Chapter 4
Nate
Her scent is still on my jacket.
Three hours later, and I can still smell honey and citrus every time I move. It clings to the sleeve where I grabbed her, sunk into the fabric like it belongs there.
It doesn’t belong there. Nothing about her belongs anywhere near me anymore.
I shove the jacket off and hang it on the back of my chair.
Doesn’t help. The scent’s in my head now.
Burned into my memory from those few seconds when she was pressed against my chest, her body going soft and warm, her scent shifting into something that made every alpha instinct I have snap to attention.
Pathetic.
The report in front of me hasn’t changed in forty minutes. Same words. Same paragraph. I keep reading the first sentence over and over, and none of it sticks. My brain won’t cooperate. Keeps dragging me back to that driveway. The ice. The fall. The way she felt in my arms.
The way she looked at me like I still meant something.
I grab my pen and click it. Once. Twice. The repetitive motion helps. Gives my hands something to do besides remember the shape of her waist.
“You gonna read that or just glare at it?”
Liam drops into the chair across from my desk, coffee in hand. He’s got that look on his face. The one that says he knows something’s up and he’s going to be annoying about it.
“I’m reading it.”
“You’ve been on page one since I got here.” He takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. “And you’re doing that thing with the pen.”
I stop clicking. Set it down. “What thing?”
“The thing you do when you’re trying not to punch something.” He grins. “Last time you did that, you broke the vending machine.”
“The vending machine stole my dollar.”
“It was a hate crime against snacks. Very justified.” He props his feet up on the edge of my desk. I shove them off. “Long night?”
“Something like that.”
“This have anything to do with the rumor that Cara Donovan’s back in town?”
My jaw tightens. I keep my eyes on the paper. “Who told you?”
“Everyone.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “Maeve. Mrs. Patterson. Deputy Sanders. The guy who delivers the mail. Pretty sure the stray cat outside knows by now.” He grins. “Small town. You know how it works.”
Yeah. I know exactly how it works. By now, half of Honeyridge has probably heard I was at Eileen’s this morning. The other half will know by lunch.
“It’s not relevant to anything.”
“Your high school girlfriend shows up after ten years and it’s not relevant?”
“She wasn’t my girlfriend.” The words come out sharper than I meant them to.
Liam raises an eyebrow. “Right. Pack girlfriend. Whatever you want to call it.” He leans back in his chair, the front legs lifting off the floor. “I remember what you were like after she left. We all do.”
I set the report down. Look at him directly.
“Ancient history.”
“Is it, though?” He’s watching me too closely. Seeing too much. “Because you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you get right before you do something stupid. Or break something.” He lets the chair drop back to all four legs. “Sometimes both.”
I almost laugh. Almost. Because he’s not wrong. I spent the whole drive back from Eileen’s reminding myself why I can’t do this. Why I can’t let her back in. Why “Ms. Donovan” is the only safe way to address her.
And then I think about the way she smelled when I caught her, and all that logic goes right out the window.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Sure you are.” Liam stands, draining the last of his coffee. “Patrol in twenty. Try to get your head on straight before then.”
He walks away. I stare at the report I still haven’t read.
My jacket’s hanging on the chair behind me. I can smell her from here. Faint, but there. Honey and citrus with something warmer underneath.
I should wash it.
I’m not going to wash it.
Damn it.
Patrol is usually the easy part of the job.
Drive around. Check on things. Remind people that law enforcement exists. In a town like Honeyridge Falls, most days are quiet. Speeding teenagers. Property line disputes. Mrs. Henderson’s cat getting stuck in the same tree for the third time this month.
Today, I can’t focus on any of it.
Liam’s driving, which is probably for the best. I keep staring out the window, watching the snow-covered streets roll by without really seeing them.
The storefronts are decorated for winter.
Twinkling lights. Wreaths on doors. Everything cheerful and cozy and exactly the kind of small-town charm that usually doesn’t bother me.
Today it feels suffocating.
“Left on Maple,” I say, more to prove I’m paying attention than because Liam needs directions.
“I know the route, Nathan.”
I shoot him a look. He grins.
“Just checking you’re still in there.” He takes the left. “You’ve been staring out that window for ten minutes.”
“Don’t call me Nathan.”
“Mom calls you Nathan.”
“Mom’s allowed. You’re not.”
We pass the elementary school. The park where kids are building snowmen despite the cold. The hardware store where old Mr. Brennan is shoveling his sidewalk at eighty-three because he refuses to let anyone help him.
