I turned then, meeting his eyes. They were the same dark brown they'd always been, but there was wariness there now. Distance. And it was my fault.
"Nothing," I lied. "I'm just worried about what he'll stir up."
Trace studied my face for a long moment. "You know something."
It wasn't a question.
"I know that podcaster is going to make this town look like a soap opera," I said. "And I know you don't deserve to be in the middle of his drama. None of the guys on the list do."
"But there's more."
My phone buzzed before I could answer. A text from an unknown number.
Nico: Great meeting you today. I'd love to chat more about your perspective on the Ex-List. How about coffee later?
Trace held out his hand. "Let me see."
"It's nothing?—"
"Give it to me.” His voice carried a warning.
Reluctantly, I handed him the phone. I watched his expression darken as he read.
"He's fishing," Trace said, handing it back. "Don't take the bait."
"I won't."
"Promise me."
I met his eyes. "I promise."
It was another lie. Because as he drove me back to the coffee shop, one thought kept circling through my mind. Maybe talking to Nico was exactly what I needed to do. Maybe if I could control the narrative, spin it the right way, I could protect Trace from the worst of it.
Maybe I could finally find a way to fix what I'd broken. And that meant facing him sooner rather than later.
Back at the shop, I deleted Nico’s text and tried to focus on work. But every time the door chimed, I looked up expecting to see him. Or Trace. Or someone else ready to drag my secrets into the light.
By closing time, my nerves were shot. I was wiping down tables when my phone rang. Nellie's name showed up on the screen.
"Sugar," she said without preamble, "I just heard that podcaster's been asking questions about who wrote that list."
My blood turned to ice. "What kind of questions?"
"The kind that make me think he's figured out it wasn't anonymous after all."
I sank into the nearest chair. "Nellie?—"
"I know, honey. I know." Her voice was gentle. "But secrets have a way of coming out, especially when there's money to be made for the folks spilling them."
"What am I going to do?"
"You're going to tell Trace before that man does it for you."
I closed my eyes. "What if he hates me?"
"Then he hates you. But at least he'll hear it from someone who loves him."
After I hung up, I sat in the empty coffee shop, surrounded by the scent of espresso and the weight of my choices. Outside, Hard Timber settled into evening quiet, streetlights flickering on as the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
