Page 42 of Steeped In Problems

Kristy grinned. “I’ll join you.”

She turned around just in time to catch Tanner muscling a stack of folding tables. He was in his element: sleeves rolled, sweat already darkening his shirt at the chest, muscles flexed, and face set in a look that was more focused than grumpy. He moved through the barn with the confidence of someone who’d spent a lifetime in close quarters with disaster and came out the other side still standing.

Their eyes met, and Kristy gave him a thumbs-up. He smirked and kept going, but she noticed the way his gaze lingered like he was taking mental notes on her every move.

The hours blurred. Kristy set up auction baskets and silent-bid sheets and fixed a tangle of extension cords that would’ve made OSHA weep. She gave pep talks to volunteers and mediated three near-fights between different groups. She loved the chaos, the purpose, the feeling of every little victory stacking up to make a difference.

Every so often, she’d glimpse Tanner moving in the background—hauling, fixing, assembling. He never asked questions, never complained. Sometimes, when he thought she wasn’t looking, he’d watch her, that same half-smile on his lips, like he was amazed she hadn’t combusted yet.

By late afternoon, the barn was transformed. The raw wooden beams were wrapped in strings of LED lights, casting a warm glow on the vases on each table waiting for the wildflowers arriving tomorrow afternoon. The auction table held enough baskets to supply a small nation with self-care kits and local hot sauces, and the stage was set and ready for the band.

When 7:00 p.m. rolled around, the last folding chair was in place, and the floors swept, she dismissed the last of the volunteers—urging them to head home for a late dinner. And Kristy found herself alone for the first time all day. She looked around, catching her breath, feeling that familiar drop in her stomach that always came after the adrenaline wore off.

Then she saw Tanner standing by the makeshift stage, arms crossed and gaze fixed on her. He looked tired but less closed off than usual. The lines on his face had softened.

She made her way over, letting her hands slide into her back pockets. “I think this is going to put us over the top,” she told him, voice echoing off the beams.

“I hope so.”

They stood in the hush of the barn, LED lights flickering above them. Kristy felt suddenly shy, unsure where to put her feet or her words.

Tanner cleared his throat. “You seem at home doing this.”

“What? Herding cats and fixing chaos?” She teased. “I guess. Not much different than when I worked in the ER on a Saturday night.”

He leaned against a table, arms loose at his sides. “It’s got to be hard letting it go.”

She hesitated, staring up at the rafters. “Sometimes. But I got tired of trying to fix things you couldn’t fix.” She stopped, suddenly unsure if she wanted to keep going. But she did. “It wore me down. Like every patient I lost was a brick in my backpack, and eventually, I just couldn’t carry it anymore.”

Tanner nodded, not looking away. “I get it. I felt the same after my accident. Like someone yanked my badge and then handed me a new life with none of the instructions.”

Kristy blinked, surprised by the honesty. “That’s got to be tough.”

“Letting go was, but then I think about how much of my old life was just being angry at things I couldn’t change. Now, at least, I can focus on what I can do.” He caught her gaze and held it. “Like making sure you don’t lose your mind trying to run this circus.”

She laughed, a real laugh, and the tension broke. “Circuses are my specialty.”

Kristy sat down on a hay bale, patting the spot next to her. Tanner joined her, the two of them framed in the glow of the lights and the smell of hay and coffee.

She looked at him, the way his shoulders still hunched even when he was supposed to be at ease, the way his hands flexed on his knees, restless. She wanted to say something but didn’t know how. She picked at a stray piece of straw, thinking. “I’ve never told anyone this, but it broke me a little every time I failed at saving someone.” She swallowed, feeling the words scrape herthroat. “I thought if I got out, I’d stop feeling that way. But it doesn’t go away.”

Tanner nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re not supposed to stop feeling it.”

She looked at him. “You think?”

He shrugged, but there was a weight to it. “I think people like us don’t get to turn it off. But maybe we can share the load. Make it a little lighter.”

The words sat between them, soft and steady.

Kristy felt her chest go tight, but not in a bad way more like a balloon filling up and threatening to float away if she didn’t tether it down.

She nudged his shoulder, their arms pressed together. “You’re a lot more philosophical than you look.”

He smirked. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my image.”

She smiled, and suddenly, everything felt warm and safe. The barn, the lights, even the creaks in the wood siding.

They sat together, saying nothing for a long while. Kristy listened to the sound of their breathing, the way his matched hers, steady and grounding.

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