Chapter 142: The Bear Had Some Explaining to Do

The man in the freight vest named a supply crew and the road where their convoy had been lost. Edrik shook his head before he finished.

"I wasn’t with them. I left that job before the freeze."

The man let out a breath and rubbed his face. "Then somebody got the names wrong. I saw the report. I didn’t see bodies."

Dove stayed behind her counter, relieved to have the difference explained before her mind could turn a stranger’s sentence into three disasters. Edrik introduced him as a former freight contact. They had arranged deliveries for the same crews, not grown up together or shared some secret neither intended to discuss.

"And this is Dove," Edrik added, his hand settling lightly at her back.

"His wife," she said, enjoying the way the word stopped the visitor’s next question. "Alive, married, and currently helping me wash bowls. It’s been a busy day for him."

Thorne laughed from the rear doorway. Edrik looked at her with an expression that made her very glad she had said it herself. Sprout counted the pleased reaction without speaking over the conversation.

The contact congratulated them, then bought coffee before leaving his delivery schedule. He worked from the receiving yard now and could bring news of nearby stores when his route passed them. Dove thanked him without promising discounts for being useful.

After the shop closed, she found Edrik at the washroom mirror with his new razor kit. He had washed his face but hadn’t started shaving. Dove leaned against the doorframe and waited until he looked at her in the glass.

"Did seeing him bother you?"

"I thought he knew something I didn’t. He didn’t."

She could hear the end of the answer coming and decided she wanted more. "And the work you did for those crews? Was that before the mercenary jobs or during them?"

Edrik put the razor down. He told her there had been overlap, stretches of paid fighting between work for people who moved goods and expected their men to keep quiet. He had carried orders he hadn’t written and done things he wouldn’t ask her to admire. The contact knew him from transport work, not every part of his life.

Dove listened without inventing a better past for him. She had seen him choose violence. She had also seen him stop when she asked, sit beside her after a fight, and remember how she liked her coffee. Neither set of memories erased the other.

"I don’t need you to give me a nicer answer because I’m looking at you," she said.

"I know. I don’t enjoy wondering which answer might make you leave."

That landed harder than a speech would have. Dove crossed the little washroom and put her hands against his chest, careful to leave him room to move if he wanted it.

"I’m here. If something worries me, I’ll ask you. You can try answering before deciding how I’ll feel."

He touched her hair, then bent until his forehead rested against hers. She stayed there until Thorne called from the bedroom that the food would not improve by being ignored. Dove laughed and pulled Edrik after her by the hand.

On Day Seventy-Three, Dove washed with pond water in their own washroom after retrieving it under Thorne’s watch. The filled basin waited beside her chair when she opened her eyes; she carried it to the washstand to wash. The tap made rinsing everything afterward easier. She could finish without asking either man to carry a bucket.

Sprout’s daily shelf offered four packs of silicone ice trays, with three sales required for thirty-seven normal coins. She brought the packs out onto the counter and explained to the first customer that the trays did not make ice themselves. The man pointed to the restaurant’s working cold room, bought two packs, and looked offended that she thought he’d missed that part.

"I’ve met enough people this month to check," she said. He laughed and paid in eggs and butter, which went straight into their insulated carrier for that day’s meals. The remaining two packs sold before lunch. No leftovers, no Favor fee, and nothing for Sprout to lecture her about keeping.

Sales and practice paid, and Sprout settled the day’s Favor without selling her anything else. She left the tabletop ice maker unbought until she knew their power supply better, despite wanting it badly enough to stare at the picture twice. Thorne offered to ask the restaurant about ice, and she kissed him for understanding the actual problem. She wanted a cold drink with dinner, not another expensive thing to carry.

They ate pasta with meat sauce, salad from a market stall, and bread warmed at the restaurant next door. Dove had paid for fresh food because she wanted it, and because watching both men go back for seconds pleased her far more than hoarding every useful thing forever.

When Thorne reached across her for the bread, she caught his sleeve and kissed his cheek. He paused, waiting for a reason. She gave him another kiss instead.

"You’re allowed to be appreciated without fixing a shelf first," she told him. His arm settled around her waist, and Edrik passed the bread himself.

They opened the recovered movie case after lunch to choose tonight’s disc. Thorne wanted to finish the comedy. Edrik claimed he didn’t care, then pointed out that they hadn’t found out what happened to the stolen car. Dove smiled into her cup and let them pretend this wasn’t a decision they had both been considering since breakfast.

The freight contact returned near closing, carrying a route sheet. An outdoor store stood on a raised road just beyond B’s delivery gate, he said. People had cleared winter coats and fuel early in the freeze, but the summer aisles still looked full through the side windows.

Dove asked how recently he’d passed and whether anyone had marked a claim. Yesterday afternoon, and not on the public doors. She wrote both down without treating them as a guarantee.

Thorne looked at her growing list. "We’re going, aren’t we?"

"Obviously. Somebody abandoned a store full of summer things while it’s getting hotter every day. That’s practically flirting with me."

Edrik took the route sheet and checked the distance. Dove opened Sprout’s saved leads beside it, suddenly picturing fans on the shelves where the last of her towels had sold.