“Should we stop?” Liam asks, nodding toward Mr. Brennan.
“He’ll yell at us.”
“He yells at everyone.”
“Last time I offered to help, he threatened me with the shovel.”
“He’s eighty-three, Nate. What’s he gonna do?”
“Hit surprisingly hard, apparently.”
Liam laughs. We keep driving.
Normal. Everything’s normal. Same town I’ve been patrolling for six years.
Except nothing feels normal. Because she’s here. Somewhere in this town, breathing the same air, walking the same streets. And my brain won’t let me forget it for more than thirty seconds at a time.
“Want to grab coffee?” Liam asks.
I blink. We’re stopped outside the Honey Crumb.
“Sure.”
The word’s out before I can think better of it. The Honey Crumb is gossip central. If anyone sees me right now, looking like this, they’ll know something’s off. They’ll ask questions. They’ll want to talk about her.
But backing out now would be worse. Would mean I’m hiding. And I’m not going to hide from my own town because Cara Donovan decided to come back.
The bell chimes when we walk in. Warm air hits my face. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries. Maeve looks up from behind the counter and grins.
“Deputy Thorn. Twice in two days. People are going to start talking.”
“People always talk.” I approach the counter. “Black coffee.”
“Coming right up.” She reaches for a cup, her eyes sharp and knowing. “Heard you had an interesting morning.”
I don’t take the bait. Just pull out my wallet and wait.
The bakery’s half-full. Couple of retirees in the corner booth. A young mom with a toddler by the window. And Mrs. Patterson, because of course Mrs. Patterson is here. She’s always here. I’m pretty sure she has a tracking device that alerts her whenever there’s gossip to be collected.
She waves enthusiastically. I nod. Minimal engagement. That’s the key to surviving this town.
It doesn’t work.
“Nate! Deputy Thorn!” She’s already getting up, shuffling toward me with that determined waddle that means escape is impossible. “I was just telling Martha about your heroics this morning.”
“Heroics?”
“Catching that poor girl before she cracked her head open on the ice.” She beams at me, reaching up to pat my arm. “Very gallant. Very... romantic.”
“It was reflexes. Nothing romantic about it.”
“Mmhm.” The pat turns into a squeeze. “You know, Cara’s become quite successful since she left. A writer, did you know? Very popular books. Very...” She pauses, something mischievous flickering in her eyes. “...detailed.”
I don’t know what that means. Don’t particularly care.
“Good for her.”
“Oh, yes. Very good.” Her smile widens. “I’m sure you’d find them interesting. Given the subject matter. Chapter seven especially—”
“Here’s your coffee.” Maeve slides the cup across the counter. There’s something like pity in her expression, which I don’t appreciate.
I take the cup. Reach for my wallet.
The bell chimes behind me.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
I don’t need to turn around to know who just walked in. Her scent hits me first. Honey and citrus, sharper now with nerves. It cuts through the coffee and pastry smell, goes straight to the base of my skull and lights up every alpha instinct I’ve spent ten years trying to bury.
I stay exactly where I am. Keep my eyes forward. Take a slow breath through my mouth instead of my nose.
“Oh, Cara!” Mrs. Patterson waves past me. “We were just talking about you, dear!”
Footsteps behind me. The click of boots on the hardwood floor. Getting closer.
My hand tightens on the coffee cup.
“Mrs. Patterson.” Cara’s voice. Warm, friendly, with a thread of strain underneath that most people probably wouldn’t catch. “How are you?”
“Wonderful, wonderful. I was just telling Deputy Thorn here about your books. He should really read them.”
A pause. I can feel her eyes on my back. The weight of her attention like a physical thing.
“I’m sure he’s very busy,” she says. There’s an edge to it now. A warning.
“Nonsense! A handsome young deputy needs something to do on those long winter nights.” Mrs. Patterson actually winks. I can hear it in her voice. “Chapter seven is particularly—”
“Keep the change.” I put money on the counter without counting it. Turn.
She’s standing three feet away.
Different sweater than this morning. Blue instead of cream. She changed because the other one smelled like me.
Couldn’t even stand having my scent on her for a few hours.
Her cheeks are pink. Hair loose around her shoulders.
She’s looking at me with those big brown eyes, and for a split second, I’m eighteen again.
Standing in her grandmother’s backyard. Watching her laugh at something Theo said.
Wondering how I got lucky enough to have her look at me the way she was looking at him.
I shut it down. Hard.
“Ms. Donovan.”
She flinches. Just barely. Most people would miss it.
I don’t miss it.