Page 8

Chapter eight

Levana

“Would you listen to that?” I say, grinning.

“Listen to what?” Gordon frowns.

“Exactly!” I gesture toward the brand new autoclave.

The faint hum of it fills the air. No rattling, no clunking, none of the awful metal-on-metal screeching that’s been driving me insane for way too long. Just quiet.

Blissful, perfect quiet.

“I could kiss you right now,” I say. “Tongues and everything.”

Gordon grimaces and I swear his skin turns the faintest shade of green.

“Okay, maybe not.” I wave a hand. “I don’t know what came over me. Sorry.”

He snorts. “Please, Lev. If I ever end up that desperate, just shove me in the cooler with the rest of ‘em.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” I shoot back. “I’ll stick you right next to Mrs. Connolly so you two can finally finish that staring contest.”

He barks out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “She wouldn’t stand a chance. My eyes are sharper than ever.”

I glance pointedly the reading glasses he’s wearing—smudged fingerprints across the lenses, one arm bent just enough to make them sit lopsided on his nose. “Sure they are.”

“You’re just jealous.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, or at least tries to. The left one twitches up, but the right one barely budges under all that wiry silver. “These beauties get me all the ladies, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” I grin. “I heard Mrs. Cleaver practically swooned when you handed her that invoice last week.”

“Jealous,” he says again, deadpan. “Can’t help it if I’m irresistible.”

“Right. Well, try not to break any hearts before lunch, Romeo.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a hand over his shoulder as he heads for the door. “You’ll be crying over me when I’m gone.”

“Doubt it,” I mutter, grinning to myself.

I turn back to the autoclave, reaching for the stack of tools I’d put aside earlier, just for fun—just because I finally can—and I start loading them in. The trays slide in like silk, no resistance, no stuttering grind.

The door clicks shut, and when I press the button, the low hum kicks back in without a hitch, just throwing out the softest vibration beneath my fingertips.

Oh, hell yes.

I lean in, eyes closing. The faint, satisfying click of the pressure valve locks into place and warm air wafts against my face.

Jesus Christ, I’m about two seconds away from grinding on this thing like it’s my fucking prom date. I might actually cry.

“Well, someone’s having a moment,” Elliot’s voice cuts in from the doorway.

I jolt so hard I nearly knock a tray off the counter.

“You’re late,” I raise a brow at him.

“Morning to you too, sunshine,” He says as he hangs up his coat. “Had it out with my landlord this morning.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Still being a dick?”

“Still being a dick,” he confirms. “Wants to hike the rent again. Says there’s ‘added value’ since it’s close to the bus station. Because nothing says this place is worth more money than some guy vomiting on your doorstep every Sunday morning.”

“Still not fixing the leaks either?”

“Nah,” he mutters. “I’m starting to think mould’s just part of the wallpaper at this point.”

“Christ.” I shake my head. “You need to move.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Just don’t fancy getting fleeced by some new landlord just as bad as the last one.”

“You could always crash with me,” I offer. “I’ve got a perfectly good couch.”

“You’ve also got a snore that could register on the Richter scale,” he mutters, dodging my elbow.

“Yeah?” I shoot back. “Well, you’ve got a face that could crack mirrors.”

“Ouch,” Elliot clutches his chest like I’ve stabbed him. “That’s low.”

“You’ll live.” I grab my coat and shrug it on, already heading for the door. “Come on, we’ve got a pickup to make.”

As we step into the lobby, I glance around the empty space out of habit. Sunlight slants through the blinds, dust dances in the air.

“See you later, Gordon!” I call out.

The distant grunt I get in response has me laughing under my breath.

“Shotgun,” Elliot calls when we get outside, already rounding the van.

“Yeah, no shit. Where the fuck else are you gonna go?” I unlock the doors, shoving my gloves in my pocket before climbing in. The seat’s freezing. Winter’s around the corner, and it’s getting colder every day, so I crank the heater up full blast and let the van warm up for a minute before setting off.

“So,” Elliot says as I pull out of the lot. “Any big plans for the big three-oh?”

I snort. “Yeah. Gonna spend it crying into a bottle of wine and googling Botox clinics.”

“Oh, come on,” he laughs. “You’re barely a day over twenty-five.”

“That’s not how numbers work.”

“It is if you lie hard enough.”

I roll my eyes but smile anyway.

