Chapter 16
Lemon Bars and an Eavesdrop
Austin
The house smelled faintly of coffee and last night’s BBQ rib dinner—a scent that clings to good food.
Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen window.
Milly stood at the counter in rolled-up sleeves and an oversized flannel, hair twisted into a loose knot, humming as she measured sugar.
Each time she reached for the mixing bowl, the little silver compass at her throat caught the light and spun a spark across the room.
Inspector perched on the sill, tail ticking in time to her tune. Outside, Sherlock bleated at the chickens with the impatience of a foreman waiting on slow workers. For once, the ranch sounded perfectly ordinary—peaceful, steady, undeservedly kind.
I leaned against the doorframe, mug in hand. “You planning to start a bakery out of my kitchen?”
She looked over her shoulder, smiling. “Your kitchen? That’s cute.” Her smile turned the words into something softer than a tease.
“You humming means you’re scheming. Should I be worried?”
“First off, only if you hate lemon bars. Secondly, I plead the fifth,” she teased.
“I’ve survived worse,” I said, though the truth was I’d started to measure my mornings by the sound of her laughter.
Everwood had settled around us like a quilt—chores, vet calls, late suppers, Cassie’s meddling, and a kind of peace that felt borrowed from a storybook.
Cassie kept teasing that we were “as settled as an old married couple,” but nothing about the way my chest tightened around Milly felt settled.
It felt like standing on the edge of something bright and terrifying.
When the oven timer dinged, she wiped her hands on her jeans and looked at me. “You working today or pretending you’re on vacation again?”
“Neither,” I said. “Thinking we take a break.”
Her eyebrows rose. “A break from what? You fixing everything that squeaks?”
“From routine.” I set the picnic basket I’d packed on the table—checkered blanket, lemonade, sandwiches, a space waiting for her dessert. “Farmers’ market run. Then maybe the park.”
She studied me as if I’d just suggested a moon landing. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly. Field research into Everwood culture.”
Milly laughed, that easy sound that always made the world feel less dangerous. “Let me grab the lemon bars before you change your mind.”
By midmorning, we were weaving through the bustle of Everwood’s square.
Stalls lined the streets in a riot of color—bright tomatoes, jars of honey, baskets of lavender—and the air smelled of sugar and sawdust. We moved together through it all, shoulders brushing, pretending to admire produce when we were really cataloguing each other’s smiles.
Levi and Cassie appeared out of nowhere, waving a hand-drawn “Lovebirds Discount” coupon for the bookstore.
Cassie stage-whispered, “Redeemable only if there’s hand-holding!”
Milly groaned. “You two need new hobbies.”
Levi tipped his hat toward me. “Watching you blush is ours.”
I handed him the coupon solemnly. “I’ll frame it beside my diploma in suffering.”
We wandered on—Carl ribbed me about fence posts, Janet waved from her garden booth, and I bought Milly a bunch of wild asters when she wasn’t looking. Inside the bookstore’s cool shade, I slipped a mystery paperback into her bag.
“For late-night stakeouts,” I said.
She gave me a look equal parts amusement and suspicion. “You planning to make me lose sleep?”
“Already doing that,” I admitted.
By the time we reached the edge of town, our arms were full of fresh bread, fruit, and more laughter than the truck could carry.
We found an oak that leaned just enough to look conspiratorial.
The blanket spread easily, the lemon bars unwrapped, and sunlight fell through the branches in moving patterns.
Milly unpacked the basket like a magician—sandwiches, cheese, cherry tomatoes, her dessert wrapped in wax paper.
The smell of citrus and sugar drifted between us.
“Admit it,” she said, “this was a good idea.”
“I’ll never say that out loud. I have a reputation to protect.”
She laughed and passed me a lemon bar, sugar dusting her fingers. I brushed a crumb from her lip—gentle, unthinking—and she went still, smiling in that shy, startled way that made me forget how to breathe.
“If this is your version of a break,” she said softly, “I approve.”
“I never get tired of this,” I murmured.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The world had narrowed to sunlight, the hum of cicadas, and the easy rhythm of her heartbeat near mine.
Then my phone buzzed against the blanket—an unknown number flashing across the screen.
Milly tilted her head. “Ignore it.”
I almost did. But instinct runs deeper than peace, and habits built from years of caution don’t die easily. I thumbed the screen, lifting it to my ear.
“Regional power company,” a clipped voice said. “We’re tracking an outage at the Thomas property. Trucks are en route. Confirm no live lines?”
Every instinct in me shifted to alert. When I pressed for crew ID and verification, the line went dead.
