Chapter 5
Rebekah
I t wasn’t meant to be this way.
In the two days since my humiliating experience in the community center, I’d done not much but mope. I dragged myself to work, but felt as though I was only half there. At least I’d managed to be on time both mornings.
The pain and shame had been weighing my down, and I knew I had to talk to someone, so I was glad when Lucy suggested a hang-out at her place. And even though I didn’t want to weigh her down with my baggage, it didn’t take long for me to get into it all.
I sat cross-legged on the worn floral rug in Lucy’s living room, my hands twisting the hem of my sweater until it was stretched and misshapen. My throat burned from holding back more tears, but they slipped out anyway, hot and humiliating as they tracked down my cheeks. The mug of chamomile tea Lucy had handed me earlier sat untouched on the coffee table, steam long gone, its faint herbal scent barely registering over the sharp stabs of my own shame.
“I spilled coffee on him,” I choked out, my voice wobbling as I forced the words into the air. “All over his—his stupid perfect shirt. In front of everyone.”
Lucy didn’t say anything right away. She just handed me another tissue from the box perched beside her like a lifeline. Her quiet patience only made the knot in my chest tighten further.
“And then—then I panicked!” I pressed the crumpled tissue to my face, muffling the rest of the confession. “I ran out like some kind of . . . child.”
The word stung even as I said it. A fresh wave of embarrassment surged through me, and I hunched forward, burying my face in my hands. Every detail of the scene replayed in my mind with cruel precision—the startled gasp that escaped Luca when the coffee splashed across him, the way his eyes narrowed as he dabbed at the stain with a napkin. And then, worst of all, the silence that followed as the entire committee watched me bolt for the door.
Lucy’s hand landed gently on my shoulder, grounding me before I could spiral any further. “It sounds like you had a rough day,” she said softly. No judgment, no pity. Just calm understanding.
“It wasn’t just rough, Lucy.” My voice cracked, and I dropped my hands, staring down at the teardrops soaking into the fabric of my leggings. “It was humiliating. Like, who cares if I spilled the coffee? It’s okay! It shouldn’t derail everything like that. But lately, every time something like this happens it’s like it’s the end of the world! I can’t—I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” Lucy asked, her tone careful now.
“This!” I waved my arms helplessly, as if that single gesture could encompass all the ways I’d been falling apart lately. “Pretending I’m capable of handling things. Pretending I belong on that committee. I mean, come on, Lucy. Look at me.” I sniffled and gestured vaguely at myself, taking in the frayed sweater sleeves, the streaked mascara I hadn’t bothered to fix, the overall picture of someone barely holding it together. “I’m a mess.”
Lucy tilted her head, studying me with an expression that made me squirm. “Rebekah—”
“I’m quitting,” I blurted, cutting her off. The decision tumbled out of me before I could second-guess it, a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control. “The fundraiser. The committee. All of it. I’ll tell Pauline tomorrow.”
Her brow furrowed, and she leaned back slightly, crossing her legs beneath her on the couch. “Wait, what? You’re quitting?”
“Yes,” I said firmly, though my voice wavered at the edges. “I can’t—I can’t even manage my job at the store. I don’t know why I’ve piled this on, too. I’m just trying to impress people.” My throat tightened again, and I paused to breathe through it. “I’m done embarrassing myself. Done pretending I have it together when I clearly don’t.”
"Rebekah . . ." Lucy started, but I shook my head quickly, cutting her off again. The words were spilling out now, unstoppable, like water bursting through a dam.
“In that meeting, I felt like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life. Everyone else is so put-together and confident—" I swallowed hard, picturing Luca's steady, commanding presence in particular and how small I felt in comparison. "And then there's me. Barely holding on by a thread."
"That's not true," Lucy said quietly, but I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze.
"Yes, it is," I insisted, the heat rising to my cheeks again. "And I'm tired of trying to prove otherwise. I’m sorry you have to listen to all this. I know it’s annoying."
Lucy leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, eyes narrowing slightly in that way that meant she wasn’t going to let this go. “It’s okay, Bex. I get it. You’re feeling overwhelmed. But dropping everything? That’s not like you.” She cocked her head just enough to make me squirm. “Is this about Luca?”
My heart gave a traitorous lurch, and I froze. That was it—the dam broke. Heat flooded my cheeks, and before I could stop myself, the truth spilled out in a rushed whisper.
"He's—" I hesitated, then groaned, covering my face with my hands. "He's basically every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life, okay? The way he looks at everyone, so calm and controlled. Like he knows exactly what needs to be done and how to do it without even breaking a sweat. And when he speaks—" My voice cracked slightly, and I dropped my hands, shaking my head. "It’s like . . . like he doesn’t just expect authority. He is authority."
