Page 41 of When Love Takes Root

Juice climbed in, still talking. “I’m just saying, Celestial Crowns about to think the Avengers care about outlets.”

I put the truck in reverse, but before I eased off the brake, my phone buzzed in the cup holder.

A voicemail notification lit the screen.

Unknown number.

I stared at it for half a second, then looked toward Onyx through the windshield. He was tightening the strap beneath his helmet, his attention already shifting toward the road.

Juice leaned over like privacy was a foreign policy he didn’t recognize. “Who is it?”

“Unknown,” I said.

Juice settled back in the seat and lifted both hands. “Play it. I’m invested now. It’s either a safety concern or somebody trying to sell you an extended warranty.”

I tapped the voicemail.

A woman’s voice filled the cab, low at first, like she had almost hung up before deciding not to.

“Hi, Mr. Brooks. This is Celeste Coleman. Leilani gave me your number. I know Onyx already explained what’s happening, but I wanted to update you.”

She paused, and in that small pocket of silence, I heard the shop before I saw it. Faint music. A dryer humming somewhere in the background. Women talking. Movement. Life pressing around her while she tried to keep her voice steady.

She continued, “I shut down the back stations and turned off the dryers on that side. The lights flickered again, and there’s still a smell near the rear wall. It’s not strong, but it’s there.”

I stopped moving.

Celeste drew in a breath, careful and measured.

“I don’t want to make this bigger than it is. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt. Leilani said you were coming, so I’ll be here. Thank you. And again, I’m sorry for bothering you.”

The message ended.

For a moment, neither one of us said anything.

Her apology sat in the truck longer than her voice did.

That was the part that worked my nerves. Not the flickering lights or the smell. I’d seen enough bad wiring to recognize danger. What bothered me was that a woman was standing inside a building warning her to pay attention, and she still felt the need to apologize for asking somebody for help.

Juice looked straight ahead. “She said she shut it down?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“That’s good.”

“It is.”

But my hand had already tightened around the steering wheel.

I backed out of the parking space and shifted into drive. Onyx pulled ahead of us on his bike, and the sunlight caught the edge of his helmet as he turned toward DePriest.

Somewhere across town, a salon full of women, children, heat, water, and trust was waiting on us to get there before a warning became something worse.

I pressed the gas.

“Seat belt,” I said.

Juice clicked his belt into place. “I had it.”