Page 4

GRACE

"Grace, honey, you're going to wear a hole in my floorboards," Ruby says, appearing behind the counter with her third cup of coffee. Her silver hair is twisted into an immaculate bun, but the dark circles under her eyes tell the real story.

"Just making sure we have enough to distribute today." I tick items off my clipboard. "Canned goods are getting low. We should start rationing the coffee."

Ruby clutches her mug to her chest. "Let's not get drastic."

Orville emerges from the stockroom, dust clinging to his clothes. "Found another case of condensed milk. Expiration date's a bit questionable, but--"

"We'll take it," I say, adding it to my list.

The bell above the door jingles as Emerson walks in.

"Morning, Emerson," Ruby calls. "What can we get you?"

"Just checking if you got in any more of those cookies ." Emerson leans on the counter. "And wondering if that city boy is still helping out."

I pretend to be very interested in my inventory list.

"Blaze? He's been a godsend," Ruby says. "Fixed our air conditioning unit yesterday and wouldn't take a dime for it."

"Hmm." Emerson's mouth puckers like she's sucking a lemon. "Bear says he's just putting on a show. Says a man who leaves like he did doesn't change his spots."

"Well, Bear hasn't changed his underwear since 1997," Orville mutters, earning a swat from Ruby.

I shouldn't care what people think of Blaze. It's not like I'm his PR manager. But something in my chest tightens every time his name comes up, which is approximately every seven minutes in this town.

"He's been reliable so far," I say, aiming for neutrality and probably missing by a mile.

"Well, he is a handsome devil," Emerson says with a surprising twinkle.

I escape to the back room before anyone can notice the heat creeping up my neck. It’ll be two more hours before I meet Blaze for deliveries. Not that I'm counting.

When I step out back of the Merc at nine sharp, I half-expect an empty parking lot.

Instead, Blaze is leaning against the wall, no hint of his usual smirk.

He's wearing a faded flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that suggest he's been doing more than signing autographs in Nashville.

Why does he look like he actually gives a damn?

"Morning," he says, pushing off the wall. "Got the list?"

I hand him the clipboard, our fingers brushing for a microsecond. "Seven stops today. Mrs. Finch is first. She needs her insulin kept cold."

He nods, all business. "I checked the cooler. We've got enough ice packs."

"Great." I unlock the truck, surprised by his preparedness. "Let's load up."

We work in silence, loading boxes of supplies. It's almost unnerving how efficiently we move together, anticipating each other's movements like we've been doing this for years instead of days.

As I close the truck's back doors, Blaze clears his throat. "Your engine was making a clicking sound yesterday. Mind if I take a look after we finish the deliveries?"

"That would be... helpful," I manage. "Thanks."

He nods, and I'm struck by the absence of the sarcastic comeback I was braced for.

"There's coffee in the thermos," I say, gesturing to the front seat. It's not much, but it's the first intentionally nice thing I've offered him.

His smile is small but genuine. "You're a lifesaver, Grace Hartville."

"It's Hartman," I correct automatically.

"I know." He climbs into the passenger seat. "Just checking if you're paying attention."

There's the Blaze I know. Strangely, I'm almost relieved.

* * *

The town hall is packed for the meeting. Every folding chair is filled, and there are people standing along the walls and spilling out into the hallway. The mood is tense. We’re five days into this crisis, with supplies dwindling and no clear timeline for the road clearing.

I stand at the front, trying to project confidence I don't entirely feel. "Thanks for coming, everyone. I know we're all concerned about how long this situation might last."

"My kids are down to their last box of cereal," calls out a single mom with three boys under ten. "And my boss in Whitefish is losing his patience. If I lose my job--"

"The Merc's almost out of diapers," adds someone else.

"And my meds," anothr pipes up.

The anxious voices multiply until Sheriff Lawson whistles sharply through his fingers.

"Folks, please," Mayor Orville says. "I understand. We've been coordinating with emergency services. They're working on the road, but it could be another week, maybe longer."

