Chapter 15
Marcy
The apartment feels less borrowed now. A thrifted lamp glows soft and golden in the corner, the blanket I found folded neatly across the back of the couch. Small things, but when I wake up and see them, I don’t feel quite so much like a squatter in my own life.
It’s been two days since Nova dragged me away from work and declared we were going shopping whether I liked it or not.
She’d been right, of course. Walking out of the thrift store with mismatched mugs, a faded quilt, and a stack of cheap frames made me feel.
.. normal. Like I was allowed to want things again.
Now it’s late afternoon, and the garage is winding down. I’m sitting behind the counter with the day’s intake forms spread around me when the bell over the door jingles.
“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Nova declares, striding in with cheeks pink from the cold and a mischievous glint in her eye.
Landon doesn’t even look up from where he’s hunched over his clipboard. “You never do anything for me,” he deadpans.
She rolls her eyes and hops onto the counter beside my stack of forms. “Good thing I’m not here for you, then.” She turns to me, grin widening. “So. The winter fair. You’re coming.”
I blink at her. “The what?”
“The fair,” Wes chimes in from the bay, poking his head through the doorway like he’s been eavesdropping—which he definitely has. “You know, the reason for all those banners hanging up and down main street.”
I’d seen the banners but hadn’t thought much of them. Events happened constantly in the city, and I never attended half of them. But I guess small towns work differently.
“Where you eat funnel cakes until you regret your life choices,” Nova adds, kicking her heels against the counter.
“I don’t know...” My instinctive protest fizzles when Nova arches a brow.
“Don’t even start with me. You’ve been working nonstop since you got here. You deserve fun. And honestly, the guys need someone to keep them from setting themselves on fire at the bonfire.”
Landon glances up at that, brows knitting together. “Nova...”
She ignores him, eyes still locked on me. “It’ll be amazing. Hot cider, bonfire, ice skating. It’s basically Black Pines’ excuse to show off who can stay upright on the rink the longest.”
Part of me wants to retreat, to say no. Crowds and noise, strangers brushing too close—it makes my stomach twist into knots. But another part of me… a quieter one… whispers yes.
“I don’t even own skates,” I say, fidgeting with the corner of a form.
“Please.” Nova waves her hand dismissively. “You rent them. Worst case, Landon keeps you from face-planting on the ice.”
My fingers freeze on the paper. The image flashes unbidden—his gloved hands steady on my waist, our breath clouding between us in the cold air. I duck my head, suddenly fascinated by the pen marks on my thumb.
Across the room, Landon’s pen stops scratching. He shifts in his stole, steel creaking under his weight. When I glance up, he’s studying the same spot on his paperwork with intense focus, the tips of his ears matching the red toolbox behind him.
Wes leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, lips spreading into a slow grin. “Oh, now I’m definitely coming. Gotta see Hale try to teach someone how not to break an ankle.”
From the corner, the clink of metal stops. “Count me out,” Becket says without looking up from the tools he’s cleaning.
Nova swivels toward him, her smile widening until the dimple in her left cheek appears. “Come on, Becket.” She leans forward, elbows on knees. “I’ll even hold your hand if the ice gets too scary.”
Becket’s shoulders go rigid. He meets her eyes for half a second before returning to his work, the tips of his ears darkening to match the red shop calendar on the wall behind him. “Still no.”
“Your loss.” Nova slides off the counter, boots hitting the concrete with a soft thud.
My mouth opens before my brain catches up. “I’ll go.”
Nova claps her hands together, the silver bangles on her wrists jingling like victory bells. “Yes! Saturday. Done. Don’t make other plans.” She plants a quick kiss on my cheek, leaving behind the faint scent of cinnamon lip balm. “You’ll thank me later.”
By the time she sweeps out the door again, the garage feels louder in her absence, like the echo of her laughter still hangs in the rafters.
I shuffle the intake forms together, fingers clumsy, heart beating too fast for something as simple as a fair. When I glance up through my lashes, Landon's eyes are on me—steady, dark blue, questioning.
"You don't have to go," he says quietly, his voice a low rumble that barely carries across the room. "If it feels like too much."
My throat tightens, dry as sandpaper. "Do you want me to?"
There's no hesitation in his answer, just the slight forward tilt of his broad shoulders. "Yeah. I do."
Something steadies inside me, like a ship finding its anchor. "Then I'll go."
His mouth curves—just slightly, one corner lifting higher than the other, but enough to make warmth spread through me like honey in hot tea. "Good."