Chapter 4 Landon
Landon
Marcy stares up at me, her brow furrowed, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.
My chest tightens. The fluorescent sign on the shop catches the shadows under her eyes—dark half-moons that warn of too many sleepless nights.
My hands twitch at my sides, remembering how small her shoulders felt at Hal's when she'd approached me, voice barely audible over the jukebox.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to pull her against me again, to tuck her head under my chin where nothing could touch her.
Instead, I force myself to let her go and shove my hands in my pockets.
She sags back against the truck, her shoulder blades catching on the metal frame.
She’s barely five feet, the top of her head hardly reaching the side mirror.
When she looks up at me, I notice how the collar of her coat swallows the delicate line of her jaw, how my own reflection in her eyes seems to tower above her.
“The shop's warm,” I say. “Come inside while I get your paperwork started.”
There’s a beat of hesitation, like she’s weighing if the warmth is worth the risk. She gives me a look I’ve seen before—half suspicion, half weary hope—and then she nods, sliding out of the truck behind me.
I lead the way, crunching through the snow. The front door’s stiff from the cold, but I give it a shove and it pops open. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a yellow glow across the shop floor. It smells like motor oil, coffee, and the lemony disinfectant Nova insists on using.
The door buzzes and Joon looks up from his spot behind the counter. His glasses are perched on his nose and he’s got a stack of invoices in his hands. His eyes look behind me to where Marcy is waiting and his brows flick up in silent question.
I nod in confirmation. Yes, it’s her.
“Is Nova still here or did she head home already?” I ask, kicking the snow off my boot.
Before Joon can answer, Nova pops in from the back room. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail that bounces as she comes out from the back.
“Did I hear someone say my name?” She asks, passing Joon a cup of coffee before perching on the edge of the desk in her ridiculous owl pyjamas. She looks behind me to Marcy and nods. “This the damsel?”
Joon sighs but doesn’t bother correcting her.
Joon used to feel the need to correct my sister's unfiltered behaviors in the past but in recent days he seems to have given up on the task. Becket is a different story. I don’t think he’ll stop correcting her until the day one of them dies. My money is on Becket going first.
“Don’t start,” I mutter, giving her a warning glance.
Nova grins, ignoring me completely as she jumps off the desk and approaches Marcy. “Hi, I’m Nova. I handle things around here while my brother gets all the credit.”
Marcy murmurs a polite, "Nice to meet you," but her gaze darts from the back door to the front entrance, lingering on the window beside the counter.
Her fingers twist the strap of her purse, thumb flicking repeatedly over the metal clasp.
When Joon shifts in his chair, she flinches, her weight immediately shifting to the balls of her feet.
Nova doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ve got nothing to worry about with these guys. Grade A morons, the lot of them.” She leans towards Marcy and lowers her voice. “Landon once lit his own hair on fire trying to fix a carburetor.”
Joon coughs into his fist, his shoulders shaking slightly.
I narrow my eyes at him, but he suddenly finds the stack of invoices fascinating.
Then I catch it—the corner of Marcy's mouth lifting for just a heartbeat, a tiny dimple appearing and vanishing so quickly I almost miss it.
Something in my chest loosens. I'd let Nova tell the whole town about the carburetor incident if it meant seeing that dimple again.
Nova catches my eye and taps her temple with one finger before snatching her bag off the counter.
"I'm heading out." She jangles her keys, then pauses beside Marcy, her voice dropping to a murmur.
She scribbles something on a receipt and presses it into Marcy's palm.
"I’m in the apartment building one block down.
Second floor, blue door with the wind chimes. Come by anytime."
"Thanks," Marcy says, tucking the paper in her pocket.
"Later boys," Nova calls over her shoulder. The door swings shut with a jingle of bells, leaving a vacuum of silence in her wake.
Joon stares at his invoices, his pen tapping once against the counter before going still. His eyes don't lift from the paper. Three years working side by side, and I've heard him sneeze more often than speak. He shifts in his chair, the leather creaking like it's doing the talking for him.
“Joon, do we have any room inside for her car or do we need to wait till morning?” I ask.