Lucy didn’t say anything, but I could feel her eyes boring into me, waiting.
"Every part of him just screams . . . Daddy Dom," I finally admitted, barely above a whisper, the words tasting both ridiculous and oddly cathartic. “He’s the kind of guy who probably has his entire life color-coded and scheduled down to the last minute. And then there’s me.” I exhaled sharply, bitterness creeping into my tone. “I couldn’t even make it through one meeting without turning into an anxious mess and drenching him in coffee.”
"Ah," Lucy said softly, her tone carrying understanding but no judgment. “So that’s why you’re quitting?”
"Yes!" I snapped, my voice breaking again. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to meet someone like that and immediately confirm every single insecurity you’ve ever had about yourself?"
"Like what?" she prompted, folding her arms as she leaned back against the couch.
"Like—" I faltered, my mind tumbling over itself to sort the chaos inside me. “Like the fact that I’m a complete disaster most of the time. I lose track of things, I get overwhelmed by the smallest hiccups, and—" I laughed bitterly, throwing my hands up. “Who wants to deal with that? Who would want to babysit some emotional wreck who can’t even handle a basic fundraiser without spiraling?”
"That’s not true," Lucy started, but I waved her off.
"Yes, it is! You know it is!” My voice rose, sharp with frustration—not at her, but at myself. “And even if it wasn’t, it’s not just that. I mean, I don’t even follow my own rules half the time. I set boundaries or goals or whatever, and then I find ways to break them. And sure, I tell myself it’s because I hate rules, but deep down, I think I actually . . . I actually need someone to hold me accountable.” The confession landed between us like a weight, my chest tightening as I said it aloud for the first time.
"Rebekah . . ." Lucy started again, her expression softening, but I barreled on.
"And then there’s him. Luca freaking Wright," I bit out, pacing now because sitting still felt unbearable. “He’s this high-powered lawyer who probably has his pick of gorgeous, successful women lining up for him in some big city where he actually belongs. Why on earth would he waste his time on Small Falls? On me? Why am I even thinking about him? It’s stupid.”
"Becx—"
"Let’s face it, Lucy—I’m not good enough for someone like him. I’m not organized or poised or confident. I’m messy and scared and—and too much all at the same time. It would never work." My voice cracked on the last word, and I dropped back onto the carpet, burying my face in my knees as my breath hitched.
"That’s enough," she said gently but with an edge that brooked no argument. Her eyes locked onto mine, unwavering, as if daring me to keep drowning in my own self-pity. "I’m not going to sit here and let you tear yourself apart like this. Do you even hear yourself right now?"
"Lucy, I—" My voice wavered, but she held up a finger, stopping me cold.
"Listen to me." Her tone softened, but her gaze didn’t falter. "You’re not giving yourself nearly enough credit, Becks. You’re smart. You’re creative. You’ve got more heart than half the people in this town put together. And whether or not you want to believe that right now, it’s the truth. If it weren’t for you, the Littles League wouldn’t exist."
"Lucy, you don’t understand." I shook my head, my hands twisting in the hem of my sweater. The words felt heavy, almost painful, coming out. "I’m nothing but a walking disaster. Sure. Maybe I start stuff. It’s easy to have an idea and start it. But I never finish anything. I haven’t been to the Littles League in weeks. Because I have no staying power. And I’m so dumb, too. Look at what happened today! I spilled coffee all over him, Lucy. Coffee! He probably thinks I’m incompetent—or worse, a joke."
"Or," Lucy countered, tilting her head with a knowing look, "he might think you’re human. Imagine that."
I huffed, crossing my arms tightly against my chest. "That’s not how people like him work. They don’t have time for humans, Lucy."
To my surprise, she laughed. “Are you saying he’s a robot?”
“Yes,” I said, pouting. “I am.”
She laughed again. "Honestly, Becks, who cares what Robo-Luca or anyone else thinks? You’ve been working your butt off for this fundraiser. And you know what? People see that."
"Yeah, well, they’re blind," I muttered, staring down at the fraying edge of her rug.
"Really? Because last week, Mrs. Carmody was raving about how much she loved your window display in The Treasure Trove. Said it made her feel like spring had come early. Oh, and don’t forget little Max from across the street—he talks about you like you’re some kind of superhero because you helped him make those origami cranes for his science project. Face it, Rebekah. People adore you."
"That doesn’t mean I belong on this committee," I said quietly, my voice breaking slightly under the weight of her words. "I’m not cut out for it, Lucy. I’m not good enough."
