Page 131 of At First Spark
I frown. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Nolan.”
“I’m asking if she came alone.”
“I don’t know.”
His expression closes before I can read it. “You need to tell Holt.” His jaw tightens. “She gives off gasoline and bad decisions.”
That pulls a startled, involuntary laugh out of me. It feels wildly out of place in the room and exactly right too.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s about it.”
He studies me a second longer. “You going to tell Holt?”
I pick the scraper up again, more for something to do with my hands than because I’m ready to work.
What he means is that I tell Holt she came here, that she looked around the inn like she was casing it, that she used his name as a way to get under my skin, and then left smiling like she’d accomplished exactly what she meant to.
He means I stop trying to keep everyone’s messes compartmentalized and admit this one might be bigger than my pride.
Again. I hate that he’s right.
By late afternoon, the skies threaten rain again, but don’t fully commit. The inn feels tighter after Kenzie leaves, every creak sounding more suspicious than it should, every passing caroutside the front windows making me look up. Nolan catches me doing it twice and, to his credit, doesn’t mention it. He starts checking the side gate himself every time he circles back in from the yard.
The first time, I tell myself it’s practical.
The second, it feels protective.
By the third, I’m not sure why it makes the back of my neck prickle.
By the time I finally call it, my shoulders ache, and my patience is gone.
The drive back to the farm is too short for how much I need to think. Holt’s truck is already in the drive, which means his shift ended on time for once, and that should feel lucky instead of necessary.
It feels necessary anyway.
He’s on the porch when I pull in, one forearm braced against the railing, T-shirt damp at the collar like he came in from outside and never bothered to sit down. He straightens the second he sees my face.
That alone almost undoes me.
I barely get the car door shut before he’s stepping down into the yard. “What happened?”
No greeting. No softness around the edges. Straight to the point. Maybe that’s why I tell him everything.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just the facts as I remember them, standing there in the cooling evening with the smell of cut hay drifting over from somewhere beyond the barn and Rook pressing against my leg like he can tell the story in my body before I finish putting it into words.
Holt doesn’t interrupt. That’s how I know he’s angry. Truly angry. He gets quieter, not louder.
By the time I get to Kenzie asking whether Nolan was his replacement, his face has gone so still it almost reads as calm. Almost.
“She came to the inn,” he says.
I nod.
“Looked around.”
