Page 96 of The Goat Next Door

Nana lets out a soft, knowing laugh.

She nudges her teacup toward me and leans back, her expression softening. “You’re a stubborn man, Brooks Lawson. And that’s a damn shame, because stubbornness is a lonely life.”

I’ve always known that. What I didn’t account for was how quickly loneliness starts to feel safer than the alternative.

25

Ember

“I don’t speak human, but even I could tell

something was about to go terribly,

entertainingly wrong.”

— Kevin

I’m standing at the end of the bakery counter, the register humming a low, steady note as I tally the receipts.

My mind keeps looping back to the house—the fierce, desperate hunger of Brooks’s mouth, the hard, relentless pressure of his tongue, and the absolute greediness of the way he’s devoured me over these last few nights.

I reach up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, my fingers trembling.

It’s the thrill of it that gets me.

The fact that the entire town sees Brooks Lawson as their stoic, unshakable Fire Chief—a man of checklists and safety regulations—while I know exactly how he sounds when he’s losing his composure.

I know the way his hands, usually so steady when he’s directing a crew, will tremble when he finally lets his control snap. I know the specific, guttural groan he makes when he’s pushed to the edge, a sound that has nothing to do with the man the council members discuss in board meetings.

It’s a secret language only I speak, and there is an intoxicating, dangerous kind of power in that.

But then, the flip side of that coin cuts a little deeper.

I watch a group of loggers walk past the bakery window, laughing and shoving each other, and a shadow of doubt creeps in, cold and sharp.

He’s so careful. So damn protective. He moves through the world like he’s guarding a vault, keeping his distance in public, his eyes flicking to the door every time someone enters, as if he’s constantly checking the perimeter.

I know why he does it. I know he’s terrified of being reckless after what happened with Tommy, I know that Lauren leaving changed how he views the world. He protects Sophie like she’s his only tether to the earth. But knowing the “why” doesn’t make it sting any less when I feel like a secret he’s hiding in the dark.

I swallow hard, forcing the thought away.

I tell myself it’s a game. A high-stakes, breathless game of pretend where we’re just neighbors.

I like the secret, but sometimes the secrecy feels less like protection and more like a curtain he can pull at any second.

I don’t want to be a dirty secret. I don’t want to be the woman who only exists when the sun goes down and the blinds are drawn. I want to be able to say his name without checking over my shoulder.

But if Brooks wants to play at secrecy, I’ll match him beat for beat. I can take it. I can be whatever he needs me to be until he realizes he doesn’t want to hide anymore.

⋆ ✦ ⋆

By four-thirty, I’m walking home with a paper bag tucked under one arm and my keys dangling from my fingers.

The mountains glow gold beneath the lowering sun. The town feels smaller at this hour. Softer. Like everything exhales at once.

As I pass the hardware store, old Mr. Jenkins waves from his rocking chair.

“Evening, Ember.”