"Becks, you’re sabotaging yourself," Lucy said, softer now but no less insistent. "You’re letting one bad moment define everything. Don’t you see how unfair that is—to you? To everyone who believes in you?"
I swallowed hard, my throat tight, but the sting of humiliation from earlier still burned too bright, too raw. I couldn’t shake it, no matter how much sense Lucy’s words made.
"Maybe they shouldn’t believe in me," I whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. Then, before she could respond, I stood abruptly, brushing off my jeans and grabbing my jacket from where it hung over the back of her couch.
"Rebekah, wait." She rose too, her expression flickering with concern.
"I can’t, Lucy." I shrugged into my coat, avoiding her eyes. "I need to go to the community center. I—I need to step down from the committee. It’s the only thing that makes sense."
"You’re making a mistake, Becks. Quitting won’t fix anything. It’ll only make you feel worse."
"Lucy," I said, forcing myself to meet her gaze, even though the weight of her disappointment was almost unbearable. "I appreciate everything you’re saying. I really do. But I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t."
Her mouth opened, ready with another argument, but something in my expression must’ve stopped her. With a heavy sigh, she stepped back, her arms falling limply to her sides.
"Fine," she said softly, her eyes filled with a sadness that made my stomach twist. "I’m here for you. Whenever you need me."
I nodded stiffly, unable to muster a response, and turned toward the door.
A s I walked to the center, I kept my eyes fixed on the cracked sidewalk, counting the uneven slabs to keep my mind from spiraling too far into panic. One hundred seventy-three. One hundred seventy-four.
"Pauline’s going to be disappointed," I muttered under my breath, the words curling into the cold air like smoke. My fingers clenched tighter around the strap of my purse as I ran through the resignation speech in my head for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Pauline, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore." No, too abrupt. "I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think I’m the right fit, emotionally, for the fundraiser team." God, that sounded even worse.
Why did I have to make such a big deal out of everything.
The community center loomed ahead, its worn brick exterior somehow more intimidating than usual. My stomach twisted into knots as I climbed the steps, each one echoing louder than it had any right to. It wasn’t too late to turn back. I could just—
No. I’d already made up my mind. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, greeted by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the smell of old paper. The sharp contrast to the biting cold outside did nothing to settle the storm brewing in my chest. My footsteps faltered as I spotted Pauline at a makeshift desk near the corner, surrounded by stacks of sponsor forms and half-empty coffee cups. She looked up, her brow furrowing the moment she saw me.
"Rebekah?" Her voice carried a note of concern as she set down her pen. "Honey, are you okay? I haven’t seen you for a couple days."
I tried to force a smile, but it crumbled before it even reached my lips. "Hey, Pauline," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands tightened their grip on my purse strap as I approached her. "Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you about . . . something."
"Of course," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. Concern etched deeper lines into her face as her gaze swept over me. "You look like you’ve been crying. Is everything alright? Did something happen?"
I sank into the chair, staring at the edge of the desk as if it held the answers to all my problems. My throat tightened, and for a brief moment, I thought about bolting out the door. But then the weight of Lucy’s words echoed in my head: Quitting won’t fix anything. It’ll only make you feel worse .
"Pauline, I . . ." My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard, trying to steady it. "I don’t think I can stay on the fundraiser team anymore. I—I’ve been messing up a lot, and I just . . . I don’t want to cause more problems for everyone else."
"Messing up?" Pauline repeated, her tone equal parts confusion and disbelief. "Rebekah, where is this coming from? You’ve been doing an amazing job—"
"Please, Pauline," I interrupted, my chest tightening with every word. "I’ve already made up my mind. I just . . . can’t. Not anymore."
"Becks, wait a second—" she began, leaning forward, but before she could say more, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the hallway. My heart skipped a beat, and I froze, my pulse hammering in my ears. Pauline glanced past me toward the doorway, her expression shifting from worry to something unreadable.
I turned to see him—Luca, stepping into the room with all the unshakable confidence I’d expected and dreaded. The moment I caught sight of him, my pulse fluttered. It was impossible not to notice how his navy suit jacket clung to his broad shoulders, or how his fitted shirt emphasized the long lines of his torso.
My stomach twisted violently, and for a fleeting second, I considered making a mad dash for the exit. It wasn’t too late; I could mutter something about forgetting my keys, disappear out the door, and never look back. But Pauline shifted beside me, her hand briefly brushing my shoulder like an anchor.
"Ah, Luca," Pauline said, her tone a little too light, like she was trying to smooth out the obvious tension crackling in the air. "Perfect timing."
