The wrong answer
Chapter 14
Wednesday morning—Ravina Springs
Brennan slid a box of trade paperbacks onto the storeroom’s metal shelf and stood there a moment longer than necessary, one hand braced against the box front, breathing through the echo of Merritt’s confession.
It’s me. I’m the reason people think Win hurt Chelsea DeLucca.
She leaned her head against the cool metal upright. The look on Merritt’s face when she’d said it had been heartbreaking, the shame hollowing her eyes.
Merritt hadn’t been trying to deceive anyone. She’d been lonely and curious, and reckless because she didn’t realize how easily innocent decisions could steamroll into something else.
LitGames, Brennan thought grimly, tugging another box off the shelf. Winston, brilliant but careless Winston, always wandering away midgame when inspiration struck to go write on his ancient Olivetti like nothing waited on the other side of the screen. Merritt had slipped into his empty chair, his user name, and into a conversation that never should have mattered.
But it had been Chelsea. And Merritt had kept meeting her as Winston, game after game.
Brennan exhaled slowly, counting breaths like she always did when things threatened to spiral. She would tell Win. She had promised Merritt. But not yet. She had to find a way that didn’t shatter everyone involved. Her stomach tightened at the thought of seeing Win before she had a solution.
And Fletcher hadn’t shown up.
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Win was already on edge about that. He hadn’t said it outright, but the strain had been on his face all morning before he left for the university. He’d quietly checked his phone a dozen times, growing increasingly agitated. Brennan had noticed, but sensed her concern would land as pressure, not comfort.
She tucked the ledger under her arm and pushed the storeroom curtain half-open.
Up front, the store sat in a late-morning lull between the opening browsers and the early-lunch ones. Lucy stood behind the front desk, glasses low on her nose, pen ticking steadily down her reorder requests.
Just inside the door stood a man Brennan had never seen before, his hand still on the outer handle. He’d entered so carefully the bell over the door hadn’t chimed.
She watched him, and something inside her stirred, like a muscle tightening after too long a rest.
The man stood without moving. Only his eyes shifted, scanning the inside of the shop, taking in the space, finding the exits, learning its basic shape. Only once he was satisfied did he let go of the handle and step forward.
Lucy straightened, not startled so much as attentive. She glanced at the bell like it had failed its one job. “Oh. How long have you been there? Can I help you?”
“I was looking for Win Apperson.”
Even with his back turned, Brennan heard him clearly. His voice was quiet but pleasantly measured, with a lilt and timbre she recognized after one long-distance conversation.
Brennan adjusted the ledger against her ribs, as if the extra pressure could steady her.
“Oh,” Lucy said. “You must be Win’s friend from Ireland. I heard you were coming.”
Win’s friend. There it was. The line. The boundary.
Brennan moved toward the front of the shop, eyes dropping deliberately to her ledger. “Lucy, I found the–”
The words stalled as the man turned at the sound of her voice. Whatever careful distance he’d been holding slipped. It wasn’t much, but Brennan felt it like a barometric drop.
“Brennan,” he said, stopping himself short of a smile.
That recognition flared again, sharper this time, unwelcome but undeniable. Lucy’s gaze moved between them, alert and curious.
“Fletcher,” Brennan said, “ Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you.” She glanced down at her ledger, then back up. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Lucy set her pen down beside the register but didn’t speak.
Something in Fletcher’s posture tightened. He was used to being the outsider, the other that made people uneasy. Being met like this, accepted and known, tripped every instinct he had to retreat.
But then Brennan looked at him, and the world around her dimmed. Somewhere inside him a thought rose, as clean as fact. This wasn’t desire.
No, it was something more inconvenient. Leah’s absence was still there, solid and unyielding. Win’s friendship marked another boundary. And still, he was aware that something in him pulled to meet something in her.
“I didn’t realize the two of you knew each other.” Lucy sounded perplexed, her gaze moving between them like she was trying to spot the thread that connected them.
“We don’t,” they both answered in unison.
Lucy’s lips parted, then closed again. “Huh,” she said softly, then looked back down at her paperwork with a faint, private smile.
Read Chapter 16—coming February 18th when GoLP is back from hiatus!
Garden of Little Peace will be on a short hiatus until Feb 2026. During that time, I’ll be improving and updating older chapters to improve flow and character motivation. So if you get lonely for this world feel free to go back and reread your favorite moments! You may notice a few (very gentle!) changes!
If you’d like to buy this December baby something that’s not a Christmas ornament, here’s your chance: