Chapter 13
Cara
True to his word, Theo shows up the next morning with a plant.
“It’s a pothos,” he says, holding out a small pot with trailing green leaves. “Nearly impossible to kill. Even for you.”
“I resent that.” I take the pot anyway, examining the heart-shaped leaves. “I’ve kept a cat alive for six years.”
“Mr. Darcy feeds himself when you forget. Plants don’t have that option.”
He’s not wrong. I step back to let him in, and Grandma materializes from the kitchen like she has a sixth sense for visitors. Specifically, alpha visitors.
“Theodore Holt.” She beams at him. “Is that one of your pothos? I’ve got three of those in the sunroom. They’re taking over.”
“That’s what they do, Mrs. Donovan.” He grins, that golden retriever warmth radiating off him. “If you ever need them trimmed back, just say the word.”
“Such a good boy.” Grandma pats his cheek like he’s twelve, then gives me a look heavy with meaning. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Grandma—”
She’s already gone, humming something that sounds suspiciously like a wedding march.
“She’s not subtle,” Theo observes.
“She’s never been subtle a day in her life.” I set the pothos on the windowsill, angling it toward the light the way he taught me. “Thank you. For this. And for yesterday.”
“Yesterday was...” He trails off, cheeks going pink. “Yeah. Yesterday was good.”
Good doesn’t begin to cover it. I close the distance between us and slide my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his chest. He wraps around me immediately, chin resting on top of my head, and I breathe him in—pine and earth and that warm cedar smell that’s become my new favorite thing.
“I missed you,” I murmur into his shirt. “It’s been twelve hours and I missed you.”
“Twelve hours is too long.” His voice is soft. “I almost texted you at three in the morning.”
“You should have.”
“You needed sleep.” He pulls back just enough to cup my face, tilting it up. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He kisses me properly—slow and warm, tasting like coffee and something sweet. When we finally break apart, we’re both a little breathless.
“I should go,” he says, even though his hands are still on my waist and he’s making no move to leave. “I’ve got a consultation at ten. But I’ll text you later?”
“You’d better.”
He kisses me again—quicker this time, but no less thorough—and then he’s gone, leaving me standing in Grandma’s living room with a plant I’ll probably kill and a heart that’s too full to hold.
Two dates down. Twelve hundred dollars well spent.
One brooding deputy to go.
Nate doesn’t text.
I check my phone constantly that first day, telling myself I’m not checking. I’m just... looking at the screen. For other reasons. Unrelated reasons.
By day two, I’ve stopped pretending.
Cara: Hey. It’s Cara. Theo gave me your number. I believe you owe me a date.
I stare at the message for ten minutes before hitting send. Then I watch my phone for another hour, waiting for a response.
Nothing.
Cara: I’m not going away, Nate. We need to talk.
Still nothing.
Day three, I try again.
Cara: You can’t avoid me forever. This town is too small.
The read receipt shows up almost immediately. He saw it. He read it.
And then nothing.
I throw my phone across the bed and scream into a pillow.
“He’s avoiding me.”
Lucas looks up from his menu, eyebrows raised. We’re at Millie’s—red vinyl booths, chrome accents, the best grilled cheese in the county. He’s on his lunch break, still in scrubs, and I’m spiraling.
“Nate?” he asks, like there’s any question.
“No, the other brooding alpha who’s been ghosting me for three days.” I stab my water with a straw. “Yes, Nate.”
“He’s not ghosting you. He’s just...” Lucas pauses. “Processing.”
“For three days? What is he, a dial-up modem?”
Lucas snorts into his coffee. “That’s actually pretty accurate.”
“I texted him. Multiple times. He read them and didn’t respond.” I slump back in my seat. “Does he hate me that much?”
“He doesn’t hate you.” Lucas sets down his coffee. “That’s the problem. He’s never hated you. Not even when he probably should have.”
“Then why won’t he talk to me?”
“Because you’re the one person who can actually hurt him.” Lucas reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Theo and I... we loved you, Cara. We still do. But Nate was different. He didn’t just love you. He—” He stops, shakes his head. “It’s not my story to tell.”
“Then how am I supposed to—”
“Give him time. He’ll come around.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you might have to go get him.” His expression softens. “Don’t give up on him just because he’s making it hard. He’s worth the effort.”
The kitchen door swings open, and Millie herself appears at our table—silver hair pinned back, reading glasses on a chain around her neck, the kind of no-nonsense energy that comes from running a diner for forty years.
She takes one look at me, then at Lucas, then at our joined hands on the table.
