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She blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to rise. Her voice barely found its way out.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her throat thick.

It didn’t feel like enough. But maybe it didn’t need to be. When she looked up, Rafe was still there, watching her with quiet certainty, as if he knew she was holding on by threads and was willing to stand in the gap where Davey used to be for the moment. And for the first time since the world shifted under her feet, Billie Ann didn’t feel quite so lost.

“Told you,” Bruce gave a low, knowing grunt. “Broody stare. Big heart. Tragic past. Total book boyfriend material.”

CHAPTER 6

By the time the sun had disappeared behind the trees, casting long shadows across the parking lot, everyone had gone.

Zelda and Wicked had offered to stay, gently insisting they didn’t mind helping her settle in. But Billie Ann had shaken her head with a quiet, tired smile. She appreciated it, but this was something she had to do alone.

She needed to face it. The stillness. The silence. The fact that the man who’d filled every corner of this place with life and laughter and whiskey-soaked wisdom was gone. Plus, she hated to cry in front of people. Davey had always told her never to let anyone see your fear or see you cry. It made you look weak in front of others. That stuck with her. He had also said she was an ugly crier. That thought made her grin, but the grin faded as she stopped in front of the trailer.

She stood there, keys in hand, as the sound of tires faded down the road, and the familiar creak of the trailer steps groaned beneath her boots. Last night, instead of staying in the trailer, she had stayed in the office inside the bar. The porch lightflickered, just like it always had, and that dumb wind chime made from old spoons still clinked softly in the breeze.

Davey never fixed things unless they were bleeding or on fire. She used to gripe about this, but now she was glad for every untouched, imperfect detail.

Her hand hesitated at the door. Then she pushed it open.

The scent hit her first. Faint tobacco, motor oil, and the clean soap Davey used that somehow always smelled like pine. She pressed a hand to her chest as emotion surged. The living room was exactly the same. His boots were still by the door. His hat hung on the hook he’d carved himself. A plate with a half-used stick of butter sat on the counter, covered with foil.

It wasn’t just a space. It was him. Frozen in time.

She moved slowly, trailing fingers over worn armrests and picture frames. She stopped at one of her favorites. It was a photo of her, age ten, sitting on Davey’s shoulders at the fair, both of them covered in powdered sugar from too many funnel cakes. His eyes sparkled in that picture.

Her own room was tucked in the back, a tiny thing with light purple paint still clinging to the walls and stickers on the mirror she’d never bothered to scrape off. It was dusty, untouched since she’d left, but otherwise the same. Her old quilt, faded with time, still covered the twin bed. A few books lined the shelf above it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers over the cover, and her eyes scanning her room as memories flooded her. Davey yelling at her from the tiny kitchen that her food was getting cold. Or hearing him cursing at a baseball game from his favorite worn-out chair.

Feeling the tears clog her throat and burn the back of her eyes, she stood up quickly. She was afraid that if she started crying, she would never stop. Suddenly, the thought of Rafe hit her. He was staying in the office above the bar. A worn-out couch, no shower, a battered mini fridge, and whatever comfort he could scrape together between four walls. Guilt stirred, followed by something deeper—something softer she didn’t want to name just yet.

Rushing to the small closet, she found a fresh set of sheets, a pillow, and an extra blanket. Bundling them in her arms, she made her way back through the trailer, past the ghost of the life she used to know.

The night had deepened, the chill of it brushing her bare arms as she crossed the lot toward the bar. But before she could step inside, she spotted him.

He was outside, leaning against the railing near the entrance, arms crossed, his head tilted slightly toward the stars like he’d been standing there a while. The light from the nearby lamppost hit his face just right, making him look wild and untamed. Her heart pounded as she stared at him.

She stopped short, her voice caught somewhere between her chest and throat.

He turned slowly, as if he’d known she was coming.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded, swallowing against the lump that still hadn’t gone away since walking into the trailer.

“I brought you some pillows and blankets,” she said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be. “The office couch isn’t exactly the Ritz.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” she said, meeting his eyes, “but I wanted to.”

Rafe pushed off the railing and took a slow step toward her, the porch light catching the blue of his eyes. They were the kind of eyes that could turn cold if they needed to—she didn’t doubt that—but right now, they looked anything but. They were steady, warm, and kind. Yeah, okay, she was infatuated by this man’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he said softly, reaching out to take the blankets from her arms. His fingers brushed hers, rough and warm, and it sent a jolt straight through her chest.

She quickly stepped back, folding her arms as if she needed the barrier.