Page 57 of Wildflower and Whiskey
“You’ve learned well over the years. Too bad you didn’t want to join the force.” I could almost see Pierre’s jaw tighten through the phone. “I’ll send a unit to the loft to document before the rain. Tomorrow afternoon, Elyna, I’ll need your statement at the station. Phoenix, keep her with people. Do not leave her alone.” He accentuated each word with worried purpose.
“We’re at the loft,” Phoenix said. “I’m here.”
“Good. Elyna, ma fille, I’m sorry this happened. We’re going to handle it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. It came out hoarse.
After he hung up, Phoenix kissed me once, quick and firm, like a promise sealed. Then the boxes hit the counter, and he was in motion working to ensure my son and I were safe. The old deadbolt came off in two minutes and he replaced it with a heavier one. Every turn of the screwdriver sounded like a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. He swapped the flimsy chain for a door guard. He mounted a doorbell camera, angling it perfectly to catch the stairs. He wired a motion light above the landing, set to bathe the deck in white the moment anything moved out there.
“Hand me the level?” he asked, and I realized I was hovering uselessly at the edge of the kitchen. I passed it over, grateful to have a job, even a small one. I watched in awe as he worked with such diligence. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. His care and attention warmed my heart.
“Wi-Fi?” he asked.
“Password’s on the fridge,” I said, fingers steadying as I spelled out the random string of letters and numbers. His phone chimed once, then againDevice connected. The app preview popped up, the stairs and our door right there on his screen, a narrow slice of new power.
“Done,” he said, more to himself than to me.
He then moved to the bedroom to place a small indoor camera high on the bookshelf angled toward the window and crib, not invasive, not pointed at the bed. “Front windows. Just in case someone decides the stairs feel too public.”
I nodded, hating we needed it while feeling relieved we had it.
We reheated yesterday’s leftovers and ate standing at the counter, Braden in his high chair taking a part a piece of toastand watching his new ceiling light like it was the moon. Every time Phoenix’s phone buzzed with a motion alert, he glanced down. Cat on the deck. Car lights sweeping the orchard road. It didn’t fix the twist in my stomach, but it eased it into something I could breathe around.
After dinner, he wiped Braden’s hands with care and sweet smiles and lifted him from the chair like he’d always done it. While I got the bath for Braden ready, Phoenix was on the floor playing with him. Having him here felt amazing and scary, but I chose to focus only on the good. Phoenix hung out in the bathroom while I bathed Braden. My boy kicked his feet in the water and played with his bath toys. After the bath, Phoenix held the towel up and I wrapped Braden up and carried him over to the king-size bed, where I had a sleeper waiting for him.
“Can I place him in the crib?” Phoenix asked.
I felt my lower lip quiver. We hadn’t defined our relationship. I knew I was the only woman in his life. I knew he said he was dedicated to us and not going anywhere. Maybe labels were childish but I needed more than promises, and yet I was terrified of making them.
“Sure,” I swallowed. He was being so good to us and Braden liked him so much. This was another way they would bond. He placed him in the crib and tucked the blanket the way he watched me do many times, his big fingers brushing tenderly over my son’s hair. Braden sighed, fingers splayed on the fitted sheet, already halfway to dreaming.
We both stepped out to the main room. Silence radiated between us like a comfortable blanket. Phoenix unrolled a thick blanket on the futon and set a folded hoodie at one end like a pillow.
“You don’t have to sleep out here,” I said, the words more reflex than resistance. My voice tore right in the middle.
He looked up steady, gentle, unshakable. “I know I don’thaveto. Iamgoing to. I think I should stay here until things settle,” he said, flooring me. It wasn’t an “I want us to move in together.” It was Phoenix being his protective self. My gut twisted because if this was happening, I didn’t want it to be forced. I wanted him to want to be here for me and Braden and not because our safety was at risk.
My throat tightened. “Phoenix… that isn’t necessary.”
“I’m not leaving you alone until things settle down,” he said, rising to close the blinds, pausing at each window to check the latch. “Let me take care of you and Braden.”
“You’ll get sick of me,” I said lightly, because it was easier than telling him how I really felt. I was falling in love with him. That if he was staying here, I wanted it to be because he felt the same.
He snorted a soft breath of incredulity. “Not possible.”
He dimmed the lights. The motion sensor washed the deck in white and then clicked off again. He sat on the edge of the futon and held out a hand. I crossed the small space and took it.
“Sit with me,” he said.
We did. We sat shoulder to shoulder, knees touching, the kind of quiet that isn’t empty but full. His palm was rough and warm around mine, thumb drawing steady circles.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a minute.
“Yes,” I said and meant it. “And also no.”
“We can do both.” The corner of his mouth tipped up.
He let me choose the silence and then filled it with small things. He told me about the batch of saison that had gone a little too wild in secondary and how Cooper swore the yeast was haunted. He described the new tables he wanted for the beer garden next spring with wide planks, lighter stain, and more room for strollers. He asked me if the daycare’s drop-off loop feltsafe with the morning rush, and whether I wanted him to walk with us tomorrow.