“Well, well, well.” She plants a hand on her hip. “Cara Donovan. I heard you were back in town, but I didn’t believe it until now.” Her eyes narrow, but there’s warmth underneath. “You look too skinny. Both of you. It’s like nobody in this town eats unless I put food in front of them.”
“Hi, Millie.”
“Don’t you ‘hi, Millie’ me. Ten years and not a single postcard.
” She pulls out her notepad, but she’s fighting a smile.
“Your grandmother’s been in here every Tuesday talking about you.
‘Cara this, Cara that, my granddaughter the big fancy author.’ Now I finally get to see for myself.
” She looks at Lucas. “And you. Three times a week you sit in this booth, and now you bring a pretty girl. Should I be offended you’ve been holding out on me? ”
“It’s a recent development,” Lucas says, and I can hear him trying not to laugh.
“Mm-hmm.” Millie’s gaze ping-pongs between us.
“Recent. Sure.” She taps her pen against the notepad.
“Let me guess—grilled cheese and tomato soup for you, turkey sandwich hold the mayo extra pickles for the doctor, and you’re going to share those fries whether you want to or not because that’s what you two always did. ”
My chest tightens. She remembers. From high school, she remembers.
“That’s right,” I manage.
“Coming right up. And I’m bringing pie after, and you’re both eating it. No arguments.” She tucks the notepad away without writing anything down. “It’s good to see you, honey. Really. This town wasn’t the same without you.”
She heads back to the kitchen, and Lucas squeezes my hand.
“She likes you,” he says.
“She threatened me with pie.”
“That’s how Millie shows love.”
The food arrives fast—my grilled cheese golden and perfectly crispy, his turkey sandwich boring as ever. He steals fries off my plate before I’ve taken a single bite. I kick him under the table.
Normal. This feels normal.
But underneath it all, there’s a Nate-shaped hole in the conversation. A silence where a third voice should be.
“I should get back,” Lucas says finally, checking his watch.
He kisses me goodbye—right there in the diner, where everyone can see—and I watch him walk out with my chest tight.
Two out of three isn’t bad.
But it’s not enough.
By hour seventy-two of radio silence, I’ve had enough.
“He’s a giant grump,” I announce to Grandma, who’s pretending to read a magazine at the kitchen table. “And he can suck it up.”
“Language, dear.”
“I paid good money for that date. Three hundred and fifty dollars! That’s a month of groceries. That’s half my car payment.” I pace across the kitchen, too agitated to sit. “I won him fair and square, and I’m going to collect.”
Grandma sets down her magazine. Her eyes are sparkling with undisguised pride. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“I’m going to the station.” I grab my jacket off the hook. “I’m going to march in there and tell him that he owes me a date, and I don’t care how many feelings he has to process, he’s processing them with me. Today.”
“That’s my girl.” Grandma’s smile is downright devious. “Give him hell, sweetheart.”
“I will.”
“And Cara?”
I pause at the door.
“Wear the green sweater. It brings out your eyes.”
I change into the green sweater.
The Honeyridge Falls Sheriff’s Station is a modest building on Main Street—brick facade, American flag out front, a couple of patrol cars parked in the small lot. I’ve driven past it a hundred times since I’ve been back, but I’ve never gone in.
Never had a reason to.
Until now.
I push through the front door like I own the place. The reception area is small—a counter, some plastic chairs, a bulletin board covered in community notices. A young deputy sits behind the counter, and when he looks up, his eyes go wide.
“Can I help you?” His voice is hesitant, almost nervous. Soft brown eyes, a gentle face, the kind of energy that makes you want to protect him instead of the other way around.
“I’m looking for Deputy Thorn. Nate.”
“He’s, uh...” The deputy glances toward a hallway like he’s hoping for rescue. “He’s in the back. Doing paperwork. I don’t think he wants to be disturbed.”
“He’s about to be very disturbed.” I flash him my sweetest smile. “I’m—”
“Cara.” Seth’s eyes go wide. “Nate’s Cara.”
Before I can respond, a familiar voice comes from the hallway. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
I turn to find Liam Thorn filling the doorway, and my heart squeezes.
He’s filled out since I last saw him—broader, more settled into himself, sheriff’s badge gleaming on his chest. But that’s the same crooked grin he used to flash me when we’d team up to prank Nate, the same warm eyes that made him feel like the big brother I never had.
“Liam.” My voice comes out thick.
He opens his arms. “Get over here, Donovan.”
I don’t hesitate. I cross the room and let him fold me into a hug that smells like coffee and familiarity and ten years of missing someone I didn’t let myself think about.
“Missed you, kid,” he says into my hair.
“Missed you too.” I pull back, blinking hard. “You got old.”