I stare at the message for ten minutes before hitting send. Then I watch my phone for another hour, waiting for a response.
Nothing.
Cara:I’m not going away, Nate. We need to talk.
Still nothing.
Day three, I try again.
Cara:You can’t avoid me forever. This town is too small.
The read receipt shows up almost immediately. He saw it. He read it.
And then nothing.
I throw my phone across the bed and scream into a pillow.
“He’s avoiding me.”
Lucas looks up from his menu, eyebrows raised. We’re at Millie’s—red vinyl booths, chrome accents, the best grilled cheese in the county. He’s on his lunch break, still in scrubs, and I’m spiraling.
“Nate?” he asks, like there’s any question.
“No, the other brooding alpha who’s been ghosting me for three days.” I stab my water with a straw. “Yes, Nate.”
“He’s not ghosting you. He’s just...” Lucas pauses. “Processing.”
“For three days? What is he, a dial-up modem?”
Lucas snorts into his coffee. “That’s actually pretty accurate.”
“I texted him. Multiple times. He read them and didn’t respond.” I slump back in my seat. “Does he hate me that much?”
“He doesn’t hate you.” Lucas sets down his coffee. “That’s the problem. He’s never hated you. Not even when he probably should have.”
“Then why won’t he talk to me?”
“Because you’re the one person who can actually hurt him.” Lucas reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Theo and I... we loved you, Cara. We still do. But Nate was different. He didn’t just love you. He—” He stops, shakes his head. “It’s not my story to tell.”
“Then how am I supposed to?—”
“Give him time. He’ll come around.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you might have to go get him.” His expression softens. “Don’t give up on him just because he’s making it hard. He’s worth the effort.”
The kitchen door swings open, and Millie herself appears at our table—silver hair pinned back, reading glasses on a chain around her neck, the kind of no-nonsense energy that comes from running a diner for forty years.
She takes one look at me, then at Lucas, then at our joined hands on the table.
“Well, well, well.” She plants a hand on her hip. “Cara Donovan. I heard you were back in town, but I didn’t believeit until now.” Her eyes narrow, but there’s warmth underneath. “You look too skinny. Both of you. It’s like nobody in this town eats unless I put food in front of them.”
“Hi, Millie.”
“Don’t you ‘hi, Millie’ me. Ten years and not a single postcard.” She pulls out her notepad, but she’s fighting a smile. “Your grandmother’s been in here every Tuesday talking about you. ‘Cara this, Cara that, my granddaughter the big fancy author.’ Now I finally get to see for myself.” She looks at Lucas. “And you. Three times a week you sit in this booth, and now you bring a pretty girl. Should I be offended you’ve been holding out on me?”
“It’s a recent development,” Lucas says, and I can hear him trying not to laugh.
