While I'm gazing at the mess, Zeke taps me on the shoulder.
"Hey, the Sheriff's Department is here. I just saw their lights through the window," he says. I nod, my stomach tightening. As we head toward the front door, we hear several footsteps. Please, not Sheriff Dawson, I beg silently. I don't have the strength to handle him today. The universe is cruel; he's the first to walk in, followed by two deputies. Because the door is still slightly cracked open from the break‑in, the sheriff and his deputies enter carefully, announcing their presence as they move farther into the house. We meet them in the entryway.
"What happened here tonight?" Sheriff Dawson asks, his voice low and heavy, like he already suspects me of something.
"We heard noises downstairs and went to check. The intruder assaulted Roxy and then escaped. He was rummaging through the living room cabinets. Nothing was stolen," Zeke says, tension sharpens every word. His anger isn't aimed at anyone present — it's for the man who knocked me over, hurting me.
"Did you see his face or recognize anything about him?" one deputy asks, scanning the room like the intruder might still be hiding in the shadows.
"No," I whisper. "He was dressed in black, with a ski mask covering his face. It all happened so fast and scared me half to death."
The sheriff nods, but something in his eyes makes my skin crawl. He sends a deputy to check the lower level. I watch them move through my house, their flashlights slicing through the dark corners and shadows. The beams make the darkness look alive.
"Miss Sleighton," Sheriff Dawson says, turning back to me. "Are you certain you didn't recognize the intruder or remember any features that stood out?" It felt like he was grilling me, as if he didn't think I was being truthful. I was freaked out and scared by the whole ordeal, and yet he made me feel like I did something wrong.
"No, Sheriff," I say, my voice trembling as I fight to hold my tears back. "As I said, everything happened fast, and I was terrified. By the time I realized what was happening, he was already gone." I felt like I was a second away from a full meltdown.
He studies me for too long, like he's peeling back layers that I don't want exposed. I know it's procedure, but it feels more like an interrogation. I just want this night to end and erase it from my mind.
"Well, Miss Sleighton, Mr. Anderson," he says, finally. "Your house is now secure. We thoroughly searched the downstairs and outside premises. We're still trying to figure out how he got in."
"Thank you, Sheriff," Zeke says.
After the sheriff and his deputies drive off, we stand in silence, watching as they disappear into the night. A cold wind slices through the air, but it isn't just the chill — a deeper unease seeps into my bones; something darker is lurking beneath. My eyes dart across the street, landing on a shadowy figure on the porch. It's Ted. His gaze is fixed on us with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. The hair on the back of my neck and arms stands on end, a warning whispering in the wind that something is terribly wrong with that man. Zeke doesn't notice him and turns to go inside. I follow, not wanting to be outside alone.
As soon as we enter the house, I lock the door behind us to make sure it's secure. Then I look for Zeke, who is sitting on the living room couch with his long legs stretched out and his arm draped over his forehead. He looks as exhausted as I feel, but still impossibly steady. He's the one thing tonight that doesn't feel like it's unraveling.
I approach him quietly. "Zeke, would it be okay if we slept in the same room? I don't want to be alone tonight." His reaction is instant. He drops his hand and looks at me, concern softening his features.
"Y‑yeah," he says softly. "We can sleep in your room if you'd like. That way, we can monitor the information better." Relief washes over me — I'm thankful he agrees. The idea of being alone in this house tonight is unbearable. As we head to my room, we turn off the lights as we go, each switch plunging the hallway into deeper darkness. Being close to Zeke makes me feel safer, protected, and comforted.
We slip into bed together. His warmth surrounds me, forming a cocoon against the night's chaos. I'm grateful he's here. Grateful for the steady fall and rise of his breathing as he lies beside me. But my mind refuses to quiet. I stare at the ceiling, replaying everything that happened: the intruder, the sheriff's stare, and Ted's silhouette. I glance at Zeke; he's gorgeous. The low light of the room sharpens the lines of his face. From his jaw, his cheekbones, to the quiet intensity of his eyes when he turns towards me. He radiates a quiet strength. A smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it.
"What are you smiling about?" He asks, his voice softening, teasing, trying to pull me out of my head. My smile falters as emotion surges up too fast.
"Just thankful to have you in my life," I say, my voice cracking. I sit up, trying to stop the onslaught of tears I feel coming, embarrassed to fall apart like this in front of him. In all the years we've known each other, he's never seen me like this. Not even when my mother passed away. I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle everything coming at us. He sits up beside me, placing a warm hand on my back.
"Hey," he murmurs, "don't let today get to you. I know it's hard, and we have a lot to sort out, but just take a deep breath. I've got you."
