Theo:Change of plans. Threw my back out this morning. SO sorry. But don’t worry — your ride will be out front in 10. You’re in good hands.
I frown at the screen. Threw his back out? He was fine yesterday. We spent the whole afternoon planning the trip, loading snacks into his truck, arguing about the playlist. There was nothing wrong with his back.
Cara:What?? Are you okay? We can postpone...
Theo:No no, you need to get Mr. Darcy! Go. Trust me.
The angel emoji again. Theo has never used an angel emoji in his life.
“Everything alright, honey?”
I look up. Maeve Bennett is watching me from behind the counter, silver hair pulled back in its usual bun, floral apron dusted with flour.
“Theo hurt his back,” I say. “He was supposed to drive me to LA today.”
“Oh no, that’s a shame.” She tsks sympathetically, loading muffins into a paper bag without me having to ask. “Backs can be tricky. One wrong move and you’re out for a week.”
My phone buzzes again.
Lucas:Drive safe. Text us when you stop for the night.
The same angel emoji. From Lucas, who has also never used an angel emoji.
Something is going on here.
“Well, I hope you can still make your trip,” Maeve says, pushing the bag across the counter. “You need to get that cat of yours, don’t you?”
“Mr. Darcy. Yeah.” I’m still staring at my phone, trying to figure out what they’re up to. “Theo says my ride will be here in ten minutes, but he didn’t say who...”
“I’m sure it’ll work out.” She pats my hand, her eyes warm. “You’ve got good people looking out for you, Cara. Always have, even when you didn’t know it.”
I look up at her, and for a moment I think she knows something. But her expression is just... Maeve. Kind and wise and a little knowing, the way she’s always been with every omega who’s walked through her door.
“Muffins are on the house,” she says. “For the road.”
“Maeve, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to. Now go on, don’t keep your ride waiting.”
I grab the bag and push through the door, squinting against the morning sun.
Nate’s truck is idling at the curb.
I’d recognize that black F-150 anywhere—the scratch on the bumper, the mud on the wheel wells. The same truck he drove me to the lookout in, back when he could barely look at me.
And behind the wheel, staring straight ahead like he’s hoping I might not notice him?—
Nate.
My heart stutters.
He rolls down the passenger window. His jaw is tight, his scent locked down, his expression giving away absolutely nothing.
“Get in,” he says.
I stand there for a moment, clutching my bag of muffins, the pieces clicking into place. Theo’s sudden “back injury.” The cryptic texts. The angel emojis neither of them ever use.
They set me up. Theo and Lucas planned this whole thing.
