Page 67 of Bennett

“Peachy,” Laurel lied, yanking herself back to reality just as the bell over the front door jingled.

After checking on her other tables, she cleared another booth, double-checked Annie’s tea level, and swept behind the counter. Laurel refilled one last coffee at the counter and stacked her order pad beside the register, ready to clock out.

She passed Arthur and Nelson on her way to the kitchen, her apron already untied and slung over one shoulder.

“Don’t give Belinda any trouble after I leave,” she said with a grin. “She bites.”

Arthur snorted into his coffee. “Only if we deserve it.”

“You always do,” Laurel shot back over her shoulder, her steps light despite the long shift.

Inside the kitchen, Pete was scraping the flat top clean while Belinda loaded clean plates onto a drying rack.

“You’re heading out?” Pete asked.

Laurel nodded, grabbing her tote from the back shelf. “If I don’t, Annie will threaten to tie me to a booth until tomorrow.”

“She’s right to try,” Belinda added with a smirk. “You’ve been going nonstop since the you got here. My niece is looking for a summer job while college is out, so I think Annie might hire her.”

“That’s great news.” Laurel smiled, happy not to revisit the chaos of the last few days and concentrate on something positive instead. “You guys are good here?”

“Go.” Pete waved her off. “We’ve got this.”

Back at the front, the last customer in her section—a quiet guy near the window—gave her a polite nod. He’d been there a while, sipping coffee and eating slowly, hoodie sleeves pushed up over his forearms, revealing a burn scar on his hand. Subdued, polite, didn’t say much.

It was refreshing.

Laurel grabbed her iced tea to go, kissed her aunt’s head, and waved to Belinda before heading out the door.

The bell jingled behind her, swallowed by the soft rustle of wind sweeping in from the Gulf. Laurel walked the short distance to Winslow Fine Furnishings with her iced tea in hand, the late-afternoon sun warm against her shoulders. The air smelled like salt and wildflowers, and for a brief moment, things almost felt…normal.

Almost.

Her gaze lifted to the second floor of the building, to the apartment where her life had started to shift in quiet, significant ways. It still didn’t feel entirely real, being here, helping her aunt, being a target of some unknown vandal, and yet, it was the most real anything had ever felt.

After entering the building, Laurel stood a moment allow her eyes time to adjust to the lighting. Bennett had told her he’d be there after checking in with Mac and Carter, but she had no idea of the timeline. Telling herself it didn’t matter, which was a blatant lie, she made her way up the steps, iced tea sweating in her hand, and let herself into the apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, she paused.

The light was different in the late afternoon. It was softer, golden, washing the space in warm hues. The counters were clean, and the place felt settled in a way it hadn’t before.

Like someone had been making sure it stayed that way.

She rounded the corner toward the kitchen and stopped short.

Bennett stood by the sink, sleeves pushed to his elbows, forearms dusted faintly with sawdust. He glanced up, and the expression on his face—not stern or watchful, just present—hit something low and deep in her chest.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than intended, because she was an idiot.

His mouth lifted at one corner. “Hey.”

She moved toward the kitchen and set her drink on the counter. “Everything calm today?”

“So far.” His eyes searched hers. “You?”

“Nothing exciting.” She leaned against the counter, suddenly aware of how quiet the apartment was with just the two of them. “Served breakfast, then lunch, bantered with Arthur and Nelson, and narrowly avoided a breakdown over the pie case being empty.”

“Tragedy,” he said, deadpan.