Chapter 21
N ora
It’s been three days since Jericho left, and the nightmares have come back.
Every night I hear the same sound of bone hitting the wall, but the faces are different every time.
One time it’s my father surrounded by blood, another it’s the man whose face I’ll never forget with another man standing to the side wearing a mask.
Sometimes it’s Dick. My dreams run through multiple scenarios over the course of one night, and by now I’m ready to throw a white flag to Morpheus, hoping he’ll grant me something other than this. A calm, dreamless night would be awesome right about now.
Did Jericho really shoo my bad dreams away? To think of it, I haven’t had any while he was around. I need to talk to him and see if my theory is correct, and he’s the Cerberus of my dreamland.
But he hasn’t called or texted yet. I tell myself I’m not disappointed, but the way I keep checking my phone every few minutes tells a different story .
“He’ll call when he calls,” I mutter to myself, setting my phone face down on the counter with more force than necessary. The morning rush at the diner is in full swing, and I should be focused on refilling coffee mugs, not obsessing over a man I barely know.
“Who’ll call?” Karina slides next to me with a full coffee pot, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“No one,” I say too quickly, grabbing a stack of menus and nearly knocking over the turkey figurines Karina placed on the counter. She swapped Halloween decorations for Thanksgiving overnight, and now little turkeys are everywhere.
She blocks my path with her hip. “You’re a terrible liar, Nora Moon. Is it the hot neighbor? Dad told me he was in here before he left town.”
I feel heat creeping up my neck. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” She studies my face. “You’re all flushed. When’s the last time I saw you flushed over a man?” She taps her chin in mock contemplation. “Oh right—never.”
Before I can respond, the bell above the door jingles, and Dick walks in, looking smug as ever in his pristine button-down. Since our encounter in the parking lot, he’s been keeping his distance, but the way his eyes track me across the room makes my skin crawl.
“Great,” I mutter. “Just what I needed today.”
Karina follows my gaze and scowls. “Want me to accidentally spill coffee in his lap again? I’ve been practicing my ‘oops’ face.”
Despite myself, I laugh. “Tempting, but I’d rather not give him any reason to hang around longer.”
As if sensing we’re talking about him, Dick catches my eye and smirks. I turn away, focusing on wiping down the counter with unnecessary vigor.
“You know,” Karina says quietly, “you could always ask Cheryl to have a word with him about harassment. ”
I shake my head. “And give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to me? No thanks.”
The truth is, I haven’t told Cheryl about what happened in the parking lot. She’d go into full protective mode, and while part of me appreciates her fierce loyalty, another part needs to handle this on my own. Besides, Dick hasn’t tried anything since Jericho stepped in.
Jericho. My thoughts circle back to him again, and I wonder what he’s doing right now. Building something with those strong hands probably. I remember how they felt on my waist, warm and steady…
“Earth to Nora.” Karina waves a hand in front of my face. “You disappeared on me again. I’m starting to think this guy’s done a number on you.”
“I’m just tired,” I lie, but Karina’s knowing look tells me she’s not buying it. “The rooster woke me up again this morning.”
“The mysterious rooster that nobody’s seen except you and hot neighbor?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“Your dad saw him too!” I insist, though I’m starting to wonder myself. Without Jericho there to witness it, the whole thing feels like some bizarre, shared hallucination.
I grab a fresh pot of coffee and move to refill mugs, deliberately taking the long way around to avoid Dick’s table. My phone vibrates in my apron pocket, and my heart leaps before I can stop it. I nearly spill Mrs. Henderson’s coffee in my haste to check it.
But it’s just Cheryl, asking if I can bring Granny her knitting needles later. The disappointment hits harder than it should.
“Not him?” Karina whispers as she passes with a tray of pancakes.
I shoot her a look that could curdle milk and tuck my phone away. This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager with a crush, not a grown woman who owns a business and has survived plenty of disappointments.
By the time the lunch rush ends, my mood has soured completely. Dick lingered for nearly two hours, ordering refill after refill, his eyes following me around the room. When he finally left, he dropped a twenty-dollar tip on the table with a wink that made my skin crawl.
“You should keep that,” Roman says when I try to give the money to Karina. “Buy yourself something nice. Like rat poison for him.”
“I don’t want his money.” The bill feels contaminated somehow.
Roman’s face softens. “But you need the rat poison. Don’t let him ruin your day, Nora.”
He’s right, of course. I tuck the twenty into the jar we keep for the local animal shelter and try to shake off the lingering unease.
The afternoon drags by, slow enough that I send Karina home early. I’m wiping down the last booth when my phone vibrates again. I steel myself against the hope that rises unbidden, certain it’s just Cheryl again.
But it’s not. Unknown Number:
Is the rooster behaving himself?
I stare at the screen, a smile spreading across my face before I can stop it.
Who is this?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Your hunting partner. Or did you find a replacement for me already ?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, suddenly unsure what to say. I want to sound casual, not desperate.
The rooster’s been suspiciously quiet. I think he misses being chased.
I add his number to my contacts, naming him simply “J.”
That makes one of us.
I bite my lip, trying to decipher if he means he doesn’t miss the chase, or that he does miss… something else.
How’s New Hampshire treating you?
I stare at my phone, watching those three dots appear and disappear as he types. My heart shouldn’t be racing this fast over a text message.
Cold. Wet. The crew’s behind schedule because of rain.
Sounds miserable.
It is.
I wait for him to say more, but nothing comes. Typical. Even through text, he’s a man of few words. I’m about to set my phone down when it buzzes again.
The coffee here is terrible.
The corners of my mouth twitch upward. Coming from him, that’s practically a love letter to Moons’ Diner.
