Chapter 12 Landon #2
The first line was light but sure. Then another, and another, as she mapped out the top arc of what looked like a rising sun. She’d always had this focus when she created—quiet and intense, like the world narrowed down to the stroke of graphite on plaster.
I hovered nearby longer than I probably needed to. She wore my shirt like she’d always had it, like it belonged to her. The hem fell mid-thigh, loose around her waist, and smudges of gray already dotted the front from where she’d brushed her hands.
About halfway through her outline, the bell above the door jingled again. God, was today everyone’s day to visit the diner?
I turned my head, still kneeling beside Kira with a faint smear of yellow chalk on my knuckles. This time, it was the lawyer guy.
He stepped inside with easy confidence. Sharp navy suit, a burgundy tie knotted just right, and a messenger bag slung casually over one shoulder.
His wavy brown hair and beard were trimmed, dark eyes scanning the room.
What surprised me the most was how young he looked.
He was the lawyer who saved the diner, but he couldn’t be older than early thirties.
Mom bustled out of the kitchen, hands dusted with flour. “Mr. Rhodes!” She beamed. “So glad you stopped in. I have the documents in the office if you’ve got a minute.”
“Please call me Carter,” he said with a smooth nod. Then he caught sight of us. Something in his expression shifted—curious and just a touch surprised.
“Actually,” Mom added, turning slightly, “you haven’t met my eldest son yet. Landon, come here a second.”
I stood, brushing chalk dust from my hands and stepping forward as Mom gestured between us.
“This is my son, Landon. He’s helping me get the place back on its feet.”
The lawyer, Carter, extended a hand. “Carter Rhodes. It’s good to finally meet you. Your mom’s been singing your praises.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand firmly. “The Picasso over there is Kira.”
Kira gave a small nod before returning her focus to the mural.
“The files are in the back,” Mom said. “Liam, could you come with us too, please?”
It felt like Liam had been home less than an hour before he started taking over the diner. Tasks I should’ve been handling.
Carter and Liam followed Mom to the back office, leaving me and Kira alone. The only sound was the scratch of pencil against drywall as she kneeled beside her rough mural outline.
“Shouldn’t you be back there, too?” she asked without looking up.
I shrugged. “Liam’s always been better with spreadsheets and legal talk. He’s a business major, after all.”
“Sure, but you don’t need a degree to be good with this place. You’re the one who’s been here, scrubbing grease off ceiling tiles and fixing up cracked counters.”
I smiled faintly, watching the curve of her wrist as she sketched. “We each have our roles to play.”
She paused, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Nah,” I said too quickly.
She dropped her pencil pouch beside her knee and turned to face me fully, her knees curled beneath her like she’d settled in for something more serious. “Landon, between the diner, the bar, volunteering, and everything with”—her throat hitched slightly—“us…aren’t you overwhelmed?”
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “Sometimes.”
“Then why do it all?”
I exhaled slowly, my gaze drifting to the unfinished wall, the taped-off corners of the floor, the sunlight streaming through dust-smeared windows. All these little pieces that still needed fixing.
“Because staying busy makes the quiet easier to ignore,” I said. “When I’m working, I don’t have time to wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed. What Dad would say about me. Or if I screwed everything up with Liam. Or with you.”
Kira’s face softened, her brows drawn low with something close to sympathy. Or maybe understanding.
“It’s not exactly healthy,” I admitted with a half-laugh. “But when my hands are doing something like cleaning, baking, or fixing, I don’t spiral so much.”
She rose to her feet slowly, brushing chalk dust from her pants. “You don’t have to keep running from all that, you know.”
“I’m not running,” I said. “Just working through it. Loudly. With tools.”
She stepped closer, her voice gentler. “Maybe you can start working through it quietly, too. With people who care.”
Her eyes met mine, and for a second, neither of us moved.
Then the kitchen door creaked open, and Liam’s voice floated through. “Mom’s asking about the paint orders, Landon.”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Coming.”
“I’ve actually got to head back to work.
” Kira stripped off her shirt—my shirt—exposing a thin layer of smooth, creamy skin.
I was immediately tempted to lean and softly stroke her hip bone.
But I was committed to not pushing things physically until Kira was ready and explicitly communicated it. She handed the shirt back to me.
I swallowed hard. “Do you want me to walk you out?”
“I think I can handle the sidewalk,” she teased.
I followed her to the door anyway. Call it a habit. Call it something else. But I stood there until she had safely handled the sidewalk and was far out of view.