For a second I thought she might refuse on principle to prove she didn’t have to listen to me. But something in her posture loosened, almost imperceptibly, and she ducked under the doorway, careful not to brush the edge.
I followed her in.
The barn swallowed us up, muting the wind. The work lights we’d strung cast everything in a bright, clean white.
Inside the truck, the aluminum walls caught the light and reflected it back. Scorch marks ghosted the corners in irregular patches, but the main structure was sound. You could see the rivets. The seams. The places where things would go again.
Jess stood in the middle of the empty floor and turned slowly, taking in every side. Her boots scuffed the patched plywood where the counter supports had been. Her hand slid along the wall in an absent stroke, like she was petting a living thing.
Her voice, when it came, was small. “It’s so much bigger without everything in it.”
“Gives us options,” I said. “We can fix some of the pinch points. Move the power outlets. You always bang your hip on that corner by the grinder.”
She looked over her shoulder at me. “You noticed that?”
“I notice everything.” I winced internally. That sounded creepier out loud. “I mean—I drink a lot of coffee, and it’s hard to miss patterns.”
Her mouth quirked a little.
God, it felt good to see even the hint of a smile on her face.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Say I let you help. Say I let… all of this happen. What’s the catch? What do you get out of it?”
The honest answer wasyou, maybe, eventually, if I’m very lucky, and you decide I’m not the villain you’ve made me out to be.
Out loud, I said, “I get my coffee truck back on the way to work. The guys get their morning orders. The town gets its Twelve Stops headliner. And I get to know I did something besides stand there and watch you lose everything.”
Her expression shifted on that last part. Softened.
“You didn’t just stand there,” she said. “You pulled me out.”
My throat got tight. “I’d do it again.”
She gave a sharp nod. Looked back at the walls. “You’re really serious about this.”
“Dead serious.”
“And you’re not going to let me pay you.”
“Labor?” I shook my head. “No. Materials, sure, if you insist. But the work? That’s on us. We volunteered.”
She closed her eyes briefly, like she was absorbing a hit. When she opened them again, they shone.
“This is…” She exhaled. “A lot, Powell.”
“I know,” I said. “Take your time.”
For a long moment, she stood in silence. I let her. No rush. No pressure. Only the two of us in the hollow echo of her future.
Finally, she scrubbed her palms over her thighs like she was wiping the decision onto denim.
“Fine.” The word didn’t have much bite. “We’ll… try it. I’m not promising I won’t freak out and change my mind.”
“Fair. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Her gaze met mine fully then. Unshielded. Raw. “Thank you.”
Not grudging. Not passive-aggressive. Not forced.