“I’d suggest doing something together. But I’m guessing you’ll be spending it with Patrick, right?” He asks after a moment.

I shrug one shoulder, pretending to focus on the road. “Probably. He’s mentioned dinner, but I don’t know.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

I glance at him. “Yeah? And?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just… maybe slow down a bit, yeah?”

“Slow down?” I scoff. “I’m a big girl, Elliot. I think I can handle myself.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I’m just saying…”

“Just saying what?”

He sighs, leaning his head against the window. “Nothing. Forget it.”

We roll up to the florist just as a patch of sunlight pushes through the grey clouds, and as we step inside, the door bell jingles above us. The scent of rose petals and pine needles immediately melts over me, shaking off some of the cold from outside.

“Hey, Lev!” The florist waves at me from behind the counter. “Your order’s just about ready. Give me two minutes.”

I nod, stuffing my hands in my pockets. The shop’s small but packed—shelves crowded with potted plants and dried wreaths, vases lined up like chess pieces. It’s pretty. I’ve always liked visiting the florist, even if it is to pick up funeral arrangements.

We collect the wreaths and bouquets, and we’re halfway through loading them into the van when Elliot says, “Look, Lev… I wasn’t trying to be a dick earlier.”

I sigh, pushing a crate of flowers further inside. “I know.”

“I just… something about him doesn’t sit right with me, and I don’t want you getting wrapped up in something that ends up being more harmful than good.”

“I’m not wrapped up in anything.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, Elliot.”

“I know. I just worry about you, alright?” he says.

“I know,” I say with a nod.

He shuts the back doors with a thud, and I turn to head for the driver’s side.

I’m about to pull the door open when someone bumps my shoulder, hard enough that I stumble a step sideways.

“Levana?”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Patrick blinks down at me. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are slightly pink, and he smiles, pushing his glasses a little further up with one knuckle.

“Had a bit of free time. Thought I’d grab some lunch for us.” He says pointing down the street. “I was gonna swing by the home in an hour or so?”

I smile back, stepping closer. “Mmm, were you?”

I lean up and give him a quick kiss, but his hand is already flat around my back, tugging me in closer to deepen it. His other hand presses between us, flat against my stomach, stroking a slow line just over where my waistband sits, right over the top of my coat.

“Hey,” Elliot says from beside me, clearing his throat. “Good to see you, man.”

Patrick barely glances at him, just gives a quick nod. “Yeah. You too.” His fingers tighten slightly on my waist.

“You’re spending a lot of time at the home these days,” Elliot says, his voice casual but eyes sharp. “Didn’t know Gordon hired you.”

Patrick’s smile barely twitches. “I like keeping Levana company.”

“Yeah? Didn’t know she needed it.”

“She might not,” Patrick shrugs. “But she wants me around. I’m there because she’s choosing me to be.”

Elliot raises a brow. “Sounds a lot like you’re trying to convince yourself, buddy.”

“We should head back,” I cut in quickly. “Gotta get these floral arrangements back for a service this afternoon.”

Patrick leans in like he’s about to kiss me, but instead, his mouth brushes just beside my ear.

“Can’t wait to see you later,” he murmurs. His hand squeezes again, firmer this time, before he steps back.

Elliot waits until Patrick’s out of earshot before muttering, “Jesus, Lev.”

“What?”

He gives me a look—eyebrows raised, mouth tight, head tilted just enough to say ‘ really?’ without needing to utter a single word.

I don’t think I’m too wrapped up in Patrick.

At least, not in the way Elliot seems to think.

I mean, yeah, we’ve been spending a lot of time together. More than I expected, honestly. But it’s not like I’ve dropped everything else in my life. I’m still working, still showing up, still being me.

This is what people do at the start of a relationship, right? You find someone you click with and you lean in.

It’s new. It’s intense. It’s exciting. That’s not a red flag. That’s just… the beginning.

I’ve done relationships before. I know what too fast looks like.

This doesn’t feel like that.

Maybe it just seems fast to Elliot because Patrick comes into work for lunch most days.

But so what? We don’t spend every waking minute together. He still has his own life. His job. His space.

We’re just getting to know each other, and it feels good. It feels right.

Elliot’s my best friend, of course he’s worried.

But I’m not naive. I’m not doing anything wrong. I know what’s happening.

At least I hope I do.

God, I hope I do.