Page 43 of Steeped In Problems

She looked over and found him watching her, eyes softer than she’d ever seen them.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“Do you ever get scared that this”—she waved at the barn, the world, herself—“isn’t enough? That it’s just a pause, and eventually the pain catches up again?”

He considered it, then admitted, “Every day. But today was good. And maybe tomorrow will be, too.”

Their faces were inches apart now, close enough that she could see the flecks of green in his eyes, the nick in his eyebrow from an old scar, the scar along his jawline.

She felt the urge to lean in, to close the gap. She saw the same urge flicker across his face. He reached up, almost unconsciously, and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his hand lingering for a heartbeat longer than it needed to.

The space between them was electric, charged and dangerous. She felt her breath catch, felt the world tip on its axis.

He leaned in, just a fraction, and she felt his breath, warm and sweet with a hint of lemon loaf. She tilted toward him, her heart hammering.

And then the barn doors slammed open, flooding the space with noise and cold air—Aiden and Zach, arms full of boxes.

Kristy jerked back, almost toppling off the hay bale. Tanner straightened, his face going red as he stood up too fast.

“Sorry,” Aiden called, oblivious.

“Did we interrupt something?” Zach questioned, a little bit better at picking up on the tension in the barn.

Kristy scrambled to her feet, busying herself with the nearest extension cord, her cheeks on fire. “No, you’re right on time. Let’s get the last of the auction items set up.”

She kept her head down, feeling Tanner’s gaze on her, equal parts regret and amusement. He moved to help his friends, hauling boxes like he was grateful for the distraction.

Kristy kept herself busy, but she stole glances at Tanner whenever she could, finding him always already watching her, the memory of their almost kiss lingering between them like a promise.

Chapter Twelve

The barn looked nothing like the place where he’d hauled hay as a high school kid. It was transformed—every rafter was wrapped in strings of LED white lights, casting soft, golden lines on the floor. The tables had tablecloths—actual tablecloths—and elegant white vases crammed with wildflowers. Even the folding chairs looked better, grouped into little islands around the tables.

Tanner drifted through the crowd, shoulders squared and jaw set, but inside, every step was a jolt. He didn’t recognize half the people in attendance, but that meant the outreach had worked. Or maybe Rhonda’s advertising blitz had blanketed the entire county. Whatever it was, the barn was packed wall-to-wall with every flavor of Clear Mountain resident: ranchers in boots, retirees in puffy jackets, a couple of the “remote worker” types in clean jeans and flannels, and a handful of teenage volunteers roving with trays of cheese cubes and mini cookies.

He caught sight of Kristy at the center of it all, clipboard in hand, her blonde hair down and catching the light like something out of a shampoo commercial. She was running the event, but not in the frantic, barely-holding-it-together wayhe’d seen at the shop. Here, she was in her element—smiling, pointing, making jokes loud enough to cut through the roar of the crowd. She’d slip through the throng, coaxing people to bid on auction items, getting them to laugh, nudging them into going just a few bucks higher.

Tanner let himself watch for a long minute, arms crossed over his chest. Every so often, she’d glance up from her clipboard and scan the barn, maybe for trouble or maybe for him. When their eyes met, she’d grin and shake her head like she was surprised he hadn’t bailed yet.

The band started up—a country cover of something he barely recognized, but it got the tables humming and the attendees up and looking at the auction items. On the wall near the entry, Emily had set up a giant thermometer board to track the fundraising total. It was already a third of the way up, thanks to a bidding war over a weekend at one of the new Air BnBs and a “Chief for a Day” police ride-along that Zach, predictably, had offered to personally supervise.

Tanner did a loop, said hello to Joe and Emily, who were working a different section of the room, followed by several of his former colleagues from the police department as well as the fire department, and then doubled back to the edge of the dance floor. He was just close enough to hear Kristy’s voice as she ran a drawing for “biggest caffeine addict in town.” The prize: a year’s worth of Brave Badge brew. The winner was a high school senior who looked like he’d already maxed out his heart rate for the week. The kid’s table erupted into cheers as he took a bow, nearly spilling his lemonade on the town council president.

It was chaos, but the good kind. The kind where nobody cared if your shoes were dirty, where strangers clapped you on the back and called you by your first name even if they’d never met you. He felt it, down in his bones, and it was a different kind of alive than he’d been in years.

The auction crept closer to the target. Every time the thermometer inched higher, Kristy’s excitement was contagious—she’d whoop, clap, high-five whoever was standing closest. Even Rhonda, who was usually allergic to public displays of enthusiasm, was beaming as she brought out trays of lemon loaf and Brave Badge cupcakes.

A little while later, the band slowed things down. It was one of those old-school, country heartbreak ballads—something about stars and second chances. Some of the guests wolfed down dessert and refilled coffee cups, and for the first time all night, there was space on the dance floor.

Tanner hated dances, had always hated them. He was the guy who guarded the punchbowl, the wallflower in a room full of peacocks. But something about the way Kristy was looking at the couples shuffling through the slow song—hopeful, wistful, almost sad—made his feet move before he’d had time to think.

He crossed the room in six long strides, dodged a toddler and a tipsy old man, and stopped right next to her. She smelled like citrus and Sharpie ink.

“Hey,” he said because he never needed more than that.

She looked up, startled. “Hey.”

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