Chapter Fifteen
Jo
The smell of bacon woke me.
For half a second, I didn’t remember where I was. The sheets were soft, unfamiliar, and still holding heat. A low hum came from the vent of an old furnace, steady and comforting. I stretched slowly until my hand found the hollow his body had left.
Memory hit like a recoil.
The firelight. Frost shining in the windows. The way he’d said my name like he was learning it from the inside out.
Nate.
My stomach clenched. I sat up too fast, clutching the blanket to my chest as if modesty could put the night back in its box. My heart hammered. I didn’t even know why—except that it felt good here, too good, and that was the first step to forgetting why I was there.
I looked around the room—the folded flannel shirt draped over a chair, the boots by the door, the faint trail of our clothes from last night. The air smelled like wood smoke, cinnamon, and him. I pressed a hand to my chest, half expecting to still feel his palm there.
For a dizzy moment, I let myself imagine this was normal. That I’d simply fallen asleep beside someone I loved and woken to breakfast.
Then the anger came.
Sharp, clean, righteous.
This wasn’t love. This was a mistake wrapped in heat. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, letting my pulse settle into something that could pass for calm.
I didn’t have time for this.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand. Two missed texts from Frank. I typed quickly:
Won’t be here when you get back. Have Gabe watch the place.
His reply came within seconds.
Where are you going?
Not sure. Better if I don’t tell you.
How’d things go with Nate?
I hesitated, thumbs hovering, then sent:
He’s still here.
Be careful. We don’t know him.
I bristled. You think I can’t handle myself?
I’m sure you can, but I worry.
I smiled despite everything. No need to. How’s your sister.
Annoyed less by me every day. It’ll be hard to come back.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred. I wished I could promise to stay and help out as long as needed, but I couldn’t.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood then walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The pipes moaned, then settled into a hiss. I stepped in before it was ready, letting the cold hit me first.
The water turned hot, too hot, and I didn’t turn it down. Steam filled the small space until I could barely see my reflection in the fogged glass. My hair stuck to my shoulders, his scent still threaded through it. I scrubbed until my scalp tingled, until the water ran clear.
It wasn’t disgust I felt. It was disappointment in myself.
Last night had been everything I’d ever wanted and couldn’t keep. Every gentle touch had felt like a promise, and promises were luxuries people like me didn’t get to believe in.
I let my forehead rest against the tile. Water ran down my back in steady lines, too much like tears. I wouldn’t let myself cry.
When I stepped out, I dried off with the precision of someone cataloguing her armor. Jeans. Dark sweater. Hair braided tight. No softness. No scent.
The mirror cleared just enough to show my eyes—calm, blank, safe.
Downstairs, the world smelled like breakfast and possibilities. Nate was at the stove, spatula in hand, wearing one of those quiet smiles of his.
“Morning,” he said, like we’d done this before. “Coffee’s ready.”
He poured a cup and handed it to me. I took it without meeting his gaze. My fingers brushed his by accident and a spark shot through me, violent in its familiarity.
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
“I did.” The lie slid easily this time. “Thanks.”
He nodded, studying me the way people do when they sense something slipping away but can’t determine the cause. “I was going to make pancakes too, but I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“Whatever you’re having’s fine.”
Silence thickened. The kind that fills every corner of a room until you can barely breathe.
He tried again. “Last night—”
I cut him off. “Was a mistake.”
He froze. The spatula in his hand stilled. “A mistake?”