A chair beside him.
Her breath stuttered.
Every instinct screamed at her not to take it, not to put herself that close to the one man who could undo her with a single look. But the room was watching. And Gina’s raised brows left her no escape.
So she sat. Right next to him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to catch the faint scent of soap and cedar that clung to him. Close enough to remember all the reasons why she didn’t want to run into him, why she avoided him like the plague.
The air was thick, suffocating, and tense.
Too tense.
Nettie couldn’t breathe.
“I think I need to go,” she blurted, shoving back from the table. All eyes swung toward her. “I’m sorry—I don’t feel good.”
“You’re kidding me,” Tate growled, his glare sharper than ever. But beneath it—something flickered. Hurt? Anger?
She couldn’t tell.
It didn’t matter.
That was it. She was done.
Her purse was in her hands before anyone could stop her, and she was halfway to the door when Gina hissed, “Tate—I told you to chill out…”
“You told me that he wouldn’t be here,” Shannon snapped.
“I grew up here!” Tate snarled. “I’m entitled to be here…”
“All of you need to stop,” Mrs. Cassidy ordered, her tone sharp as glass. “Everyone, sit down and relax. We’re all adults and…”
“I’m sorry—but I need to go.”
“Nettie…”
“I forgot my tea kettle on…”
“You don’t own a tea kettle…”
“Nettie,wait…”
“No,” she whispered, bolting through the front door before anyone could grab her arm, before Tate’s glare could pin her in place again. She didn’t wait for Shannon, didn’t wait for anything.
The evening air was cool against her flushed skin as she darted down the alley, skirt and hair flying. She didn’t stop until she’d run three blocks, until her grandmother’s house loomed ahead, dark and quiet, waiting for her.
Slamming the door shut behind her, Nettie flicked her phone to ‘Do Not Disturb’ and pressed her back against the wall, heart racing.
Never again,she thought.Never again.
Thirty minutes later, just as Nettie had finally convinced herself she wasn’t wrong for leaving, that she couldn’tendure a meal with Tate glaring at her and giving her dirty looks—there came a knock at her door.
She froze.
The sound wasn’t loud, but a firm, measured rap that seemed deliberate. For a heartbeat, she debated whether to answer. The silence that followed was heavier than the knock itself, pressing against her chest.
Slowly, she rose and crossed the room, each step careful, hesitant, as though she was avoiding some nightmarish creature, refusing to face her demons… or just one of them. When she finally turned the knob and pulled the door open, she didn’t find anyone standing there.
No eyes meeting hers.
