“Yeah. Evidently city council members don’t take kindly to having a junior reporter blow their ring of corruption wide open. My boss refused to run the story, and my source got fired after I swore I’d protect her.” I wiped at my eyes, refusing to let the tears fall.
“I’m sorry,” Thatcher said.
I stood and folded my arms to match his. ““It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve moved on. Got myself a great freelance gig that brought me to you.”
He stiffened as I reached out to touch him.
I didn’t see that coming, but I shouldn’t be surprised. We’d shared a moment, and it was over. Even though it meant a lot more than a one-night stand to me, he hadn’t made me any promises. “Do you want to just pretend that everything between us didn’t happen?”
That got his attention, and his eyes snapped to mine. “Of course not.”
“It kind of feels like it.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I just need some time to think.”
“Think about what?” My mind spun with possibilities. Did he need to think about me? About how stupid it was to let me in? About how fast things moved? About what a mistake it had all been?
He didn’t answer. Just stared at the wall like the knots in the wood held the secret to all of life’s problems.
“I should go,” I muttered, walking past him to shove my feet into my boots.
“It’s dark out. Let me walk you back.” He finally moved though I could tell he was just being polite. His heart wasn’t into this, wasn’t into me.
“That’s not necessary.” I let myself out and started down the path back to Nellie’s. The stubborn man followed a few yards behind until I got to the cabin and let myself in. Once inside, I went to the window and caught sight of him walking away. We were both better off. That’s what I kept telling myself. Maybe I’d eventually start to believe it.
I didn’t sleep.
Not more than an hour or two, anyway. I tossed and turned through most of the night, staring at the dark ceiling of the Hideaway, replaying every second in Thatcher’s cabin. How it felt to have his arms around me. How his expression shifted when I told him about the article. How hurt I’d been when he didn’t stop me from leaving.
Watching him walk away through the window of the cabin felt like a goodbye. A subtle, soul-deep rejection I hadn’t seen coming. The worst part was, I should have known better.
Morning dawned clear, too cheerful for how heavy my chest felt.
I tugged on yesterday’s jeans, pulled my hair into a messy bun, and drove into town because I couldn’t sit in that quiet fairytale cabin one minute longer. Not when my chest ached and my thoughts were tangled up in an iceberg of a man who didn’t want a thing to do with me.
The smell of coffee and cinnamon brought me back to life the second I opened the door to the Huckleberry Cafe. The cafe was already buzzing when I stepped inside. Locals filled the booths and counter stools, sipping from mismatched mugs and chatting like everyone knew everyone, which they probably did.
It was the kind of cozy, homey chaos that should have made me feel better. Today, it just made the hollow spot in my chest feel even bigger.
Nellie spotted me the moment I walked in and nodded toward a booth in the back. She didn’t bring a menu. Just a steaming mug of coffee and a warm smile.
“Well, you look like someone with a story to tell who needs a cinnamon roll first,” she said as she slid into the seat across from me.
I gave a tired laugh. “That bad, huh?”
“You’ve got heartbreak-face, sugar. And I know heartbreak-face. Let me guess.” She narrowed her eyes. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain broody mountain man with a wounded heart and a jaw carved from granite?”
I blinked. “Thatcher? How…?”
She gave me a look. “Please. Two people come back from the farmers’ market skunked to high heaven, one of them ends up staying the night at a certain cabin in the woods, and you think I wouldn’t piece it together?”
I rubbed my forehead. “We didn’t… it wasn’t like that.”
Her brow arched. “Then why do you look like you haven’t slept, and your heart just fell down a well?”
I couldn’t answer. Not right away. Because the truth sat too heavy in my throat.
“I think I messed up,” I whispered.
