smile. “Tea tonight?”
I blinked. “You’re not tired of tea yet?”
“Not if it means seeing you.” Those simple words did something to my insides. They made me breathe easier, lighter.
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the way my pulse jumped. “Seven.” I was mush for this guy.
“I’ll bring the pastries.”
“Of course you will.” I laughed a true hearty laugh.
He grinned and turned back toward the bakery, the faintest warmth cutting through the heaviness in my chest. Watching him go, I couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to fall back into something I’d never quite fallen out of.
When I finally climbed the stairs to my loft that evening, the air still smelled of rain and cut flowers. I set the kettle on the stove, tidied the table, and told myself to relax. But my nerves buzzed like a warning.
At seven sharp, there was a soft knock.
Eric stood in the doorway, hair damp from a shower, holding a paper bag and the half-smile that always did dangerous things to my heartbeat.
“I brought the pastries,” he said.
“You don’t disappoint,” I replied, stepping aside.
He came in, filling the small space with warmth and quiet steadiness. I poured tea while he unpacked two lemon tarts that made the room smell sweet.
“Good choice,” I said to him.
“I didn’t forget,” he replied and cleared his throat as our gazes locked. The air felt charged for a brief moment until he said, “I’m guessing you are coming to Elyna and Phoenix’s wedding Thanksgiving weekend.” He settled across from me.
I nodded. “She sent me an invitation when I was still in Montreal.”
“Braden turns two the day before, so she says it’s going to be one long celebration,” he continued.
“That little boy’s going to be spoiled.”
“Already is,” he confirmed.
Silence settled between us, soft and comfortable. Outside, the wind had died, leaving only the sound of dripping water from the eaves.
“I hope my brother isn’t causing you too much grief with his digging,” he suddenly blurted.
“He has every right to dig. He wants answers. I know what that’s like.
My mom died because of people getting back at my father.
I remember the crash like it was yesterday.
I remember the guilty look on my father’s face.
He hasn’t been able to look me in the eyes since.
My mom was a good woman. She didn’t know what she signed up for. ”
“I’m sure, but still, this is dredging up a lot of feelings for a lot of us,” he replied.
“Maybe some secrets don’t stay buried,” I replied.
He met my gaze. “You’ve lived with enough of them. You deserve peace.”
“Peace doesn’t come easy for people like us,” I said. “We just learn to breathe around the noise.”
He smiled faintly. “You remind me of the orchard after a storm. A little bruised, still standing.”
I let out a soft laugh. “You always know what to say.”
“Maybe I just know how to see you.” His gaze locked with mine. There was a familiar electricity in the air cutting between us like a connection, making my skin feel warm. I thought he might reach for my hand, but instead, he stood and placed his mug in the sink.
“Get some sleep,” he urged quietly. “You’ve done enough for one day.”
I walked him to the door. He paused in the frame, eyes holding mine.
“Lock this,” he said.
“I will.”
He lingered for a breath, then nodded once and left like it was taking everything in him to keep boundaries between us, and that made sense. Eric didn’t trust easily, but he trusted me and I left.
Through the window, I watched his truck pull away, its taillights glowing red in the dark.
The street was still wet, but the rain had finally stopped.
The scent of thistle drifted across the small loft since I had purchased some today in the shop.
I inhaled the sharp, stubborn, beautiful scent like it was air.
It was the kind of flower that survived everything, even the storms that tried to bury it.
I turned back to the counter, where the lemon tarts he’d brought sat untouched.
My mother used to say, “Lemon carried both the sour and the sweet like life, you needed both to make it whole.” I pressed my hand to the cool glass and whispered into the quiet, “Goodnight, hero.” Because Eric would never stop being that for me, even if he was fighting everything inside him to stay away from me.