Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Graham
Ford calls before sunset.
“Found him,” he says, voice clipped. “He’s holed up at the diner on Main Street. Sheriff’s keeping an eye on him, but I figured you’d want to handle this your way.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t let him leave.”
I hang up and stare at my phone for a long second, just listening to the quiet hum of the cabin. Maeve’s asleep in the next room, worn out from this morning’s tears. Her breathing is soft, steady again. I promised her I wouldn’t let anything touch her, and I meant it.
I grab my jacket and step outside.
The air is cold enough to bite, crisp with that early fall smell, pine, woodsmoke, damp earth. The kind of night that would usually calm me. Not today. Today, all I can think about is that note, that smug handwriting, and the look on Maeve’s face when she read it.
She’s been running long enough.
When I reach the truck, I see headlights coming up the road and a car pulling into the drive. Ford’s wife, Maisie, and his sister, Bonnie, climb out before I even kill the engine.
“Go,” she says, tightening her coat. “We’ve got her.”
“Thank you.”
She nods, eyes kind but serious. “She’s safe here. Go take care of it.”
By the time I pull into town, the streets are mostly empty. The diner sits near the corner of Main, the old sign buzzing faintly. Through the window, I see Ford sitting at the counter, one hand around his coffee mug, his eyes locked on the man across from him.
Maeve’s ex.
He looks smaller than I expected. Arrogant, yes, that slick, practiced sort of confidence that comes from getting his way too many times, but not dangerous. Just a man who’s never been told no and didn’t like learning what it meant.
I step inside.
Ford doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. He just tips his chin slightly toward the man across from him. “You’ve got five minutes,” he says. “Make it count.”
I walk over and stop beside the booth. The ex looks up, confused, then wary. I see the exact moment he realizes who I am.
“Evening,” I say, voice even. “You’re the one who’s been bothering Maeve.”
“I’m not bothering her,” he stammers. “I just wanted to talk.”
“You should’ve respected her when she told you no,” I tell him, leaning forward on the table. “But you didn’t. You showed up in my town. You left a note on my truck. You scared her.”
He swallows hard. “She didn’t tell you everything.”
“She didn’t have to.” I let the silence hang for a second, long enough that he shifts in his seat. “You don’t come near her again. You don’t call. You don’t text. You don’t drive through Pine Hollow. You so much as think about showing up, and I promise, you’ll regret it.”
He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, but I cut him off.
“She’s mine now,” I say quietly. “And she’s done being afraid.”
His eyes widen a little, the color draining from his face. He must see something in mine, because he doesn’t try to talk again. I stand up straight and nod toward the door.
“Sheriff’s waiting outside,” I tell him. “You’re going to get in your car, and you’re going to leave town. Today. You don’t stop until you’re far away from her.”
He hesitates, like he’s deciding whether to push it. Ford clears his throat behind me, a straightforward sound, and the man flinches.
Smart choice.
He stands, mutters something that’s half apology, half coward’s excuse, and heads for the door. The sheriff meets him at the curb, says a few words, then waves him toward his car. I watch him drive away until the taillights disappear down the road. Only then do I let myself breathe.
Ford finishes his coffee, sets the mug down, and looks at me. “You handled that better than I expected.”
“I’m trying not to make Dottie bail me out before breakfast.”
He grins. “She’d do it too.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “She would.”
He claps my shoulder. “Go home, Maeve needs you.”
***
When I get back to the cabin, Maeve’s sitting on the porch steps, wrapped in one of my flannels, a mug between her hands. Maisie and Bonnie sit next to her, whispering. When they look up, Maeve’s eyes go straight to mine.
I nod once, letting her know it’s over. The relief that flickers across her face hits me harder than I’m ready for.
Maisie squeezes her hand, stands, and says she’ll check in later. When she’s gone, I sit beside Maeve. For a while, we look at the trees, the moon shining through the branches.
“You went after him,” she says finally.
“I made sure he left,” I answer. “He won’t bother you again.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “What did you say?”
“Enough.”
She studies me for a moment, like she’s trying to read something behind my words. Then she leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I wrap an arm around her and pull her closer. “You don’t need to thank me for protecting you.”
We sit together for a long time. Every so often, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for months.
***
The next night, the town gathers for the bonfire at the edge of the lake. It’s a Pine Hollow tradition—cider, music, too many people, and flames that reach high enough to see from half a mile away. Normally, I’d skip it, but tonight, I want everyone to see her beside me.
She looks nervous when we walk up, but the second she spots familiar faces, Dottie waving from near the cider stand, Ford and Maisie by the fire, her shoulders ease. Conversations pause as people notice us. Then smiles spread. Someone calls out a greeting, then another.
The warmth spreads fast, the way it always does here when someone belongs.
I keep my hand on the small of her back, steady and certain. “You okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods, eyes bright in the firelight. “Yeah. Better than okay.”
“Good.”
When Dottie bustles over, she’s all smiles and motherly energy. “I told Ford you two would end up together. I’m a bit psychic when it comes to this stuff.”
Maeve laughs, blushing. “Apparently.”
Dottie hugs her, then leans toward me. “You take care of this girl, Graham Hawthorne.”
“I plan to,” I say.
She grins, satisfied, and disappears back into the crowd.
I turn to Maeve. Her cheeks are pink from the heat of the fire and maybe from everything she’s hearing. She looks up at me, unsure. “They’re all looking at us.”
“Good,” I murmur. “They should.”
Then I pull her closer, one hand sliding to her jaw, and kiss her right there slowly, deep enough to make her melt against me. The crowd cheers, someone whistles, but I barely hear it. All I know is her hand gripping my shirt and the way her heart beats against mine.
When I pull back, she’s smiling, breathless.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says softly.
“Yes, I did,” I tell her. “You’re mine, Maeve. And everyone here ought to know it.”
She shakes her head, laughing through the tears that start to gather. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” I brush my thumb over her cheek. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
The fire crackles, laughter carries across the water, and for the first time in too damn long, I feel something close to peace.