She shook it off and moved into the living room, switching on lamps as she went. Everything was fine. Normal. Quiet.
Then she froze.
The throw blanket on her couch was folded—neatly, precisely—with its corners aligned. But she could’ve sworn she’d left it rumpled this morning, tossed aside when Bear had called.
Her gaze swept the room, catching on other details. The stack of books on her coffee table had been straightened. The one on top—a novel she’d been reading—was closed, though she distinctly remembered leaving it open, facedown.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “You’re imagining things.”
But her feet carried her toward the kitchen, her movements careful, measured. She checked the back door—the dead bolt was locked. Had she locked it this morning? She couldn’t remember.
The rational part of her brain offered logical explanations: she’d straightened before leaving, forgotten about it in her rush. She’d absent-mindedly locked the dead bolt out of recent habit, even though she’d never tended to do it before.
But the other part of her was two point four seconds from complete panic. She pressed her back against the counter, her breathing shallow.
“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “You’re being ridiculous.”
She forced herself to move, opening the refrigerator, taking out ingredients for a late dinner. Her movements were mechanical, her mind elsewhere. The knife felt wrong in her hand as she chopped vegetables, too similar to other weapons, other threats.
Her phone’s ring nearly made her drop it.
Amari’s name flashed on the screen. Joy pressed it to her ear, grateful for the distraction.
“Hey! I was just thinking about you,” Joy lied, her voice deliberately light.
“Were you? I’m flattered,” Amari laughed. “I just called to tell you again how much fun I had at the festival. It was like old times, us working together in chaos.”
Joy relaxed slightly, cradling the phone as she abandoned her meal prep. “It would’ve been a disaster without you.”
“Oh please, you would’ve managed. You always do.” There was a pause. “I’ve been thinking, if you need help when you launch in Oak Creek, I could maybe swing another visit.”
“Really? You’d do that?”
“For you and Velvet Mornings? Absolutely. Especially if I get my choice of crepes,” Amari’s voice softened. “Besides, it was nice seeing you so happy. You and Bear both.”
Heat crept into Joy’s cheeks. “He was pretty amazing, wasn’t he?”
“The man drove an hour just to help you serve coffee. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
Joy sank onto a kitchen chair, her earlier unease momentarily forgotten. “Yeah, he’s… It’s different with him, Amari. It always has been.”
“Different, how?”
“It’s like…” Joy searched for the words. “Like I don’t have to pretend. He sees all of me—the mess, the doubts, the strength, the weakness. And he’s still there.”
“Oh my God,” Amari gasped dramatically. “You’re in love with him.”
Joy laughed despite herself. “I’ve been in love with Bear Bollinger since I was eight years old and he fixed my bike. This isn’t exactly breaking news.”
“No, but it’s different now. It’s real. Adult. Mutual.”
“It is,” Joy admitted softly. “And honestly? It terrifies me sometimes, how much I…” She trailed off as her gaze caught on the kitchen window. The blinds were tilted at a different angle than when she’d left this morning. She hadn’t been able to get the string to cooperate.
“Joy? You still there?”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“What’s wrong?” Amari’s tone shifted, concern edging in. “You sound off suddenly.”
