He steps closer. “Talk to me, Greta.”
I can’t hold it in anymore. My chest tightens and the words fall out, wobbly and raw.
“I found a note,” I whisper. “Under a napkin holder.”
I reach into my apron and pull it out, unfolded now, creased from how many times I’ve read it. I pass it to him with hands that won’t stop trembling.
His eyes scan the short message.
You always hated the cold, Bunny.
His jaw goes tight as I tell him it’s a letter from my abusive ex. The muscle ticks. He folds the paper slowly and slides it into his pocket.
“I need you to do something for me,” he says.
I nod, heart racing.
“Close the diner. Right now. Pack a bag. You’re coming with me.”
“What?”
“You’re staying at my place until this is handled.”
My head spins. “Nate, I—I can’t. I can’t just close the diner. It’s my job. Ineedthis income.”
“Then I’m working here now,” he says without missing a beat. “You serve coffee. I scan the room for threats. We both wear aprons.”
I stare at him, half-laughing, half on the verge of sobbing.
“Are you seriously suggesting you play bouncer at my diner?”
“I’m notsuggestinganything,” he says, voice low and even. “If this guy found you once, he can do it again. I’m not leaving you alone to see what he does next. Either you come with me now, or I move into that booth over there and sleep on the table.”
He points to table three like he’s already claimed it.
I laugh again, but it cracks in the middle. Because this isinsane. And also… kind of comforting.
Nobody’s ever insisted on protecting me before.
And Nate—he’s not doing this because he wants something from me. He’s not the kind of man who plays games. He’s doing it because he cares.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped being a server who flirts too much and started beinghisproblem. Or maybe something more.
My heart is pounding for entirely different reasons now.
“I’m going upstairs,” I say, grabbing my keys. “I’ll pack a bag. You wait right here, Bishop.”
He nods once, already dragging a chair closer to the door like he’s preparing for war with a view of the sidewalk.
I lock the diner behind me, flip the sign toclosed, and race up the back stairs to my small apartment above the kitchen.
The second I step into my bedroom, I collapse against the door.
What am I doing?
Packing a bag. Leaving my apartment. Letting a man I’m barely close to take me into the woods like I’m Goldilocks and he’s the Big Bad Wolf. A veryhotwolf, but still.
But then I remember the note. The sick way he called meBunny, like it was a nickname I should still wear like a collar.