The room erupts again, and I wait for it to quiet down.

"Listen, we can't sit around waiting for the road to clear. We've got gardens. We've got pantries. We trade, we share." I look around the room. "I'm proposing a community exchange. If you have extra vegetables, canned goods, bring them in. If you need something, take it. No money changes hands."

Skeptical murmurs ripple through the crowd.

Frank, who hasn't met an idea he didn't hate, stands up. "That's just glorified begging. My family's been self-sufficient for generations."

"It's not begging to help your neighbors, Frank," I counter.

"Easy for you to say," he retorts. "Not all of us have a trust fund to fall back on."

I bite back a retort about my very non-existent trust fund. Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.

"When I was a kid here, this town looked out for each other. That's the whole point of a place like this."

The room falls silent as everyone turns to look at Blaze, who's standing by the back wall.

"My mom got sick one winter," he continues. "Couldn't work for months. Every day, someone showed up with dinner, or to chop wood, or just to sit with her so I could go to school. Nobody called it charity. It was just... Mustang Mountain."

I stare at him, momentarily speechless. In all our interactions, I've never heard him speak about his mother or his childhood here with such raw honesty.

"Blaze is right," Ruby says, standing up. "And I've got a cellar full of preserves I'll never eat through alone."

"I've got a greenhouse," offers Mrs. Peterson, our retired biology teacher. "Tomatoes coming out of my ears."

One by one, people start nodding, offering what they can. Even Frank grudgingly mentions he might have some extra venison from last hunting season.

"So we all agree?" Orville says. "We'll set up in the community center tomorrow morning. Bring what you can spare, take what you need."

The motion passes almost unanimously. As people file out, making plans and comparing inventories, I catch Blaze's eye across the room. He gives me a small nod, and I find myself nodding back.

I'm floored and secretly impressed.

Later, I'm in the community center, assembling folding tables for tomorrow's exchange, when a shadow falls across my work.

"Need a hand?" Blaze asks.

"Sure. Thanks for speaking up today."

"Just telling the truth." He starts moving crates. "This town saved my mom and me more times than I can count."

"Yet you couldn't wait to leave," I say before I can stop myself.

"It's complicated."

"Most things are." I say, while focusing on table placement.

We work in companionable silence for a while.

"Why do you fight so hard for this place?" he asks suddenly. "You could be running your business in a bigger town, making real money."

I consider deflecting, but something about the quiet moment feels like it deserves honesty.

"My brother loved this town," I say, the words coming out rusty. "After he died in a car accident three years ago, my parents couldn't stand being here. Too many memories. They moved to Arizona and pretty much checked out."

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Mustang Mountain is all I have left," I continue, surprising myself with the admission. "Sometimes I feel like I'm holding it together with duct tape and sheer stubbornness."

"You're doing more than that. This place would have fallen apart these past few days without you."

I look up, startled by the compliment.

"What about you?" I ask. "Why'd you really come back?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "Honestly? I'm not sure. My career hit a wall. The songs stopped coming and my love for the music wasn't there. I thought maybe if I came back to where it all started..."

"And has it helped?"

"Not in the way I expected." He meets my eyes. "I didn't think I had anything left to fight for. Maybe I was wrong."

The air between us shifts, charged with something I'm not ready to name. I drop my gaze first.

"Don't say things you don't mean," I warn quietly. "People here can't afford more broken promises."

"I know." He nods, accepting the boundary. "But I meant what I said."

We finish setting up in silence, but it's no longer uncomfortable. When we're done, he helps me load my truck, then checks under the hood as promised.

"Just a loose belt," he says, wiping his hands on a rag. "Fixed it, but you'll want a proper replacement soon."

"Thank you," I say, meaning it.

He gives me a two-finger salute before climbing into his own truck. I watch his taillights disappear down Main Street.

I'm not sure if I trust him yet. But for the first time since this all started, I want to.