A familiar rumble pulled into the parking lot, and my pulse responded like it always did now—faster, fluttery.
Nate’s truck.
The passenger door flung open before he’d even killed the engine. Tilly hopped out, full of energy in purple glitter sneakers and a sweatshirt with a dancing llama. Lois jumped down after her, tail already wagging like a flag in the wind, leash dangling from Nate’s hand.
They were sunshine, both of them.
Tilly sprinted to the walk-up window and beamed. “Hi, Eliza! We came for a hot cocoa and marshmallows!”
Lois barked once, emphatically, as if seconding the motion.
I felt myself smile. Couldn’t stop it.
“Well,” I said, reaching for a bag, “you’re in luck, I have pink ones just for you.”
Nate came up behind her, wearing jeans and a flannel rolled to the elbows. He looked like a lumberjack who moonlighted as a hot single diner dad.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was soft, searching. “You good?”
My fingers tightened slightly around the paper bag.
“Just the usual morning rush,” I said breezily.
He didn’t buy it. Not fully. I could see it in the way his eyes lingered on mine—concern threaded through his easy smile.
But he didn’t push.
For a moment, the world felt quiet, just the three of us under the awning while the drizzle painted silver streaks on the street.
I passed Tilly the marshmallows. “No charge for the Pre-K princess.”
“I’m gonna save half for after dance class,” she said solemnly.
“That’s a solid choice.”
Nate handed her a five anyway, gesturing to the tip jar. “Support small businesses.”
She beamed at both of us, stuffed the money in the jar, then stuffed a marshmallow into her mouth.
I smiled at Nate, trying to let the warmth of his concern settle in my chest. For a second, I wished I could let myself lean into that comfort, just exist here without the shadow of everything else pressing in. He didn’t leave right away.
“Everything okay?” he asked, quieter now. “You seem?—”
“Yeah.” I nodded a little too fast, too bright. “It’s fine. Morning rush and all. Like I said.”
He studied me. “You sure?”
No.
Graham’s words still stuck to my skin like smoke. And standing here with Nate—steady, kind, sweet Nate—I felt the weight of all the ways things could go wrong.
Graham was angry. He’d been clear. He didn’t want people talking about him. Didn’t want people knowing about us.
What if he found a way to come after the Pennywhistle? What if he already had?
What if I ruined this for Nate?
What if he lost business?
