Page 8 of Fall Into Love

My throat goes tight for the hundredth time today. “I tried to stay,” I admit, because it’s Danny, and I can’t lie to him. “Tonight. At the shop. I thought if I just stayed long enough, I could catch them.” I laugh, and it comes out weak and a little sad. “I made it until the furnace rattled. So much for I got this.”

“Oh, hon. Why in the world would you try to do that alone?”

“Because it’s mine.” My heart cracks right down the middle. “Marigold’s is the first thing that’s ever been mine alone, and I don’t want to be somebody who needs her hand held to protect it.”

Danny’s quiet for a moment. “Can I tell you something an old man’s figured out?” he says. “Doing a thing alone and doing a thing by yourself aren’t the same. The boutique is yours, Em. Nobody’s taking that. But sitting in a dark building at night, waiting on trouble, with not one soul knowing where you are?” He shakes his head. “That’s not being independent, dear. You don’t give up one inch of that shop by letting somebody sit in the dark beside you. You only give something up by sitting there alone.”

I stare at him. Don’t do it alone. It’s so simple that my eyes sting.

“So call somebody,” he goes on, and I can see it happen—the worried landlord giving way to the other Danny, the one the whole building whispers about, the one with the twinkle in his eye caused by his meddling mischief I’ve only heard about. “Somebody big. Capable. Good in a pinch.” His smile grows. “Somebody who, oh, I don’t know, already came running twice this week?”

I narrow my gaze. “How do you—”

“I’m only observing that our good mayor seems very invested in your well-being.” He gathers his leaves, the very picture of innocence, and climbs back onto his stool. “Civic-minded, that boy. Passionate about public safety. Not too bad on the eyes. Oh, strong hands, too!”

I snort-laugh. “You’re not even a little subtle, are you?”

“At my age, subtlety’s a waste of good time.” He winks, then adds, offhand, “Besides, something has been knocking over my outdoor mums two nights running, so clearly the whole neighborhood’s gone lawless. My advice: you need a sturdy mayor to lean on.” He grins. “For safety, of course.”

I laugh, the tightness in my shoulders easing.

“Thank you, Danny,” I say, and I mean it. Because the truth is that he’s right—and not only about the not-sitting-in-the-dark-alone part. When I let myself be honest, it isn’t just that I don’t want to be alone tonight. It’s that I want it to be him. Not because I can’t do it without him, but because being near Caleb these last few days has felt less like needing to be taken care of and more like…not being by myself.

And I am so tired of being by myself.

“Anytime, my dear.” He’s already back to his fall décor, humming. “Take the loaf on the mail table; it’s pumpkin tonight. And Emma?” He glances down, and for a second the twinkle softens. “Whoever’s doing this doesn’t get to make you feel small in your own life. You built something good here, and we’re all here for you.”

I smile as I take the pumpkin loaf and turn back toward the front door. My chest squeezes once I’m back outside, the chilly October air hitting my face as I pull out my phone. I find his name, my thumb hovering over the screen, and I take a breath.

False Alarm

Caleb

My phone lights up at 9:41 PM, and for one stupid second my heart drops straight through the floor—because the last time Emma called me, it was 6:44 this morning with fear in her voice and tears in her pretty eyes.

I’ve got it to my ear before the second ring. “Emma. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—” A breath. “Nothing’s wrong. Gosh, sorry. I didn’t think about how a call this late would look.”

I blow out a breath and set down the wrench I was still holding. “No, it’s fine. I mean, you’re good. What’s up?”

There’s a long pause on her end, then she asks, “Are you free tonight? I, um, want to stake out Marigold’s. I really want to catch whoever is doing this and put a stop to it. And…I don’t want to do it alone. And you said to call. So, I’m calling. To ask. If you’d maybe…be willing to do it with me?”

I sit down on my workbench. After this morning, I didn’t think I’d hear from her again, truthfully. Now, she’s asking for me. Wanting me to help her.

Little does she know I’d help her bury a damn body if she batted her eyes in my direction.

“Yeah,” I say, and I keep my voice even though my chest is pounding. “Of course. What time do you want to meet there?”

She sighs with the relief I’m feeling over her calling me. “Is ten too soon? I’m kind of already walking back to the shop now.”

“I’ll be there.”

Turns out a stakeout is ninety percent boredom and ten percent trying not to stare at the woman three feet away in the dark.

We’ve been at it since ten on the dot. Lights off, blinds down, two folding chairs angled at the back hallway so we can see the window without being seen from the street. I brought a thermos of fresh coffee from home, a flashlight, a deck of cards, and a bag of snacks that doesn’t crinkle. And she brought a half-drunk bottle of water and a loaf of pumpkin bread courtesy of Danny.

For the first hour, we actually watch. By the second, we’re playing gin rummy by the glow of her phone with the brightness cranked all the way down, whispering like the intruder might be listening, and somewhere in the third hour the stakeout quietly stops being a stakeout and turns into something else…