Roman will be thrilled to hear his mud water is missed.
Don’t tell him that. His ego’s big enough.
I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the empty diner. Roman would love this.
Your secret’s safe with me.
How are things there?
I consider telling him about Dick’s lingering presence today, the unsettled feeling I’ve had since our encounter in the parking lot. But I don’t want to sound like I need rescuing.
Same old Big Love. Quiet without you stomping around next door.
I don’t stomp.
You absolutely do. Like a moody sasquatch.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.
Maybe I miss your trespassing.
My breath catches. It’s the closest thing to flirting we’ve done since he left, and it feels significant somehow.
Maybe I miss being caught.
I hit send before I can overthink it, then immediately regret my boldness. The minutes tick by with no response, and I’m convinced I’ve scared him off.
“Get it together, Nora,” I mutter, shoving my phone in my pocket. I flip the sign to CLOSED and start turning off lights, trying not to check for a reply every five seconds.
When my phone finally buzzes again, I nearly drop the broom.
I’ll be back in two weeks. Maybe less if the weather improves.
It’s not exactly “I miss you too,” but it’s something. A promise of return.
The rooster and I will be waiting.
I lock up the diner and head home, my mood lighter than it’s been all day. As I pull into my driveway, I notice something on my porch—a small package wrapped in brown paper. Curious, I pick it up. There’s no name, no note, just the package sitting there like it’s been waiting for me.
I tear open the paper to find a sleek, black whistle on a cord. Confusion furrows my brow until I spot the tiny engraving on the side: “Rooster Repellent.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. Did Jericho leave this before he went away? Or did someone else know about our morning chase? Maybe Cheryl? The thought of Jericho planning ahead to leave me this small gift makes my heart do a little flip in my chest.
I slip the whistle around my neck and unlock my front door, suddenly eager for dawn to come so I can test it out. The house feels emptier than usual tonight. I wander through the rooms, turning on lights as I go, trying to chase away the shadows that seem to gather in the corners.
Grandma’s been staying at Cheryl’s more often lately, claiming she likes the company, but I know she’s giving me space.
Space for what, I’m not entirely sure. To figure out whatever this thing with Jericho might be?
To find my footing again after Dick’s unwelcome reappearance in my life? To conquer my nightmares?
I make myself a cup of tea and curl up on the window seat that looks out toward Jericho’s house. His porch light is on—probably on a timer—illuminating the empty swing I’ve secretly been sitting in while he’s gone, feeling a little closer to him while he isn’t around.
My phone buzzes again, and I nearly spill my tea in my rush to check it.
“Found anything?”
Just a mysterious whistle on my porch. Wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?
No idea what you’re talking about.
I can almost hear the gruff amusement in his voice.
Liar.
Did you try it yet?
Saving it for morning. Though without you here, the chase won’t be the same.
I bite my lip after sending that, wondering if I’m being too forward again. But he responds quickly.
I’ll make it up to you when I get back.
The promise in those words sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the evening chill.
I’ ll hold you to that.
Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
Get some sleep, Nora.
It’s not what I was hoping for, but there’s something tender in the simple instruction that makes me smile anyway.
Goodnight, Jericho.
I set my phone down, looking out at his empty house once more before pulling the curtains closed. The whistle hangs heavy against my collarbone, a tangible reminder that he was thinking of me before he left. That even in his absence, he’s found a way to be part of my morning ritual.
As I get ready for bed, I find myself humming—something I haven’t done in years. The tune is familiar, an old song my mother used to sing when she thought no one was listening. I’d almost forgotten it, but tonight it rises, filling the quiet corners of the house.
For the first time in longer than I care to admit, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
The whistle works. Sort of.
The first time I blow it, the rooster freezes mid-stride, his beady eyes widening in what looks suspiciously like shock. For one glorious moment, I think I’ve won. Then he lets out an indignant squawk and takes off running, twice as fast as before.
I chase him through Jericho’s yard, whistle between my teeth, blowing furiously every few steps. The rooster zigzags like he’s possessed, feathers flying, but at least he’s running away from me instead of toward me with those sharp talons.
“Gotcha!” I cry as he disappears into the bushes at the far end of the property. It’s not exactly victory, but it feels like progress.
I text Jericho immediately.
The whistle works! Sort of. He runs faster now.
His reply comes an hour later.
That wasn’t the plan.
We fall into a pattern over the next few days.
Morning whistle-chasing, texts throughout the day.
Nothing profound—just snippets about his work, the weather, the particularly grumpy customer who complained about our coffee being “too coffee-like.” He doesn’t ask about Dick, and I don’t mention how my ex keeps finding excuses to linger at the diner, how his eyes follow me with something darker than the puppy-dog longing everyone assumes.
By the time the weekend arrives, our texts have taken on a rhythm that feels almost… intimate. Like we’re circling closer to something neither of us is ready to name.
Crew’s making good progress. Might be back sooner than expected.
I stare at my phone, trying to decipher what that means. Is he eager to return? To see me?
The rooster will be thrilled.
Just the rooster?
My heart skips. I type and delete three different responses before settling on:
Maybe I’ve gotten used to having someone to chase chickens with at dawn.
His response is quick.
Not a chicken. A demon rooster.
Semantics.
I can almost picture his reluctant smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s trying not to laugh.
The rooster keeps me entertained for the next few days. I would never have thought that I’d be grateful for his existence. Sometimes I even leave—accidentally, of course—some food in my backyard. For the birds, that is. Not for the rooster. Jericho is right, he’s a demon.
I’m putting a piece of pie on the ground when my phone chimes in with a message.
“Coming home, Nora.”
“About time, Jericho.”
I don’t think my face has ever hurt more from smiling than it does right now.