Chapter Thirty-Two
Xavier
Tom Hart didn’t ask questions. He just rang up the motion lights, window locks, reinforced strike plates, and the longest exterior screws they carry, as if I’d walked in after hours for this exact reason before.
I haven’t. Maybe half the town is reinforcing doors tonight and not talking about it. Or maybe they should be.
I pull into Ruby’s driveway as the porch light clicks on, casting a soft circle across the steps. The front door opens before I make it up the walk. She’s watching for me. That lands low and steady in my chest.
It shouldn’t, because that complicates things, and I don’t like complicated things. But I’m not about to let anything happen to Ruby. She doesn’t deserve to be scared in her own space. No one does.
“You were fast.” Her gaze flickers over the sacks I’m carrying. Her eyebrows quirk upward.
“I know where things are.”
She steps back to let me in, locking the door behind me with a decisive click that sounds new. Intentional. Good.
I set the supplies down. “We’ll start with the doors.”
She nods. No argument. No minimization. That’s new, too, and it unsettles me more than anything else about tonight.
Ruby doesn’t usually agree this quickly.
She argues. She fights. I rub my hand over my chest as anger flares inside me.
I don’t like this. I don’t like that someone is messing with her.
Determination floods through me. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure she’s safe, and that worried look on her face will go away.
I remove the existing strike plate, holding it up. “Two-inch screws. Standard. Easy to kick through.”
She winces. “That shouldn’t make my skin crawl, but it does.”
I hand her the longer screws. “Four-inch. Goes into the stud.”
As she takes them, our fingers meet instead of passing. Not a brush. Contact. Something like an electric current passes between us. It doesn’t sting. It zaps, warming my blood. Her hand stills under mine for half a second, and the pause says more than either of us should let it.
I should pull back. Give her space. I don’t. Not right away. I shift my grip instead, slower than necessary, like that changes anything. It doesn’t.
I clear my throat. “Hold the plate.” My voice sounds normal, but nothing feels right inside me. I shouldn’t be this close to her, especially after telling her I’m staying to keep her safe. That’s it. Nothing else.
She positions it, standing close enough that I feel her warmth through my sleeve. I ignore everything else and drive the screws in, the drill vibrating through the wood, through the plate, through the space between us. Solid.
“Try it.”
She pushes the door. It doesn’t budge. Her shoulders drop half an inch.
“Okay,” she says. “That helps.”
Shit. I’m thinking things I shouldn’t, and she’s worried about someone breaking into her house again. Focus on what’s important. Nothing else. We move to the kitchen window. “These are always locked?”
“They should be.” She shrugs. “In the summer, I sometimes leave them open to let the fresh air in, but not lately.”
I show her the small gap in the latch. She swallows hard.
“Here.” I hand her the new pin lock. “You install it.”
Her brows lift. “You trust my installation skills now?”
“I’m supervising.”
She rolls her eyes but stretches above the sink to attach the lock, tongue pressed against the corner of her mouth in concentration.
Her hands are steady now, purposeful, reclaiming this space piece by piece. It’s better than staring at her mouth. And tongue. And thinking about things I shouldn’t. What’s wrong with me? This is Ruby. I don’t mess with Ruby. Ever.
She finishes and looks up. “Check it.”
I test the window. Solid. “Good.”
Her smile is small but real.
Once all the additional window locks are in place, we go outside. The air is sharp with the promise of frost. I mount the motion light above the back door while she holds the ladder steady. “Don’t drop me.”
“I won’t. At least not until you have all these installed.”
“Reassuring.”
She lets out a laugh, and my heart trips before I can stop it.
When I climb down, we’re closer than expected. Her hands are still on the ladder. Mine close over hers to steady it. Firm. Necessary. Except I don’t move right away when I should. She doesn’t either. The ladder creaks between us, and neither of us seems eager to break the moment.
“Got it?” My voice comes out rougher than it should.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves for a beat longer than needed. Then I step back like I meant to all along. The porch light hums above us. The night smells like cold leaves and wood smoke.
“Does that feel… safer?”
She nods but avoids my gaze, like this means more to her than she wants to say. “It feels like someone tried to take something, and we took it back.”
My chest tightens at her downturned lips and furrowed brow. This isn’t over. Back inside, I pull out my phone and click from screen to screen as she tidies up the kitchen, putting away the dishes, wiping down the counters, staying away from the box with the stuffed pig nestled inside.
“I ordered you a security system.” I shove the phone into my back pocket.
She spins to face me. “You what?”
“It’ll be here in two days. Cameras, door sensors, alarm. I’ll install it.”
She worries her bottom lip as she scrapes her palms over her jeans. “That sounds expensive. I can’t afford that right now. Especially after paying you back for all the locks you installed.”
“It sounds necessary, and you aren’t paying me back for anything. Someone broke into your home and made you feel uncomfortable there. I’m not letting that happen again.”
“What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one.” I lift a shoulder. “Consider it… preventative maintenance.”
Her mouth curves. “You’re comparing my safety to roof shingles.”
“Roofs are important.” I leave the rest unsaid.
She exhales a laugh, then sobers. “Thank you.”
The words land heavier than they should, so I take a step back and put distance between us, placing myself back on solid ground, where I belong. “I like fixing problems.”
“This isn’t a loose hinge.”
“No. It’s not.”
Squirt ambles in, snout working the air before pressing solidly against my leg like I’m his new scratching post.
“You supervising?”
He leans harder, weight settling against my boot.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I get it. You’re keeping an eye on me.”
After I scratch the pig’s ear, I move to the door sensor, adjusting it for the tenth time.
Ruby rests her hip against the counter, watching me. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t have to come back with all this.”
“I know.”
She studies me for a long moment. “Why did you?”
The question hangs between us because someone crossed a line. Because you were shaking. Because I can’t stand the idea of you being afraid in your own house.
I pick up the drill instead. “Because it needed doing.”
We work in silence for a while, the rhythm familiar now.
‘Hand me that.’ ‘Hold this.’ ‘Check the level.’ By the time the last lock clicks into place, the house feels different.
Not untouched. Protected. Ruby stands in the center of the kitchen, turning like she’s memorizing it, and that quiet focus tells me it matters to her.
“It feels like mine again.” Her lips curve upward. Just a little. But enough to ease some of the tension from my shoulders.
“Good.”
My throat tightens as something passes between us. Gratitude. Trust. Something deeper. Something I don’t want to name.
Squirt drops his weight against my boot again. I exhale. “You’re heavy.”
Ruby laughs, and something in me shifts lower, harder to ignore. Shit. I rub my palm against my chest. I should go, but I won’t. I’m staying. Not for the house. Not for the locks. For her. That’s the truth I can’t avoid anymore. And I don’t like it.