Chapter Thirty-One
Ruby
The house feels different after someone else has stood inside it without permission. Not broken. Not ruined. Just… off. Wrong. The creaks sound louder. The shadows stretch farther. Even the wind against the siding sounds like fingers dragging down the walls.
I haven’t turned off the kitchen light. I’m not ready for the dark yet, not after tonight.
Emily stands near the counter, stethoscope draped around her neck, jacket half-zipped like she’s paused between one emergency and the next even though it’s her night off.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Emily asks for the third time.
“I’m okay.” It’s not a lie. Not the whole truth either.
Grace gurgles from the carrier on the floor, tiny fists waving like she’s conducting an invisible orchestra. Emily glances down and smiles, the tension easing from her shoulders for half a second.
Emily glances around the room. “I hate leaving you.”
“I know. But people need you.”
“And you don’t?”
I offer a small smile. “I have backup.”
As if on cue, Xavier steps through the back door, carrying a toolbox and a length of something metal that looks far more serious than my current door lock deserves.
Emily exhales. “Good.”
Xavier nods once. “I’ll take it from here.”
She studies him, not as a friend, not as Bella’s brother’s best friend, but as a man she’s trusting with one of her own.
“Call me if anything feels off.”
“I will.”
She squeezes my shoulder, gentle and brief, nothing like Greg’s grip, then gathers Grace and heads for the door. When it closes behind her, the house feels quieter.
Xavier sets the metal bar against the wall and scans the kitchen, eyes catching every detail: the box on the counter, the loosened weather stripping, the notes spread where Jake left them as he went over everything again.
“You eat?”
I blink. “What?”
“Food.” Xavier crosses his arms over his chest. “Necessary for survival. Did you eat anything?”
“I had a granola bar.”
“That was this morning.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
“Give me a second, and I’ll get you something.” He heads to the refrigerator and snatches the ingredients for a sandwich.
“You’re making me something to eat?”
“Yes.” One corner of his mouth arches upward. It’s not quite a smile, but it makes my heart skip a beat anyway. “But only because you forgot to eat.”
After making quick work of the bread, lunchmeat, and condiments, Xavier places the sandwiches on a plate. He sets them down with a small flourish. “Here you go. A gourmet meal at your service.”
Squirt trots into the kitchen, snout twitching, and makes a beeline for his boots. He looks down. “Hey.”
He flops against his foot like he’s claiming territory.
“You’ve been promoted,” I say. “He doesn’t do that for everyone.”
Xavier crouches, scratching behind Squirt’s ears with surprising gentleness. “He’s heavy.”
“He’s big-boned.”
Squirt grunts.
He nods. “That’s fair.”
The sound that escapes me is half laugh, half something I haven’t felt all day—normal. For a minute, we stand in the kitchen, him scratching a pig, me biting into a sandwich, and the house breathing around us.
Then he stands. “I’m staying tonight.”
It isn’t a question. He implied as much when Emily and Jake were here, but I hadn’t let myself think about what that meant. Now, my stomach clenches with unease. I swallow. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” The words land soft but immovable. “I can sleep on the couch. Or in the truck. Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.” He waits. Not pushing. Not assuming. Just… present. “Stay.”
The word feels like stepping onto a bridge I can’t see the other side of. He nods once, as if that settles it.
“I’m going to run to the shop,” he says. “Grab what I can. We’re missing a few things I want on this.”
I frown. “You don’t have what you need?”
“Not everything.” He’s already on his phone. “I want better hardware than what’s in the truck.”
“That seems… excessive.”
He meets my eyes. “It seems necessary.”
“Okay.”
He’s dialing as he heads for the door.
“Hey,” he says when the line picks up. “I need a few things. Yeah, I know. I’ll meet you there.” A beat. “Yeah. Appreciate it.” He hangs up, grabs the door, and heads out.
“Are you meeting your dad? You didn’t need to bother him.”
“No,” he says, already halfway outside. “Getting Hart to open the hardware store.”
I blink. “You’re opening the hardware store?”
“I don’t have everything we need at the shop.” He pulls the door open. “I’ll be back in ten. Fifteen, tops.”
He pauses at the door. “Lock it behind me.”
“I will.”
He hesitates, like he wants to say more. He doesn’t. Then the truck starts outside, gravel crunching as he pulls away.
Squirt settles near my feet, his warm weight pressing against my ankle. I finish the sandwich he made me, lock the door, and turn on the porch light.
And for the first time since I saw my name on that box, I’m not waiting for something to happen. I’m waiting for someone to come back, and that feels different.