She let that settle for a second. Then she reached for a rag again, wiped an already-clean spot on the counter. “You always this good at pep talks?”
“I’ve got a soft spot for gorgeous women with espresso stains on their aprons.”
That pulled a laugh out of her. The real kind. Warm and surprised and unguarded.
“There it is,” I said, smiling.
“There what is?”
“That smile. The one that makes me think I should ask for your number. Again.”
She rolled her eyes, but it was fond. “You already have my number, Winters.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to earn it every day.”
She looked down and shook her head, but her cheeks flushed, and that was victory enough.
“Even when I’m a wreck?” She lingered for a moment, her hand resting lightly on the counter between us. It felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of us, suspended in possibility. I caught the gentle tremor in her fingers before she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gathering herself. There was a sense of something unspoken, but the warmth radiating from her gaze said enough.
“Especially then.” The quiet hung between us, gentle and full. I brushed my thumb over her knuckles, then lifted her hand to place a soft kiss on her wrist. “I’m falling for you, wreck or not,” I said, voice soft but sure. For a moment, everything else faded—the hum of the town, the footsteps on the sidewalk, even the uncertainty that had lingered in her eyes. It felt like the start of something we hadn’t dared hope for, fragile but real.
She gave me a long look. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”
“Nope.” I squeezed her hand gently, letting the silence stretch, hoping she felt the promise in my touch. “Not unless you tell me to,” I answered, a half-smile tugging at my lips. The weight of the moment pressed in, and all I wanted was to be someone she could lean on, someone who stayed. With her, it felt simple, even when it wasn’t.
“I’m trying to get myself back together. I don’t like who I was when I was with him. Seeing him here brought it all back. I should have dealt with it when I came to town, but I buried my feelings instead and tried to forget I was ever with him.”
“I’ll wait. I’m here. Promise.” I didn’t say more. Didn’t have to. Because I’d already made up my mind about her. “You’re worth it, Eliza. But we have more important things to discuss.”
“Like what?”
“When can I make you spaghetti again, that’s what.”
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
I laughed, the sound light and easy, cutting through the heaviness that still lingered between us. “Only if you want it to be,” I teased, letting go of her hand but holding on to the warmth that remained. I glanced up at the clock mounted over the doorway. “I should get going—I have to get to work. I’ll be around if you want company later, or a cherry pie milkshake.”
She smiled at me, softer now. “Maybe I’ll stop by after I close up here. Might need someone to make sure I don’t get lost in my own thoughts.”
“I’ll save you a seat at the counter,” I said, backing toward the door and giving her a final, lingering look. “Don’t work too late.”
She nodded, still smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. I caught it then—the way her shoulders stayed a little tight, the way she watched the window like she was bracing for something.
I stepped into the cold with the warmth of Coffee Cabin trailing softly behind me. The sound of her laugh lingered, but so did a thread of unease I couldn’t shake. Eliza was strong—stronger than she knew—but something was pressing on her, getting under her skin in a way jokes and spaghetti couldn’t fix.
And as I walked toward my truck, I had the sinking feeling that Graham wasn’t done trying to make himself part of her thoughts.
I didn’t know how yet, but I knew one thing for certain: whatever he was doing to her, I wasn’t going to let her face it alone.
Chapter 26
Nate
“Nate,” Nancy called as I walked into the Pennywhistle. She didn’t say more, but the look she gave me—chin tilted, eyes narrowed, lips tight—spoke volumes. Something was off. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper for the next part, as if sharing a secret only meant for me. “Health inspector’s here. He’s in the back.”
“Thanks,” I said, heading straight to the kitchen.
The kitchen smelled like it always did after the lunch rush—citrusy cleanser, coffee, and whatever spices had lingered from the afternoon special. No sour milk. No spoiled anything. Still, unease coiled in my chest.
