Page 74 of Show Me

“You locking up at night?”

Dad looks up again, brow pulling in. “Always have.”

I nod, but the answer doesn’t settle anything.

My hand drags across the back of my neck as I scan the room one more time. Nothing. I open the door to the tool room, searching the shelves for no sign of the missing tape measure.

“Something wrong?”

“Lost my tape measure.”

“Check your truck.” He taps the end of the pen on the desk.

“I did.”

He shrugs. “Then you misplaced it.”

Probably. But where? Maybe I took it into Ruby’s place and forgot I already had one there. That makes sense. The night was chaos. I glance back at the whiteboard, at Ruby’s handwriting threaded through the day like she’s always been part of it, then turn back to Dad.

“Heard that the police were at Ruby’s last night. She safe?” Dad asks, not looking up this time.

Of course, he did. It’s Brookhaven. Everyone knows everything. “For now. And she’ll stay that way if I have anything to do with it.”

The words are out before I can take them back. But all he does is nod once, like that’s all there is to say about it.

I grab a stack of permits and head back outside. The lot is waking up, engines turning over, boots hitting gravel, and the high whine of a saw cutting through the morning air. I keep moving toward the truck, ready to work.

Work. Noise. Movement. Easier than quiet. Easier than admitting how close I came to kissing Ruby. That thought hits harder than it should, and I leave it alone.

I climb into the truck and start it, letting it idle longer than I need to. My eyes drift to the rearview mirror, scanning the lot. For her. Not because I’m looking for trouble. Because I want to know if she’s there. Then I look away. The thought doesn’t leave when I do.

Get to work. I roll my eyes, ease out of the parking lot, and leave the thought of her behind. Or try to.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Ruby

For a few seconds, the ceiling holds my attention while I lie there, waiting for something that doesn’t come. Boots on hardwood. The low hum of the coffee maker. The steady presence that made the night feel manageable.

Nothing. Of course nothing.

The hallway beyond the open door remains visible. The light is still on. The space has returned to something that almost feels normal, like the fear packed itself up and left with the dark. Except, I suspect that Xavier left with it.

It shouldn’t bother me. But it does. I shouldn’t expect anything different. But a part of me did. The part that almost let him kiss me last night.

I shove off the bed, feet hitting the floor. The boards creak under my weight as I move down the hall, slower than usual, like something might shift if I go too fast. The sofa is empty. The blanket is folded neatly at one end, with the pillow stacked on top of it.

The kitchen comes into view. He’s gone. Of course he’s gone. Why would he stay? Unfortunately, reality doesn’t stop the pang of hurt that fills my chest. He stayed because someone broke into my house. Because I needed help. Not because of me.

The thought lands, quiet and familiar, settling somewhere behind my ribs where it doesn’t need to be acknowledged to linger.

Then the mug catches my attention. Steam curls faintly from the surface. A scrap of paper rests beside it, its edges flattened as if it were set down with care. Steps slow. Fingers brush the counter before closing around the ceramic, warmth sinking into my palms as I read.

Doors are solid. Windows Locked. Lights are working. Call if anything feels off.

X

Not a goodbye. Not anything more than what it says. Practical. Steady. Exactly him.