"Pauline," he greeted her with a polite nod before turning that steady, unreadable gaze back to me. "Rebekah. I’m so glad to see you here."
"Hi," I managed to squeak out, my voice embarrassingly small. My cheeks burned hotter than they had all day, which was saying something. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed the slight tremble in my hands or if he could hear how my breath caught the moment he spoke my name.
"Rebekah was just telling me—" Pauline started, but I cut in quickly, my words tumbling out in a rush.
"Actually, I—I just need a quick word with Pauline. Privately." My hands fidgeted with the hem of my sweater, twisting it so tightly I thought it might unravel. "I’m, um, stepping down from the fundraiser team. Effective immediately."
His brows furrowed slightly, not enough to be intimidating, but enough to make my heart hammer harder against my ribs. He stepped closer, his calm presence somehow filling the room.
"We should talk about that first," he said, his voice low and measured, each word deliberate. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command. The kind that left no room for argument. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel that sharp thrill dance up my spine.
"Uh . . ." My throat dried up entirely, and I glanced at Pauline for backup, but she gave Luca a small wave, as though inviting him to proceed. Traitor.
"Come with me," he said, already turning toward the adjacent office without waiting for my agreement. For a moment, I stayed rooted in place, staring helplessly at Pauline, who simply gestured for me to follow.
What was he going to do? Tell me off for spilling the coffee and running?
Spank me ?
"Go on, Becks," she said softly, her encouragement doing nothing to calm the rising panic in my chest.
With no other option, I trailed after Luca, my legs feeling like lead as we entered the smaller office. It smelled faintly of stale coffee and paper, and the door clicked shut behind us with an almost ominous finality. Pauline followed, closing the gap between us as Luca settled into one of the chairs around a modest table.
"Sit," he said, motioning to the seat across from him. Again, not a request.
Reluctantly, I lowered myself into the chair, crossing my arms tightly over my chest in an attempt to shield myself from whatever was coming next. Pauline hovered near the doorway, clearly unwilling to leave me alone but equally unsure how much to interfere.
"Before you officially step down," Luca began, flipping open his binder with practiced precision, "there’s something I wanted to discuss with you."
"I don’t think there’s anything to discuss," I blurted, desperate to get ahead of whatever this was. "I’ve already made up my mind—"
"Rebekah," he interrupted smoothly, his tone neither harsh nor dismissive but firm enough to stop me mid-sentence. He met my gaze head-on, and the weight of his attention made it impossible to look away. "Hear me out."
I swallowed hard, nodding reluctantly.
"Good," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I came here today to suggest a change in direction for your role with the fundraiser. Specifically, I want you to co-chair the creative direction of the event—with me."
"Wait, what?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, my jaw dropping as I stared at him in disbelief. That . . . wasn’t remotely what I’d been expecting. Had he lost his mind? He wanted to give me more responsibility? Did he have any idea what kind of disaster he was asking for?
"Let me explain," he continued calmly, ignoring my stunned expression. "You would oversee the decorating booths, reach out to local artists for collaborative pieces, and manage a small volunteer team. I’ve already started drafting a timeline and task list"—he tapped the binder meaningfully—"and I’ll handle most of the logistics, budgeting, and sponsor contracts myself."
"Why?" I finally managed to croak, shaking my head like that would somehow make sense of his words. "Why would you want me to do any of that? You saw what happened earlier—"
"You have the vision to make this event memorable. All I need is your collaboration."
"Collaboration?" I echoed weakly, my brain still struggling to process what was happening.
"Exactly," he said, his sharp blue eyes locking onto mine. "This isn’t about perfection, Rebekah. It’s about creating something meaningful—and I believe you can do that."
"You're serious," I said, my voice cracking on the last word. My palms were slick against the edge of Pauline's desk as I gripped it tightly.
His expression didn’t budge—calm, composed, maddeningly unreadable. He leaned back slightly in his chair across from me, one hand resting casually on the binder he’d placed between us.
"Completely serious," he replied smoothly, like this was the most logical conversation in the world. "I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise."
"Did you forget that I ran away from the last meeting like a little kid?" My voice pitched higher despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "And now you want me to—" I gestured wildly at the open binder and its neatly tabbed sections. "What, run the creative side of this thing? Do you enjoy setting yourself up for failure?"
"You are talented and capable."
"Talented?!" I snapped before I could stop myself. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I scrambled to rein in the spiral of emotions bubbling up inside me. "I’m a disaster waiting to happen. You’ve seen it! Everyone’s seen it. You don’t need someone like me screwing this up for you."