“We’re full, but I’ll be done with the Dodge first thing in the morning. There’s room in the lot.”
“Would you mind getting Marcy’s car off the truck and parked while I pull up the paperwork?”
Joon nods. He takes a quick swig of his coffee before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and heading into the garage.
I look at Marcy. She’s standing in the middle of the waiting area. Her arms wrapped around herself. Eyes wide like she’s ready to bolt any second.
“There’s hot water. You want coffee? Or tea? ” I offer.
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
I nod and head behind the counter to the computer. I have to push aside a stack of paperwork before I find the keyboard. “Damn it, Nova,” I mutter.
My sister has been trying to fill the role part time as receptionist but organization isn’t her strong point.
Neither are numbers or spending much time sitting still.
I finally get the ancient PC to boot up and pull up the new client intake forms. The shop feels quieter than usual, like the snow’s pressing in on all sides.
When I look up, Marcy’s tracing a finger along the edge of a faded photo tacked to the cork board on the wall.
"Is this your family?" she asks, tapping a faded photograph where five figures stand arm-in-arm on a dock, squinting into summer sun.
I nod, coming up beside her feeling the familiar tug in my chest. "Nova's the only one who shares my DNA. The others just showed up and never left." My finger traces over Joon's serious face, frozen mid-eye-roll as Nova dangles upside-down from Ravi's shoulders.
"Your sister is funny.” That ghost of a smile returns for a split second.
“Nova’s the best. And probably right about me needing supervision.” I run my fingers through my hair as I try to figure out how to approach this next topic. “Do you have somewhere to spend the night? We won’t be able to get to your car until morning.”
I watch her expression shift as my words sink in. “Oh.. right. Of course,” she murmurs. “That makes sense.” She hesitates and then asks. “Is there anywhere I can stay?”
I wince. “That’s the issue. Motel’s closed for the season. Most folks aren’t coming to the ridge in the middle of winter.”
“Is there a bus or—” she bites her lip. “Something?”
"Bus hasn't run since the county cut the budget last spring.
" I rub the back of my neck, where tension's been building all day.
"Closest motel's in Beaumont, and that's..." I glance at the window where snow falls in thick clumps under the yellow streetlight. "Well, you saw the roads.” I hesitate before nodding to the ceiling. “There’s a small apartment upstairs if you want to crash there—”
“No!” Her response is instant. “No, I’ll find someplace myself.” She pulls up her phone and after a few minutes nods. “There’s a couple Airbnb’s near here. I’ll just book one of those.”
“Are they close?” I ask. The guy at the bar still lingers in the back of my mind. Her fear of him was tangible. The last thing I want is for her to get caught up in something.
She nods. “Looks like there’s one up the street. I’ll just book there.”
"You sure?" I ask. "If you don't like the idea of upstairs, I live outside of town with a couple friends. We have a big couch if you want—"
"I'm good." She types on her phone, her thumb hovering a beat too long before tapping the screen. "All set." She looks up, her smile tight at the corners, eyes darting to the door then back to me.
I rub my jaw, words forming and dissolving on my tongue. Joon comes back in, keys jangling, and Marcy's shoulders drop an inch. We finish her paperwork in silence broken only by the scratch of her pen against carbon copies.
The snow falls in lazy spirals by the time we step outside, fat flakes catching in the yellow glow of the streetlight.
Joon raises two fingers in a silent goodbye before trudging up the street, his shoulders hunched against the cold.
Marcy and I linger beneath the shop's awning, our breath clouding between us.
My keys jangle in my palm. "My truck's around back if you need—"
"I can walk." Marcy's knuckles whiten around her phone. "It's close." She adjusts her purse strap, the zipper catching on her coat. "Thanks for everything, Landon."
She steps into the snow, her boots leaving perfect prints in the fresh powder. At the edge of the light, she glances down at her screen, its blue glow illuminating her face for one moment before she rounds the corner and disappears from sight.
I resist the urge to go after her, to make sure she gets to the Airbnb safely. She doesn’t want your help with this, I remind myself. So I get into my truck and force myself to drive in the opposite direction.