I watched her taillights to the end of the block, checked on Tilly, set the kettle for morning coffee, and stood a minute in a kitchen that smelled like garlic and something I still don’t have a better word for thanhome.
I barely slept. I replayed her goodnight over and over, the heat of her kiss lingering like a fingerprint. Everything in the house felt a little lighter, as if her laughter still hovered in the corners, settling into the walls. When I finally drifted off, it was with a kind of hope I hadn’t let myself feel in years.
Chapter 22
Eliza
I’d been awake for a while before I realized it was my day off and I could have slept in.
Nate lingered under my skin anyway—not in the obvious ways, though those were there too—but in the quieter ones. The way my chest felt lighter than it had in years. The memory of laughter and careful hands brushing mine, asking for nothing in return. The way being with him hadn’t required armor.
That was the dangerous part. It felt so right to be with him, and yet so hard to trust it completely once I wasn’t with him.
I padded through the house, letting the morning find me instead of the other way around, coffee untouched on the counter while my thoughts ran ahead. Last night had been warm and safe, so easy it made my heart ache. Nate hadn’t rushed me. He hadn’t demanded clarity, promises, or explanations. He’d just made it okay to tell him how I felt. Nothing forced. Nothing owed. Present in a way that made me want to stay.
Which meant, of course, that today was going to be difficult.
Graham’s grand opening hovered at the edges of my thoughts like a low cloud, impossible to ignore. I squared my shoulders, determined to get through it steady and intact. Iwasn’t going to give him more space than he deserved—not in my day, not in my head.
Still, nerves don’t listen to reason. They wound tight anyway, whispering worst-case scenarios I’d sworn I’d never believe again.
Nate had made me feel brave last night, and that was the problem. When something started to feel real—safe, even—I couldn’t pretend it was temporary anymore.
I finally forced myself into motion because standing still felt like an invitation to spiral. The day unfolded the way days always did—feeding the cats, stepping over Linguini’s dramatic sprawl in the doorway, refilling Remy’s water bowl before he could glare me into compliance.
Life, stubborn and ordinary, insisted on continuing.
And for once, I let it.
I made toast I forgot to eat and coffee I reheated twice, drifting through my house like I was both present and somewhere else entirely. Every familiar thing felt slightly tilted, as if last night had nudged my life half an inch off its axis.
By midafternoon, I’d cleaned surfaces that didn’t need cleaning and checked my phone too often for no reason at all. Nate would pick me up later. That was the plan. Simple. Normal. Except nothing about how my heart raced when I thought about him felt normal anymore. I wanted tonight to be effortless. I wanted to be brave. I wanted not to care what Graham thought—all reasonable goals. None of them were guaranteed to go the way I wanted.
So, when it was finally time to get ready, I treated it like I was donning armor for battle. I showered, dried my hair, chose the dress with care—not too much, not too little. Something that said I knew who I was, even if I was still figuring it out. I caught my reflection once, hands braced on the sink, and took a breath.
Tonight, I told myself, was just a night out, even if it felt like so much more.
I slid into my shoes with a grimace. I hadn’t worn heels this high since I left Portland and decided blistered toes weren’t a thing I wanted to keep in my life. Tonight, apparently, they were a necessity.
Black dress—simple, fitted, the exact shade of confidence I didn’t quite feel. Hair lifted softly at the crown; loose waves pinned to behave. Liner sharp enough to cut glass, lipstick the deep scarlet color of a quiet threat. I spritzed perfume and tried not to think about the dozen different ways this could go sideways.
Remy perched on the vanity like a judgmental stylist. Linguini sprawled on the bathmat, feigning fainting spells. “No notes,” I told them, even though they had many.
My phone buzzed.
Nate: I’m outside whenever you’re ready. No rush.
Me: Coming. And if I trip in these heels, you never saw it.
Nate: I’ll catch you. Then deny everything.
I clicked down the stairs and opened the door to find him in a navy blue dress jacket that did excellent things to his shoulders. Clean shave, hair pushed back, eyes bright. He went still with quiet awe, not performance.
“Wow,” he said, voice a little wrecked. “You look stunning.”
“You clean up okay, too,” I managed, steadier than my ankles in these heels. He offered me his arm like an old movie taught him how—or more likely, his grandfather’s example.
Across from the library, Graham’s new place glowed like it had hired a cinematographer to light it. Hand-gilded sign. Warm light trapped behind glass. Honeybrook Hollow was already impressed.