"Funny," he said, tilting his head slightly, "because every volunteer I’ve spoken to seems to think you’re the reason their booths are finally coming together. They talk about your creativity, your ability to jump in and problem-solve on the spot. I’d call that resourceful—not disastrous."
I blinked at him, stunned into silence for half a second. "That’s not—" I floundered, shaking my head sharply. "They’re just being nice. They don’t know what it’s really like working with me. I’m disorganized, Luca. Everyone says so. I get overwhelmed when things pile up."
"Then we won’t let it pile up," he said simply, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees. His voice softened but remained firm, steady. "If something feels overwhelming, we’ll break it into smaller pieces. If you’re worried about deadlines, I’ll help set realistic ones. I’ve already started creating tools to make it easier—a shared calendar, sponsor contact sheets, a budgeting spreadsheet. The structure is there. All I need is your vision to bring it to life."
“You really think I can do this?”
"Yes," he said firmly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Mistakes happen. Coffee spills. Deadlines get missed. But none of that defines who you are or what you’re capable of. What matters is how we move forward—and I know you have what it takes to make this fundraiser unforgettable."
My chest tightened, the weight of his words pressing against all the jagged edges of my self-doubt. It wasn’t fair, the way his voice seemed to cut through every excuse I tried to cling to, leaving me exposed and raw in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
"Okay," I croaked out before I could stop myself. My voice wavered, and I hated that it did, but there was no taking it back now. "Okay, I'll do it."
"On one condition," I added hastily, holding up a finger as if that might give me some semblance of control here. "If it gets to be too much, I get to back out. No hard feelings."
Luca’s brow arched slightly, but there was no hesitation as he nodded. His lips curved into the faintest smile—a subtle thing, but it felt... warm. Relieved, even. "Fair enough," he said simply.
"Great!" Pauline’s voice burst through the charged silence, bright and unrestrained as ever. She clapped her hands together, beaming at the both of us. "This is exactly what we needed, Rebekah! You’re going to be amazing—I just know it."
I forced a tight-lipped smile in response, though my stomach churned violently beneath the praise. Amazing? Hardly. But I didn’t have the energy to argue, not when Pauline looked so giddy she might actually start dancing around the room.
"Let’s set a follow-up meeting," Luca suggested, his tone shifting seamlessly into pragmatic focus. He reached for a sleek leather planner tucked under his arm, flipping it open with practiced precision. Of course he had a planner. Probably color-coded with tabs and bullet points and—
"Rebekah?" His voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, pulling my attention back to the present. "Does tomorrow afternoon work for you? We can go over the details then. Why don’t you come to my place?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure," I replied, fumbling to dig my phone out of my jacket pocket. My hands were still shaking, and I nearly dropped the damn thing trying to unlock it.
"Two o’clock?" he prompted, pen poised above the page. “Just you and me.”
"Yeah. Two is fine," I mumbled, finally managing to type the time into my calendar app. He gave me his address. I felt a thrill of excitement at the thought that I’d be seeing his place. My fingers hovered over the screen as reality set in. This was happening. I was doing this. With him.
"Perfect," Luca said, snapping his planner shut with an air of finality. He offered Pauline a brief nod before turning back to me. "I’ll bring some initial drafts for the timeline and task breakdown."
"Right. Drafts. Timeline. Tasks," I repeated under my breath, the words tumbling over themselves as I tried to sound competent—or at least less like someone who wanted to bolt out of the room.
"Don’t overthink it," he added softly, catching my eye once more. For a split second, the corners of his mouth twitched upward again, almost imperceptibly. "We’ll take it one step at a time."
"I’m so excited!" Pauline chimed in, practically glowing with excitement. She reached out to squeeze my shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring. "You’re going to knock this out of the park, sweetheart. Just wait and see."
"Thanks, Pauline," I murmured, though my voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Alright, I should get back to these sponsor forms," Pauline said, waving a hand toward the cluttered desk behind her. "You two go on and enjoy the rest of your day. And don’t worry, Rebekah—we’ve got this."
"Yeah. Got it," I muttered, though the words felt hollow in my mouth.
As Luca and I stepped out of the office, the air between us felt lighter somehow, though my anxiety still simmered just below the surface. He walked beside me with that same measured stride, his posture impossibly composed. Meanwhile, I clutched my jacket like a lifeline, every muscle in my body tense and unsure.
"See you tomorrow," he said as we reached the building’s entrance. His voice held no urgency, no pressure—just an unshakable steadiness that left me feeling oddly . . . tethered.
"Yeah. Tomorrow," I replied, my own voice as fragile as glass.
My heart was pounding, and it wasn’t just nerves.