His words break something open inside me. Tears start to spill over, unstoppable. I hide my face, but he gently pulls my hands away, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. Then he wraps me in his arms.
"Rocky Baby," he whispers, stroking my hair softly, "I wasn't trying to make you cry."
The word baby sends a flutter through my chest even as I sob uncontrollably. He lays us down, keeping me on his chest. I cling tightly to his T-shirt, losing myself in his warmth, his heartbeat, and the safety of his arms. We stay like this all night; he never loosens his grip. Our legs are tangled together, and I finally feel safe again.
When the sun rises, I wake up disoriented, my cheek pressed against something warm and solid. It takes me a moment before I realize I'm still lying on Zeke's chest. I stare up at him, watching him as he sleeps peacefully. I snuggle closer, replaying the events of last night; the fear, the tenderness, and the way he held me like I mattered more than anything. And the moment he called me baby. It's ridiculous just how much that one single word means to me, but if eels like a small victory, a shift, or even a door opening. I drift back to sleep.
Later, I wake up to Zeke watching me. He reaches down and moves a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. Smiling back at him, I watch as he leans down and kisses my forehead.
"Hey, sleeping beauty," he says softly. "You ready to get up and start the day, or do we want to hide away in here all day and watch movies?" His offer is tempting, dangerously tempting, but reality calls.
"As tempting as vegging out and watching movies sounds, we still need to get things taken care of. Aren't you supposed to look at properties for the business today?" I ask. "And I need to paint the living room. Plus, throw a run to the grocery store somewhere in my schedule." I slowly slip from bed and head to the bathroom, aware of his eyes on me the whole time.
I hurry into the shower, letting the warm water wash away my stress. After finishing, I wrap a fluffy towel around my body and head to my room. Zeke has already left, probably to get his own shower and get dressed for the day. Rummaging through boxes and luggage, I finally find comfortable clothes: a soft tank top, well‑worn jeans, a dark gray hoodie, and fluffy socks. Dressing quickly, I let my damp hair fall loosely around my face.
Grabbing my laptop, I head down to the living room, the soft sound of my socks padding on the floor accompanying me. Reaching the living room, I drop my bag on the couch and head for the kitchen. Caffeine is required to be a functional person. As I enter, Zeke is pouring coffee into two cups. He hands me one and leans back against the counter while I sit at the table. He looks good in a plain black T‑shirt, jeans, and his work boots. I smile awkwardly at him, warmth spreading through me and blooming in my chest just from seeing him.
"So what time do you need to meet the realtor to look at prospects for your company?" I ask.
"I'm leaving here in a few minutes. It should only take a few hours, and then I can help you start painting," he says, gently placing his cup in the sink. As he starts to walk out of the room, he stops, walks back over, and places another kiss on top of my head. Smiling, I wave as he leaves. What is up with all the forehead kisses? Since when does he do that? We've always shared hugs, but never gestures this sweet and tender. I try to push the thoughts out of my mind and focus on the busy day ahead.
After he leaves, I make myself comfortable on the living room couch with my steaming cup of coffee on the end table. I open my laptop and start working on the articles due this week for the blog. Hours fly by in a blur. Stretching my arms, I glance at the clock on the laptop. It's already late morning. Time for a break — I need to go grocery shopping. Closing my laptop, I grab my keys and purse, slipping on my shoes at the entryway. I head out of the house, leaving behind the warmth of my cozy living room.
Grocery shopping takes longer than expected; so many townspeople stop and greet me, making me feel welcome. Several invite Zeke and me to dinner once we're settled in, and others offer to stop by for coffee. It's overwhelming — I'm not used to people being this friendly. Their warmth makes me feel welcome. It makes me happy that they're so accepting of us, which is a nice contrast to how the sheriff and creepy Ted make me feel. They're the only two upset about my arrival.
Pulling into the driveway, I'm happy to be home. Although I enjoyed the townspeople, it was draining; my socializing meter is empty. Quickly, I grab my shopping bags, balancing the weight between both arms. Looking around the driveway, I notice his car still isn't back, and a pang of worry shoots through me. Hopefully he is pacing himself. Knowing him, he's gotten lost in scouting locations for the new branch. Despite my concern, I'm proud of him for his determination.
Approaching the front door, my instincts kick in. On alert, I see a white envelope taped haphazardly to the door. It's devoid of identifying markings, and unease curls in my stomach. The envelope looks pristine, untouched by bare hands, and the lack of a return address only adds to the mystery. Removing it carefully, I step inside the house, my eyes darting around, scanning for any signs of a presence. It felt like a warning: something is coming, or something is wrong.