Page 54 of Bennett

Laurel sank onto the edge of the bed, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Rylee followed, sitting next to her, close enough to offer comfort, but not crowding. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” Laurel shook her head. “Yes. Maybe. I mean, does everyone around here have a dramatic brush with death their first week in town, or is it just me?”

That earned a soft laugh from Rylee. “Oh, you’re definitely not the first. But you’re the only one who managed to throwhand sanitizer and kiss one of the ESI guys in the same forty-eight hours. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

Laurel let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. “Please tell me that’s not common knowledge.”

“Oh, honey,” Rylee chuckled, reaching into the tote bag slung over her shoulder, “you’re living with a bunch of trained operatives. They noticed. Hell, Carter and Matthew probably made popcorn while they reviewed the footage.”

Laurel peeked up through her fingers. “Kill me now.”

“Nope. You’re too fun.”

Rylee pulled something out of her bag—a small, well-worn paperback—and handed it over. “Here. I brought this. Figured you might need a distraction.”

Laurel took it automatically, then blinked at the cover. Crimes, Cupcakes, and WTF Moments: A Handbook for Women Who Do Too Much.

She blinked, then let out a surprised breath of laughter. “Okay, now I’m feeling seen.”

“Thought it might be your vibe,” Rylee said with a wink. “Found it in the staff lounge and practically tackled Cooper when he tried to claim it first. I was gonna save it for later, but after the window thing, I figured now was better.”

Laurel turned the book over in her hands, that warm, familiar hum buzzing under her skin. “I always carry a book,” she murmured before she could stop herself. “Ever since I was a kid. It’s like armor, you know? Something I can hide behind if the world gets weird.”

“Books as armor.” Rylee nodded thoughtfully. “I like that.”

“They’ve always been my thing.” She smiled. “Reading, researching, recommending stuff to friends. I always dreamed about opening a little shop one day—a bookstore, maybe with coffee. Cozy, weird, full of oddball trivia and weird facts taped to the shelves.”

Rylee’s brow arched. “Okay, but why does that sound amazing?”

Laurel gave a soft laugh. “Because it is. But it was always a back-burner dream. I was supposed to take over the family catering business. Except, I’m the only Sinclair who can burn water without trying. But I help run their business, and it frees them up to excel in the kitchen.”

“Sounds like they love to cook.”

“They do.” She nodded. “And like Aunt Annie, they’re good at it.”

“That’s nice, but what about you?” Rylee asked.

Laurel frowned. No one had ever asked her that before. “What about me?”

“When do you get to excel?” The woman nudged her. “You know, Harland could use a good bookstore.”

Her pulse hiccupped. “It could?”

“Yes, it really could,” Rylee grinned. “We’ve got bakeries, diners, and a shop that sells miniature cowboy hats for chihuahuas. But no bookstore. You’d be doing a lot of curious minds a big service.”

A flicker of possibility stirred in her chest. A tiny ember, but it glowed warm and bright.

“I don’t know,” Laurel murmured, brushing her thumb over the edge of the book. “Maybe someday.”

“Maybe sooner than you think.”

Laurel looked over at her. “Are you always this good at nudging people toward life decisions?”

Rylee smirked. “Nah. Just the ones who clearly need a nudge.”

They sat there for a moment longer, the muffled voices from the other room fading into a distant hum, the memory of shattered glass still lingered, sharp at the edges, but slowly fading with each steady breath.

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