Chapter Forty
Xavier
The house wakes before she does. Not all at once. Just small things. Wood settling somewhere overhead. The refrigerator kicking on. Squirt’s hooves tapping across the floor as he noses along the cabinets, searching for something that isn’t there yet.
I sit at the kitchen table with the laptop open, the camera feeds laid out in quiet rows across the screen. Front yard. Driveway. Back door. Side fence. I let each one sit a second longer than I need to before moving to the next.
Nothing.
A raccoon crosses the driveway after three, slow and unbothered. A stray cat pauses under the motion light, eyes flashing bright before it disappears into the dark. The wind catches the branches near the fence twice, setting the light off and then letting it die again.
That’s it. No one lingering. No shapes holding still where they shouldn’t be. My fingers hover over the trackpad before I close the laptop.
From the hallway, I hear her shift, blankets moving, a drawer sliding open. I leave the computer where it is. Not hiding it. Just not putting it in front of her if she doesn’t want it in her face first thing when she wakes up.
“Morning.” Her voice is rough with sleep as she steps into the kitchen.
“Morning.”
She slows when she sees the counter. Two mugs. Coffee already made. Her eyes flick to me, then back to the pot. “You’re going to make this a habit.”
“Preventative maintenance.”
A huff of laughter escapes her as she wraps her hands around the mug. The smell of coffee fills the space, warm and familiar, settling into the corners of the kitchen.
“You see anything?”
“Raccoon.” I wink as I grab my mug and lean against the counter next to her. “Looked suspicious.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him.”
We stand there for a minute. No rush to move. No need to fill it. Close enough to feel the quiet shift between us but not touching.
After we’d checked everything one last time, she’d gone to bed.
I’d stayed awake longer than I should, shifting between being deflated that she’d taken away the opportunity to spend more time with her, and relief that I’d avoided making a mistake.
Because knowing that every glorious inch of her body was only a few feet from where I was lying was getting harder to ignore.
The curve of her cheek. The line of her jaw. The swell of her breasts under the oversized sweatshirt. My body flares with heat—her bare feet. I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. Those ruby red toenails.
Squirt lets out a low grunt and nudges the cabinet door harder this time. Saved by the pig. Again. “Feed them?”
Her brows lift. “You volunteering to help?”
“I’m already dressed.” And I need to do something before I kiss her. I shove off the counter and stride to the door.
Outside, the air bites a little sharper than it did yesterday. The grass is damp beneath my boots, cool seeping through my shirt as I step off the porch. The motion light flicks on, then fades.
Her footsteps sound on the wooden steps as she follows several steps behind me after stopping to slip on her shoes. Samson lifts his head the second we come into view. He watches me. Still deciding.
“He’s not sure about you.”
“At least I have Squirt.”
“That you do.” The sound of her laughter twists inside of me.
I shove it away as she pours the feed, the grain hitting the trough in a steady rhythm. I move along the fence line while she works, slower this time, eyes tracking the ground instead of scanning it.
The spot by the siding catches my attention first. Flattened grass. Same as yesterday. No deeper. No wider. Nothing new pressed into it. I move on. The gate latch holds. The fence line is intact. Nothing pulled loose. Nothing forced.
Behind me, the piglets shift and squeal, louder this morning. Stronger. One wanders too far from the cluster. I step in, nudging it back toward Delilah before Samson decides to intervene.
He watches. Lets it go.
“You’re gaining his trust.” She braces her hands on her hips.
“High-stakes relationship.” That earns me a small smile as we walk back to the porch side by side in a comfortable silence.
Once we’re inside, she grabs her bag from the counter, checking inside like she always does. I wipe my hands on a rag and set it by the sink, folding it once before leaving it there.
“You don’t have to leave before me.”
“I’ve got a stop at the shop.” True. Just not the whole reason.
She nods, like she expected that answer. “Thanks for everything.”
I step outside before I’m not able to. This is getting messy. Too messy. I rake my hand through my hair. Staying shouldn’t feel this easy. Or this dangerous.
Across the street, something moves near the trees. A dog. The neighbor’s. It noses along the ground, slow, uneven. When it shifts its weight, it limps. Subtle. But there.
I pause with my hand on the truck door, watching it a second longer than I mean to. It keeps moving. Like nothing’s wrong. Maybe I imagined it.
After I get in, the engine turns over, steady, grounding. I pull onto the road, letting the rhythm of driving take over. A few houses down, I notice blue lights flash behind me, so I pull over.
Jake is out of the cruiser before I’ve fully stopped, one hand resting on the door as he leans down. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Everything good?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes move over the truck, quick, assessing, then back to me. “Heard you got cameras up.”
“Last night.” I run a hand over the back of my neck. It’s not everywhere that you get stopped by the police and don't have to worry about what you did wrong unless you did something wrong.
“Fast.”
“She needed them.”
He nods once. “Emily said you were keeping the guys at the bar in line.”
“I wasn’t keeping anyone in line.”
A small grin tugs at his mouth. “Didn’t look like that from where I was.” I don’t respond. There’s nothing more to say. He taps the roof of the truck once. “Call me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
He heads back to his cruiser, lights cutting off as he pulls away. I sit there before easing back onto the road.
The shop comes into view, the lot already filling with trucks, the day's noise starting to build.
Inside, Dad’s at his desk, ledger open, coffee halfway gone. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I head straight for the back and stop. The shelf isn’t empty. The missing wrench sits exactly where it should be. Centered. Clean. Like it never left.
I stand there a second, staring at it, then reach out and pick it up. It feels the same. Familiar in my hand. I open and close it. Still got the same catch at the quarter point.
“Found the wrench.” I grab the WD-40 and spray on the hinge.
“Good.” Dad’s voice is gruff as usual.
“Yeah,” I say. “Must’ve missed it.”
He grunts, already back in the ledger.
I set it down, a little slower this time. Makes sense. Guys move things. Tools get set somewhere else. Happens all the time. I’m not sure what I thought was happening anyway. The security at the shop and lot is far superior to Ruby’s before I added enhancements.
It’s more high-tech than what I’ve installed at her place. I grab what I came for and return to my truck. Something catches the light. Metal. Sitting flat in the middle of the truck bed. My tape measure.
I don’t move right away. Just look at it. Shifted against the passenger side of the bed. No dirt on it. No reason for it to be there. I never leave it out. Never loose.
Like the wrench, the weight of the tape measure is familiar against my palm—the metal cold from the morning frost.
What’s the likelihood that one of the guys moved both items and randomly put them back at the same time? I roll my eyes. With Travis, anything is possible.
I climb into the truck and turn right at the stop sign. I’ve got a job site to finish up and a bone to pick with Travis.