The sky was a pearly gray, soft and heavy like it might snow later, and the air had that late winter bite that made you rethink every fashion decision that didn’t involve fleece-lined leggings and a heavy winter coat.
I crossed Sycamore Street and slowed down near the library—where a bigComing Soonsign hung in the window across the street, advertisingMaison Graham—then headed toward the park. My jaw tightened as I passed Graham’s restaurant, all glass and polish, built to be admired. The reaction was instant and physical—heat in my chest, a hard knot in my stomach.I didn’t slow down. Places like that thrived on restraint and performance. I kept walking, choosing warmth over spectacle, substance over shine.
The Honeybrook Hollow town park wasn’t huge, but it was one of those small-town treasures that looked like it had been lifted straight from a storybook or an episode ofGilmoreGirls. A cobbled path looped around the perimeter, winding past clusters of leafless trees and snowy bushes. Fairy lights still wrapped the gazebo in the center, a leftover from Christmas no one had the heart to take down yet. The covered picnic tables near the gazebo offered just enough shelter to eat outside without freezing one’s ass off entirely.
In the far corner, the dog park was enclosed with wrought-iron scrolls and had two benches, a decorative fire hydrant, and a well-worn sign that read“Sit Happens.”
I spotted Nate before he saw me. He was standing by the gazebo, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a takeout tray with our drinks in the other, looking like he belonged in one of the Hallmark movies I would never admit to binge-watching.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair mussed just enough to be interesting. His winter coat was unzipped, and I could see the outline of his thermal Henley underneath—charcoal gray, with jacket sleeves pushed up, even though it was cold, his forearms on full display. He wore jeans that fit far too well and had that relaxed, hometown guy confidence that made me forget my own name for a second.
He caught sight of me and smiled—slow and unguarded, that familiar, crooked grin that felt unfairly personal, like he’d been waiting for me specifically—and something warm and hopeful fluttered in my chest despite my very best efforts not to let it.
Game over. I was toast. He was too hot to be real.
“Hey,” I said, stepping under the gazebo while eyeing the huge bag he’d set down. “That’s a huge bag. Bring enough food for the entire population of Oregon?”
He held up the milkshake. “We agreed on burgers. I’m just a man following orders.”
We sat at the picnic table, and he passed me a takeout box and a carton of fries like it was some kind of peace offering.
I opened the lid. “Extra pickles? You remembered.”
“Of course. I stuck to your burger preference text as if it were the letter of the law. I aim to please.”
The gazebo blocked the wind, and the wood underneath still held some warmth from the weak midday sun despite the chill in the air.
For a few minutes, we ate in silence—comfortable silence, which surprised me more than anything. It wasn’t awkward, it was easy.
“So,” Nate said, after a sip of his Coke. “How long have you been in Honeybrook Hollow?”
“A year this spring,” I said, dunking a fry into our shared mound of ketchup.
“You like it?”
I shrugged. “I like the Coffee Cabin. I like my grandparents. And I like being close to my sisters—even when they treat me like a wounded baby bird who needs rescuing.”
“Why do they treat you like that?” he asked softly.
I smiled, a little crooked, because there wasn’t a simple answer. “Because I’m the youngest and I have a history of looking fine while quietly imploding.” I shrugged, trying to keep it light. “So now they hover. Snacks appear. Feelings get checked on. I’m a project.” I glanced up at him, amused despite myself. “Apparently, I give off strongneeds supervisionvibes.”
Nate didn’t laugh or ask me to explain further. He just listened. And somehow, that made me feel steadier than all the hovering ever had.
I chewed slowly, suddenly uncomfortable with how warm that made me feel.
“What about you?” I asked, deflecting. “Why leave Portland for a life of diner grease and cherry pie milkshakes?”
He leaned back slightly, elbows on the table. “Because I wanted something simple. Something settled and peaceful. And because the house my grandparents gave me has a built-in pantry that smells like creamed corn and reminds me of my childhood.”
I smiled despite myself. “And Tilly?”
“She’s everything,” he said simply. “She made it easy to walk away from the old life. I want more time with her, not like it was in Portland, when I worked almost nonstop. Eighty hours a week is good money, but it doesn’t leave much time for anything else.”
My stomach flipped. He didn’t say it with bitterness. Just truth.
I took another big bite of my burger, sighing like it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Honestly, it might’ve been. Nate’s eyebrows lifted in amusement as he sat across from me.
“Was that a food sigh?” he asked.
