Page 5 of Knot on the Market

"And I made a casserole," Dean chimes in, producing a covered dish. "Nothing fancy, just comfort food."

I stare at them. At the food. At Maeve, who's already started unpacking containers like she owns the place. The kindness is overwhelming, but it's also exactly what I was trying to avoid. I came here to prove I could handle things myself, and here I am, being rescued by strangers before I've even unpacked.

"This is really thoughtful," I say carefully, "but I should probably learn to manage on my own. I mean, I can't rely on neighbors to feed me every time I move somewhere new."

All three of them look at me like I've said something slightly ridiculous.

"Why not?" Maeve asks simply.

The question catches me off guard. "Because... because I need to be independent. I need to prove I can take care of myself."

"Taking care of yourself and accepting help aren't mutually exclusive, honey," Maeve says gently. "This is what neighbors do. We take care of each other."

"But I don't want to be a burden," I insist, even as my stomach growls again at the smell of Dean's casserole. "I should be able to handle basic things like feeding myself."

"And you will," Dean says, setting plates and actual silverware on the counter. "But you just drove six hours, you're in a new place, and from the looks of those cabinets, you haven't had time to stock up on basics yet. There's nothing wrong with accepting help when you need it."

The casual way he treats it, like accepting assistance is normal instead of evidence of failure, makes something tight in my chest loosen slightly. But I'm still resistant. This isn't how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to figure things out, struggle a little, prove to myself that I could handle being alone.

"I really appreciate all of this," I try again, "but?—"

"Sit," Maeve orders, pointing to one of the mismatched chairs in the kitchen. "Eat. Then you can argue about independence all you want."

There's something in her tone that reminds me of every stern but loving authority figure I've ever encountered. The kind of voice that expects to be obeyed not because of force, but because the person using it genuinely knows what's best for you.

I find myself sitting.

"Good," Maeve says with satisfaction. "Now, let's get some real food in you."

While I work my way through the best vegetable soup I've ever tasted and enough homemade bread to feed a small army, the three of them move around my kitchen with easy efficiency. Dean organizes groceries they've apparently brought, Levi arranges basic supplies, and Maeve unpacks what looks like a care package designed to keep me alive for at least a week.

I should protest more. Should insist on handling this myself. But the soup is warm and hearty, the bread is still soft and perfect, and for the first time in days I'm eating something thatwas made with actual care instead of grabbed from a drive-through.

"This kitchen table," Levi says, running his fingers along the scarred wood surface. "Solid maple. Good bones, like Maeve said." He looks up at me with dark eyes. "Just needs someone who understands what they're working with."

The way he says it makes me think he's not just talking about furniture.

"Everything in this house is older than you," Dean points out, testing the coffee maker with practiced competence. "It has character."

"Character is just another word for 'expensive to fix,'" I say around a spoonful of soup.

"Not necessarily," Levi says, studying the built-in shelving. "A lot of these old houses just need patience and the right touch. Someone who can see what they were meant to be."

Again, that feeling that we're not just talking about the house.

"And possibly a contractor," Dean adds cheerfully. "But we know people."

By the time they're finished, my kitchen looks like it belongs to an actual human being instead of someone camping out. There's food in the refrigerator, coffee for tomorrow morning, and enough cookies to last through whatever emotional breakdown might be coming next.

The transformation is both wonderful and slightly devastating. They've solved in an hour what would have taken me days to figure out, and I can't decide if I'm grateful or disappointed in myself.

"We should let you settle in," Levi says as they gather their empty bags. "But if you need anything, the bookstore is on Main Street. Open every day except Sunday."

"And the fire station's right next to City Hall," Dean adds. "Even if we're out on a call, someone will know where to find me."

"Thank you," I manage, surprised by how much I mean it despite my conflicted feelings. "All of you. This is... no one's ever..."

"Welcome to Honeyridge Falls," Maeve says with a smile. "Population 2,647, and now we're all invested in making sure you stick around."

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