Page 25 of Bennett (HC Heroes #15)

T he next day, the clink of dishes and the low hum of conversation filtered through the diner like a familiar lullaby.

Mid-afternoon sunlight poured in through the front windows, casting wide golden rectangles across the linoleum floor.

The rush was long over, and a sense of calm had settled into the building.

Laurel stacked a few empty plates onto a tray and offered a lazy wave to Arthur and Nelson, who were finishing their peach cobbler and arguing over the best decade for country music.

The late lunch crowd had thinned, leaving only a handful of regulars scattered throughout the diner.

She slid behind the counter, where Belinda was refilling the sugar canisters, and Annie was sitting on a stool, sipping her tea and chatting with a woman from her poker club.

Her aunt looked better today. Her cheeks were a little rosier, her hair tucked up in one of her brighter scarves. More like herself.

“Still breathing?” Belinda asked, side-eyeing Laurel.

“Barely. I think my feet gave up two tables ago.” Laurel pulled her ponytail a little tighter, then grabbed a towel to wipe down the counter.

A sharp jolt of memory of Bennett’s mouth on hers, the counter pressed to her back, the heat of his hands made her suck in a quick breath.

She blamed the unseasonally warm heat. That was it.

Not the way her body still reacted to the memory, or how her knees had almost given out when he’d whispered, “You’re not a mission,” a few days ago.

Belinda arched a brow. “You okay?”

“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.

“Truly.” She smiled, then let it fade as her eyes lingered on him. “Thanks for being here.”

Bennett’s gaze didn’t waver. “I told you I would be.”

Something passed between them, unspoken but tangible, woven tightly through everything they weren’t saying. She felt it settle in the air, in the way her skin prickled under his relaxed attention.

Laurel swallowed. “You staying tonight?”

His answer was immediate. “Yes.”

Her chest tightened. Not in fear. Not even surprise.

Just…awareness.

And maybe the anticipation of something that had been simmering for days. The tension stretched, heavy with heat, and something far more dangerous than fear.

He stepped forward, close enough to see the way her breath caught. Close enough to make her forget about tea and pies and unfinished apartments.

Because suddenly, the only thing that mattered was the look in Bennett’s eyes—and the promise of what came next.

Laurel blinked, her brain playing catch-up as Bennett’s presence tugged at every nerve ending she had. But before either of them could say anything else, a loud knock and the sound of the door opening halted their conversation.

“If I drink one more bottle of lukewarm water, I’m going to mutiny.” Matthew’s voice carried through the apartment.

“Fridge is fully stocked now,” Laurel called back, stepping away from the counter and the heat simmering between her and Bennett. “Help yourself.”

Last night, with Bennett shadowing, she’d made a much-needed grocery run.

Tyler appeared first, a little dusty from crawling around somewhere in the building. “This place is shaping up fast,” he said, snagging a cold bottle of iced tea. “Smells better than it did two days ago, too.”

Matthew followed with a wide grin, opening a root beer. “That’d be the furniture. Absorbs all the weird drywall smells and old-pipe vibes. Plus, your soap choices are top tier.”

Laurel chuckled. “I’m glad my lavender obsession is making an impact.”

“You kidding? Place smells like a spa with a vengeance,” Matthew said. Then his gaze flicked toward Bennett, who had yet to say a word. “Something wrong with your voice, Vaughn?” he asked with mock concern. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet.”

Bennett didn’t look over. “Just appreciating the peace before you two showed up.”

Laurel tried not to laugh, but a smile tugged at her lips.

“Careful,” Tyler said, twisting the cap off his drink. “If he’s quiet, it means he’s either plotting something or fighting the urge to say something snarky.”

“Snarky?” Laurel arched a brow, glancing at Bennett. “I thought this one only did brooding and broody-adjacent.”

That earned a rare, subtle smile from him. “You haven’t earned full snark privileges yet.”

“Working on it,” she said, her pulse still skittering from moments earlier.

Tyler leaned against the counter and glanced around. “I gotta say, Laurel, this place looks good. Brandi’s really outdone herself, but it also feels like someone actually lives here now.”

Laurel’s gaze drifted across the apartment to the soft throw blanket folded neatly over the arm of the couch, the mismatched mugs in the open shelf by the sink, and the small collection of books she'd lined up on the floating shelf near the window.

A mix of favorites—a tattered mystery novel with a cracked spine, a well-worn copy of Persuasion, Rylee’s gift, and a few newer finds she hadn’t even opened yet. The scent of vanilla from the candle she’d lit earlier still lingered faintly in the air.

It wasn’t perfect, and it definitely wasn’t finished yet, but it felt like hers.

“Thanks.” Her voice softened. “It’s starting to feel like home.”

It was true. Even with the lingering tension from last night’s incident, even with the shadow of someone trying to derail everything they were building, this place—her place—was starting to feel real.

“All right,” Matthew said, downing the last of his root beer. “Break’s over. Back to crawling through insulation and pretending I remember which wires are which.”

“Let me know if you find another haunted outlet,” Tyler added, following him out.

Laurel waited until their footsteps faded down the hall before glancing back at Bennett.

He hadn’t moved.

Still close.

Still watching her.

“You were about to say something earlier,” she said, stepping closer. “Before the comedy duo showed up.”

Bennett’s jaw flexed. “Yeah.”

A beat passed. He didn’t elaborate.

She tilted her head. “You gonna keep me in suspense, or…”