The ride to the Inn was quiet except for the radio and the hum of tires on asphalt. Trace drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. I studied his profile, memorizing the strong line of his jaw, wishing I was brave enough to ask for forgiveness.
I'd loved this man since I was a kid. And in a few hours, when the podcaster started digging, there was a good chance I'd lose him forever.
The Inn's parking lot was busier than I'd seen it in months. A news van sat next to the main entrance, its satellite dish extended like it was ready to broadcast my biggest mistake to the entire world.
"Showtime," Trace muttered, cutting the engine.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with activity. Marla directed traffic from behind the front desk while strangers with cameras and recording equipment set up in the dining room. Mimi gestured wildly at a man I recognized from the podcast's promotional photos. He’d spent time in Hard Timber before, but thankfully I hadn’t run into him.
He was younger than I'd expected, maybe early thirties, with styled hair and the kind of smile that probably charmed unsuspecting sources into spilling their secrets. When he spotted us, his eyes lit up.
"You must be Trace Quade," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Nico Solomon from 'The Ex-List: Hard Timber Uncut.' I've been hoping we could chat."
Trace's handshake was brief and professional. "I'm here to work, not talk."
Nico grinned like he’d been expecting that kind of response. “Come on, man. Just a few questions. Your perspective could really balance the story."
"My perspective is that some stories don't need to be told."
Nico’s smile didn't shift. "But this one's already been told, hasn't it? I'm just giving you a chance to set the record straight."
I stepped closer to Trace, my pulse hammering. "He's not interested."
Nico turned his attention to me, and I felt like a deer caught in the crosshairs. “You're Sabrina Meyer, right? Owner of Morning Wood Coffee?"
"That's right."
"I'd love to get your take on Hard Timber's dating scene. As a local business owner, you must have a unique perspective on how the Ex-List has affected the community."
Every word felt like a trap, just waiting to snare me. "I think people's private lives should stay private."
"Even when they're dating in a town this small?” Nico’s smile widened. “Come on, you must have opinions about the men on that list."
Trace's jaw tightened. I could feel him watching me, waiting for my answer.
"I think," I said carefully, "that lists like that are usually written by people who are hurting. And hurt people don't always make the best judges of character or the right decisions.”
Something flickered in Nico’s eyes… interest, maybe even suspicion. "That's an interesting perspective. Almost like you have personal experience with that kind of hurt."
All of the air seemed to get sucked out of the room. Trace stared at me, and I could practically see the questions forming in his head.
"I think," Marla's voice cut through the tension, "we should focus on the wedding. After all, that's why everyone's here."
Nico nodded, but his gaze lingered on me a beat too long. "Of course. The wedding. Though I have to say, the romantic drama in this town makes for a compelling narrative.”
I tried to ignore him as the next hour passed in a blur of logistics and forced smiles. We discussed catering timelines, setup requirements, and contingency plans for weather. But underneath it all, I felt Nico watching, listening, and cataloging every interaction between Trace and me.
When the meeting finally ended, I bolted for the porch, desperate for air and space. But Trace caught up with me before I reached the front door.
"What was that about?" he asked.
"What was what about?"
"The way you answered his questions. Like you were walking through a minefield."
I pulled the door open and stepped outside, not trusting myself to look at him. "I just don't trust him."
"Sabrina." His voice was gentle but firm. "What aren't you telling me?"
