She laughs. “Pretty much.”
Of course it is.
“Can I get you something warm? Something sweet?”
I glance at the pastry case. “Hot chocolate. And… that apple tart. And the cinnamon bun.”
“Great choices. You new in town?”
I nod. “Muralist. Sadie.”
“Oh! You’re the one doing the city walls. Jake told me you’d be around.”
Of course he did.
I pay in cash and take my little brown bag of pastries and to-go cup like it’s armor. I offer a small wave and bolt before I can be caught in another impromptu makeout session.
I sit in my car for a long minute, sipping the cocoa. It’s rich, dark, homemade. Like someone melted actual bars of chocolate and poured them into this cup.
For a second, it makes me feel something close to joy. Then I glance at the mural map again.
The fire station’s still circled in red.
Max was a firefighter in Memphis.
He wore the uniform. Carried the weight. Took the risks. Came home with his skin smelling like smoke and sweat.
And then he didn’t come home at all.
I wipe my palm against my thigh and throw the car into drive.
New town. New people. You can do this.
I follow the directions to the second location on the list. A big beige brick wall behind the community health clinic. It’s got potential—nice exposure, lots of foot traffic.
I park, kill the engine, and step out.
It’s cold, but not awful. There’s a breeze coming in from the harbor. I zip up my sweater and walk around to inspect thewall. It’s clean, mostly. A few scuff marks. Some old staples from flyers.
I close my eyes.
I can already see it in my head—something soft, something hopeful. Blues and greens, a gradient that stretches from earth to sky. Maybe hands. Maybe wings.
I smile for the first time in what feels like days.
Then I hear it—laughter.
Two voices, low and warm, teasing and familiar. I turn, expecting to see locals walking past.
Instead, I see Shepard.
He’s standing at the corner of the building, head thrown back mid-laugh, holding two paper cups in one hand. He looks good in daylight. Cleaner somehow. Like he belongs to the air here. His curls are half-tied back, and his glasses are fogging from his breath.
And next to him?
A man in uniform.
A firefighter’s uniform.
