They stepped outside. Rain fell steady, drumming against shingles. Across the square, Griddle & Grind glowed golden, Twyla’s chalkboard luring the late crowd. The Book Nook sign creaked, and Rowan could picture Lucien scowling at a customer who dog-eared a page. The town hadn’t changed. He wasn’t sure if that was comfort or curse.
Diana hugged her cardigan closer. “I’ve got the Council’s safety checklist and a map Miriam left. Want copies?”
“Show me both. I’ll make a work order and you can sign off. We’ll take it in phases. You stay open limited, or close till I clear it.”
“Limited,” she decided. “I’d rather move slow than make a mess.”
“Good.”
Back in the lobby, she spread the papers across the desk. His hand dwarfed the pages as he wrote notes in the margins, circling the north wall, underlining stair issues, adding a line under smoke alarms. She leaned in to point something out, her sleeve brushing his arm.
“Here,” she said, tapping the map. “The parlor wall. It feels tired.”
He pressed his palm against the plaster, listening. The timber hummed under his skin. “You’re right.” Her eyes lit like he’d passed some private test.
“Can I ask something not about drywall?”
“Ask.”
“You grew up here. The way you move through the building, the way you look at the square—it shows.”
He didn’t answer. Some truths sat too heavy to spill. “You’ve got Council backing,” he said instead. “Not everyone gets that. Use it. Put your permits where folks can see them. If anyone gets cute about you being human, point at the paperwork.”
She exhaled, not relief exactly, but steadiness. “I can do that.”
A metallic tang brushed his senses. Roof leak spreading. “I’m going up,” he said. “Tarp, then brace the north sill. I’ll need a key for the service door.”
She tugged Miriam’s keyring from her pocket, slipping one free. “Need help? Holding the ladder, handing nails?”
“Hold the ladder. That’s all. No climbing in this weather.”
She nodded like it was an honor. He pretended it wasn’t.
At his truck, he grabbed a folded tarp and roofing paper. The ladder went up easy. Diana planted her hands firmly on the rails, feet braced. His wolf approved. People who held steady were rarer than people who talked.
“Don’t climb,” he said. “If anything shifts, step back.”
“I’m not reckless.”
“Good.”
On the roof, rain slapped cold against him. He moved fast and sure, testing for soft spots, laying tarp where it would hold the flow. When the wind pulled, he braced, set anchors, and kept working until water ran clean away. By the time he climbed down, his jacket clung to him, heavy with rain.
Diana stood ready, soaked at the shoulders, curls frizzed into defiance. She hadn’t budged. When he reached the bottom, she caught the ladder, hand close enough to his he could feel her warmth even through the storm chill.
“Inside,” he said. “You’re drenched.”
“I’ll make a towel offering to the laundry gods.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
In the lobby, she fetched two towels. She tossed him one without fuss and scrubbed her own hair with the other. That simple domesticity pressed against his ribs in a way he didn’t like. He wiped rain from his neck and draped the towel on a chair.
“I can pay for materials today,” she said. “Miriam left a fund for emergencies.”
“I’ll bill each phase. No surprises.”
He crouched by the north wall, running his hand along the baseboard. Moisture lurked in the seams. “I’ll brace this tonight. Tomorrow, we pull the clapboard and see how deep it goes.”
