"That smug son of a bitch," Jamie's voice came through the phone.
"He's coming for us," Mac said. "For Cole. For Ellie."
"Question is: why?"
Mac thought about Rachel's face when he'd mentioned Matthews. The way she'd shut down completely.
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."
After Jamie hung up, Mac sat staring at his phone. He should call Rachel. Tell her about the interview. Warn her that Matthews was coming to Vermont.
But something stopped him.
She already knew. That's why she'd been distracted, worried. She knew Derek was coming.
And she hadn't told Mac.
He looked down at his half-written speech about love and trust and building a life together.
And wondered if he really knew Rachel at all.
22
Rachel
Rachel was shelving childrens books when it hit her.
She was in love with Ryan MacKenzie.
The hardcover in her hands slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud that echoed through the empty stacks. Rachel stared at it.
Not falling. Not maybe. Not cautiously testing the waters.
In love. Actually, completely, undeniably in love.
"Oh no," she whispered to the empty aisle.
This wasn't the plan. The plan had been simple: date casually, keep her guard up, protect her heart at all costs. Don't get swept away. Don't get hurt again and maintain control.
Rachel bent to pick up the book, her hands trembling. When had it happened?
Maybe it had been his text at 2 AM, three weeks ago. I can't sleep. I'm on Chapter 15 of Pride and Prejudice and I NEED to know if Mr. Darcy is actually a good guy. This is torture. The way he'd typed in all caps, genuinely stressed about whether Elizabeth would reject Darcy forever. She'd fallen asleep smiling at her phone.
Or last week, the panic attack in his truck after they'd run into those so-called former high school friends of hers from Burlington. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think after meeting her high school bullies again. Mac had pulled over immediately. Hadn't asked what was wrong. Hadn't told her to calm down. Just held her hand and counted breaths. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. You're safe. I've got you. When she could finally speak, he'd asked if she wanted to talk about it or watch terrible action movies. Just patient. Just there.
Maybe it had been three days ago, him reading her annotations inEmmawhile she made coffee. You write in your books? Delighted, not horrified. It's like you're having a conversation with the author. Tracing her note with his finger—"Emma is projecting her own fears onto Harriet"—like it mattered.
It wasn't one big moment. It was a hundred small ones.
She loved him.
Not because of grand gestures or perfect moments.
Because of 2 AM texts and annotations in the margins. And the wedding was in one week.
Dread pooled in her gut. One week until she'd be his date in front of the entire town, making a very public statement that they were together. That she was choosing this. Choosing him.
One week until everything could fall apart again.