Milly frowned. “Everything okay?”
“Power company,” I said, still listening to the static that wasn’t there. “They claimed we’ve got an outage at the house.”
She blinked. “We don’t. I left the porch light on for Inspector last night.”
“That’s what I thought.” I stared at the screen, watching it go dark. “No trucks scheduled. No caller ID.”
“You think it’s a scam?”
“Could be.” I forced a smile that didn’t feel steady. “Let’s head back anyway. I’d rather check than wonder.”
She studied me for a beat, the sunlight sharpening the concern in her eyes. “Austin, we’re fine. It’s a phone call.”
“Yeah,” I said, already packing the basket. “But peace of mind’s free.”
The drive home felt longer than it should have.
Dust rose behind the truck like smoke, the road blurring in the heat.
Milly tried small talk—something about Cassie’s new chicken coop—but my brain was already mapping possibilities.
False outage reports weren’t common around here, but they weren’t harmless either.
Someone had our address. Someone wanted to see how fast we’d react.
We turned up the gravel lane. The gate hung just as we’d left it, chain locked. Beyond it, the house stood still and ordinary under a wide blue sky. Too ordinary.
Milly caught the tension in my grip on the wheel. “You think someone’s there?”
“I think we check before assuming they’re not.”
I stopped short of the drive, scanning the yard. Fresh tire marks scored the dirt near the mailbox—deep treads, not ours.
Milly saw them too. “Delivery truck?”
“Maybe.” My pulse said otherwise.
We rolled through slowly, windows down, the hum of cicadas drowning the engine. Everything looked untouched—the barn doors closed, horses grazing, the windmill creaking its usual rhythm. Sherlock’s bleat split the stillness, cranky but unconcerned.
I exhaled, some part of me hating how relief always came laced with guilt.
“See?” Milly said softly. “No bogeymen.”
“Guess not.” I parked near the porch. “Stay here a sec.”
She ignored that, of course, hopping out beside me. Together we walked the perimeter, gravel crunching under our boots. Nothing broken, no signs of forced entry. The only footprints belonged to us and a stray cat.
Still, my gut wouldn’t unclench.
Inside, everything was exactly where we’d left it.
The smell of lemon bars lingered faintly in the air, a ghost of calm that made the unease worse.
I checked the breaker box, then the back-door latch, trying not to let her see how automatic it all was—this old habit of searching rooms that didn’t need searching.
Finally, she leaned against the counter. “Satisfied?”
“Almost.” I pulled out my phone, snapping a few photos of the tire tracks before they vanished in the dust. “I’ll send these to Palmer, just in case.”
Her tone softened. “You think someone’s watching?”
“I think Penny’s name still stirs dust in Red Hollow.”
She didn’t argue, just crossed the room and set a hand on my arm. “Hey. Whatever this is, we’ll handle it. Together.”
That word—together—hit deeper than I expected.
Thunder rolled far off over the ridge, a single low growl that promised rain.
The storm arrived like an old friend. Clouds stacked over the horizon, wind stirring the wheat grass into restless silver waves. We finished locking up just as the first drops hit. She darted under the awning, laughing when a gust chased a spray of water across the steps.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “You’d think you scheduled it.”
“Efficient,” I said, and she shook her head, smiling.
Lightning flashed, followed by the soft crack of thunder. The world smelled of rain and pine sap. She leaned against the railing, arms folded, gaze lost somewhere in the curtain of water.
“Kind of pretty, isn’t it?” she said.
“Depends on whether it takes the power lines again.”
She nudged my shoulder. “You could find a storm cloud in a sunshine parade.”
I started to reply, but she turned, face lit faintly by the porch light, and all the careful words scattered.
“Milly,” I said instead, “whoever made that call… if they’re trying to spook us, they’re wasting their time.”
She tilted her head, rain, light flickering across her smile. “Us?”
“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a heartbeat, she searched my face, as if deciding whether to believe me. Then she stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on my chest. “Good. Because I’m done being scared.”
The porch light buzzed once and went out, leaving us in the soft gray of rain and lightning. I could see her eyes, bright even in the dark.
“I love you,” she said quietly. “Even when life’s just lemon bars and weird phone calls.”
A laugh caught somewhere in my throat. “That’s specific.”
“It’s our kind of specific.”
I touched her cheek, rain dampening the air between us, and kissed her—slow, certain. When we parted, she was still smiling.
“I love you too, Milly,” I said. “And I’ll keep saying it until you’re sick of dessert.”
She laughed softly. “Never going to happen.”