After a moment, he steps aside, and I slip past him without a word.
It’s been a couple of days. The cops haven’t come back—thank God—but the tension hasn’t eased. Reid and Luke have been keeping busy, upgrading security and dealing with Amanda, on top of everything else.
Reid’s been avoiding me. At least, that’s how it feels. He still skips most meals. Luke’s been harder to find too, and when I do see him, his smile feels… off.
I think I understand why.
Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
Because of this, I’ve gotten into the habit of heading outside after breakfast, because talking to Talon is… easier than I expected.
He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it lands. Sometimes it’s just a grunt. Sometimes an actual sentence. Occasionally—if I’m lucky—more than one. I’ve started teasing him, just to see if I can get a reaction. Sometimes I even get a faint blush.
“So, you really grew up here,” I say. “On this mountain?”
A grunt answers me.
Right now, he’s under the hood of my car. The replacement coolant temperature sensor he’d been waiting for finally arrived, and he’s fitting it. After that, it’s just a matter of topping up the coolant and checking for leaks before he lets me take it out.
It’s strange. I used to think he was intimidating. Now I’m starting to think he’s just shy.
He’s not much of a conversationalist, but that’s mostly because no one tries. He looks like the kind of man people avoid, and he does nothing to soften that impression. If anything, he leans into it.
But I don’t.
The more time I spend with him, the more I see what’s underneath.
He listens. Really listens.
All morning, I ramble—stories from high school, safe ones. Nothing about my parents. Nothing about the bullying.
Still, he picks up on what I leave out.
When I tell him about getting detention after fighting a girl who kept stealing my lunch money, he asks, “Did any of your friends help you?” and “Why didn’t your parents talk to the school?”
Simple questions.
Sharp ones.
I brush them off, skirting around the truth, but his gray gaze lingers on me, steady and knowing. He sees through me anyway.
I shift the focus. “Did you go to school?”
“Yeah, up until tenth grade. After that, my grandmother got sick. She needed help, so I left.”
Three sentences. Not bad. “And?”
“And what?”
“How did you get by?”
“She had savings. I fixed things for people in town. Made things to sell.”
“Like what?”
“Furniture, mostly.”
“Ah. You’re a carpenter? Is that why you have the shed?”