Chapter 33
Thirty-three
Liz
On Saturday morning, I arrive to find Trinity already in a booth by the front window of Dot’s Diner, hands cupped around a mug, staring outside like she’s waiting for something she isn’t sure will come. She looks tired.
I slide into the seat across from her. “Hey.”
She startles. “Hey. Sorry. My brain’s a little…loud today.”
“Totally get it.” I shrug out of my coat and drape it beside me.
Tom Callahan, the diner’s owner, swings by the table. “Katie will be your server,” he tells us. “She’ll be right with you.” He holds up the coffee pot. “Coffee?” He fills both our mugs as we nod, and then Katie arrives.
“Do you know what you want?” she asks.
We put in our usual orders, and when she leaves, Trinity stirs her coffee, watching the spoon move in slow circles. “How are you?” she asks, glancing up.
“Still feeling overwhelmed by work, but better—on that front at least.” I take a sip from my mug.
“Have you heard from Alaric?”
My stomach tightens. “Yeah. Last night.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.” I push out a breath. “He called, and I could tell something was wrong, so I asked him what he needed. I could hear how exhausted he was. He unloaded a bunch of stuff about his grandmother, and then after a minute, he said he shouldn’t have called.”
She gives me a look. “Then why did he?”
“I think… I think he was confirming we had broken up.” The words squeeze my heart. “Because right after that, he said ‘reigniting our relationship was a mistake.’ And then he hung up.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “He hung up on you?”
“Yep.”
“Did he call back?”
“No.” I swallow. “I waited. I kept checking my phone. I thought maybe he’d realize how it sounded or that he didn’t mean it. But there was nothing.”
Trinity’s expression sharpens. “What did that feel like? In the moment?”
I shake my head. “It felt like the room shrank. I just sat there. I couldn’t even think straight.
I kept rereading our old texts like I was trying to remind myself that he cared once.
And every time I thought about calling him back, it was like my throat closed.
I don’t want to chase someone who doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, but I also can’t accept that he meant it.
I barely slept. I kept waking up and checking my phone like an absolute idiot. ”
Trinity sighs. “That’s not him being thoughtless. That’s him overwhelmed.”
“I don’t want to be one more thing he has to carry.”
“You’re not,” she says softly.
Before I can respond, Katie drops off our plates, making a joke about feeding “both of you” as she taps the table near Trinity. Trinity manages a faint smile before Katie moves on.
“I think it has to be his family. Grey says he’s never seen the valley like this,” Trinity murmurs, slicing into her pancakes. “Not even when they were kids.”
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s worse.” She shakes her head. “Back then, it was simple. Paradise kids on one side of the cafeteria, Dempsey kids on the other. No crossing the line. Now, it’s like every person in Black Bear is choosing a side and sharpening their pitchforks.”
My chest tightens. “Because of the sabotage?”
“Because of everything.” She counts on her fingers.
“Spoilage of an entire chardonnay vat—someone introduced contaminants into the tank. Equipment failures. Water issues—blocked irrigation lines, well levels dropping. Break-ins. Theft. The dying vines. Half the town is panicking, and the other half thinks it’s all planned.
” She pauses, rubbing her forehead. “Tarryn told me yesterday that two of her vineyard workers got into a screaming match in the parking lot over which family is ‘ruining the valley’. People are choosing sides in the grocery store. Someone made a comment to Elise at the hardware store about how the ‘Paradises think they’re untouchable.’ It’s like everyone has lost their damn minds. ”
“And you think someone’s orchestrating it?”
“We think Grey’s Uncle Max is stirring things up.” Her voice dips. “He was arrested, and he’s claimed he was working with Evelyn.”
That doesn’t sound right. “They hate each other.”
She shrugs. “They don’t need to like each other. They just need to want the same people weakened. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
A cold ripple passes through me. “So they’re aligned?”
“She denies it, but they could be working together in their own way.”
“And the police?” I ask, glancing around.
“They interviewed my in-laws. And then Tarryn. And Elise. But they aren’t treating any of them as a suspect. They’re trying to build a timeline. They’ve asked about every complaint, every issue. It doesn’t seem like just one person behind it.”
“So…coordinated?”
“Maybe. Or someone creating enough chaos that it feels like multiple sources.”
I swallow. “How much can they prove?”
“I don’t know.” She rubs her temples. “This feud started with a land fight eight generations ago. Even naming the town Paradise was petty.”
I stare at her. “Why hold on to something that only hurts everyone?”
“Because letting go feels like losing.”
I lean back, the weight of it all settling—Max, Evie, police interviews, the town fracturing, Alaric’s voice breaking over the phone. Maybe that does offer some insight into his behavior. But I still have no idea what to do.
I shift gears. “How are you?” I ask Trinity. “Not the feud. You.”
She blinks. “Me?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth softens. “My morning sickness is easing.” Her hand goes to her belly. “And…I think the baby’s a girl.”
Warmth spreads through me. “Really?”
“The doctor slipped and said she. I haven’t told anyone.”
“That’s huge.”
She looks down, her cheeks warming. “I like keeping it to myself for now.”
“Your secret stays with me.”
She exhales. “Greyson’s trying to be subtle, but he’s already making name lists.”
“That’s adorable.”
“It really is.” She smiles. “I’m so glad to feel human again. I haven’t woken up nauseous in three days. I can drink coffee without gagging. And—” She sighs. “I didn’t realize how tense I’d been until the nausea finally started to fade. My whole body feels different. Softer. Less clenched.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It is.” Her eyes brighten. “Theo practiced holding a doll the other night. And he told me he’s ready to be a big brother.”
The laugh that escapes me feels lighter than anything in days.
With that, Trinity picks up her fork and turns more intentionally to her food.
When we finish breakfast, we hug in the parking lot.
“Let me know if you hear from Alaric again,” she says.
“I will.”
“And you’re not alone.”
I nod and head off. After a quick grocery stop, I go home. I’ve put off work for long enough.
The house is quiet as I kick off my boots, hang my coat, and set the drug trials file and my laptop on the kitchen table.
The binders seem to stare at me.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Round two.”
I open the binder and start wading through trial protocols, budgets, reporting schedules, and spreadsheets. I start a new document—Drug Trials: Liz’s Brain—and begin mapping what I understand.
Hours bleed together. My coffee goes cold. My neck aches. The numbers don’t match anything in our systems, and I don’t even see half the doctors listed in our employee directory.
This really sucks.
I reread one section of the reporting requirements five times and still can’t tell if it’s referencing a federal policy or an internal guideline someone invented.
I scroll back to the spreadsheet and try to match the funds tracked to the corresponding protocols.
They don’t match. They don’t even come close.
And then—buried in a secondary tab—there’s a tiny, half-hidden note Hudson left himself, a reference to where he pulls the raw data from before formatting it.
“Oh,” I breathe. “There you are.”
A small win, but still a win. Enough to remind me I’m not completely lost. And I’d like to keep pushing until I’ve fixed everything alone, pretending that I get it.
But I promised Hudson I’d start delegating, and I’m not ignoring red flags any longer.
I need to bring in Misty. Perhaps she’ll actually be helpful…
I open a new email.
Hi Misty,
I’ve been reviewing the drug trials binder Hudson passed along. Could we schedule some time early this week to walk through it together? Even thirty minutes would help.
Thanks,
Liz
I hit send, and a second later, my inbox pings.
But the message is not from Misty. It’s from Alaric.
My heart thuds so hard it sends a pulse through my hands. I grip the edge of the table. I’m not sure if I want to open it or shut the laptop and throw it across the room.
“Okay,” I whisper. “One thing at a time.”
And then I click.