Chapter 4
Eliza
Acouple of days after running into Nate at the park, I was back in the grocery store parking lot before dawn, the town still dark and quiet in that way that felt like a shared secret.
The sky hung low and blue, more night than morning, and the cold bit just enough to make my breath fog as I stepped out of the car and shut the door softly, like Honeybrook Hollow might still be sleeping and I didn’t want to be the one to wake it.
The town looked different at this hour. No traffic.
Nobody milling about. Just streetlights humming and the faint sound of something mechanical in the distance.
I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and crossed the lot, my boots echoing more than they should have, each step a reminder that I was up early on purpose.
The Coffee Cabin didn’t open for another hour, but I liked these mornings—the ones that belonged to me before the world started asking for things.
The automatic doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, warm air spilling out to meet me.
Inside, the grocery store felt suspended in time.
Fluorescent lights buzzed gently overhead, casting everything in a pale glow.
The floors were freshly mopped, the faint scent of cleaner mixing with produce and bakery bread.
A soft, indistinct song played over the speakers, something slow and forgettable, perfect for not thinking too hard.
I grabbed a cart and started down my usual route, hands resting on the handle as the wheels squeaked softly in protest. Milk, eggs, heavy cream, butter—my body moved on autopilot, the rhythm familiar enough that my thoughts wandered despite my best efforts to keep them focused on inventory and prep lists.
Mornings like this had a way of sneaking up on me, letting feelings drift in when I wasn’t watching closely enough.
I told myself to think about work. About opening the Coffee Cabin. About the day ahead.
I didn’t, not really.
I was halfway down the dairy aisle, reaching for my second carton of heavy cream, when I heard my name.
“Eliza?”
It took a second for it to register—low, familiar, threaded with surprise. I turned, carton in hand, and there they were.
Nate stood a few feet away, one hand resting on the handle of a grocery cart, the other tucked into the pocket of a soft gray sweatshirt.
A beanie was pulled low over his dark hair, like he’d dressed in the dark and trusted instinct to take care of the rest. He looked tired in the honest, unguarded way—eyes a little shadowed, mouth already curved into a smile anyway.
The kind of tired that came from being up because someone else needed you.
I wasn’t prepared for how good he looked—rumpled and tired, the kind of handsome that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention.
He smiled at Tilly, patient and unhurried, and I had to remind myself not to linger on the way he carried himself, like being kind was something inherent instead of something he pretended to be.
In front of him, tucked into the cart like a prized possession, was Tilly.
She was bundled in a cozy fleece-lined hoodie, a pink beanie slipping slightly to one side, wisps of sleep-tousled hair escaping near her ears.
Her stuffed reindeer was clutched under one arm, his antlers peeking out like he’d insisted on coming along.
Her free hand held tight to the side of the cart as she peered at me with solemn curiosity.
“Well,” Nate said, voice warm despite the hour. “This feels like fate or extremely good timing.”
I laughed softly. “You’re up early.”
“Tilly couldn’t sleep,” he said, nodding toward her. “So we decided to be productive.”
“Good morning, Tilly.”
“We ran out of maple syrup.” She nodded seriously. “And I said it was too quiet at home. And Daddy makes loud eggs.”
Nate winced. “Context matters.”
I blinked. “Loud eggs?”
Nate sighed like a man already on trial. “I crack them one-handed. There might be enthusiasm involved.”
“They sizzle loud too,” Tilly added helpfully. “And he talks to them.”
I laughed, unable to help it. “I support encouraging your breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Nate said. “Finally. Someone who understands.”
She glanced into my cart. “Why do you have so much milk?”
“For work,” I said. “I’m opening the Coffee Cabin soon.”
Her eyes widened. “Where are your whipped cream cans?”
Nate chuckled. “She’s very concerned about things like this.”
I pointed to the stack of heavy cream nestled in my cart. “I make it myself.”
Tilly stared at the cartons like I’d just revealed a magic trick. “You make it?”
“From scratch,” I confirmed.
Her mouth fell open. She looked up at Nate, awed. “She’s fancy.”
Nate laughed, the sound low and soft in the quiet aisle. “I was already impressed. We’re heading to the diner,” he added. “I’m opening in about an hour. My grandma is meeting us later.”
“That sounds like a cozy morning,” I said, meaning more than the word covered.
“It is.” He nodded. And for a second, the grocery store faded into something softer, something warmer.
Tilly shifted her stuffed reindeer higher under her arm and studied me for a long, serious moment. “I like you,” she said decisively. “You smell happy, like flowers and coffee. He thinks so too.” She held the reindeer out for me to greet.
Something in my chest tightened in a way I hadn’t been expecting.
I smiled, steadying my voice as I tried to remember the reindeer’s name.
Winston? No. Walter. Definitely not Walter.
“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I said instead, giving it a respectful nod like we were already on good terms.
She nodded, satisfied, and went back to studying the shelves like she was taking mental notes.
We stood there for a moment longer than necessary, carts side by side but facing opposite directions, the early morning wrapping around us like a shared secret. Then Nate cleared his throat lightly.
“Well,” he said, smiling. “We should probably let you get back to your very important dairy decisions.”
“And you should go make loud eggs,” I said.
Tilly grinned. “Extra loud. With grape jelly!”
Nate’s eyes softened as Tilly bounced in the cart, hugging her reindeer tight.
I glanced at him, catching a flicker of gratitude in his expression—something unspoken passing between us.
For a moment, we all stood suspended in the glow of the store’s fluorescent lighting, the hum of possibility weaving through the mundane.
“Well,” he said quietly, shifting his grip on the cart, “we should probably get going.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “See you around.”
Tilly waved enthusiastically, her reindeer bobbing along with her. “Bye, Eliza!”
“Bye, Tilly,” I said. “Stay cute.”
Nate held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “Have a good day.”
“I will,” I said. “You too.”
We parted with a small wave, heading down separate aisles, but the store didn’t feel quite as empty anymore. I pushed my cart forward, warmth settling into my chest, and let myself carry it with me.
The moment loosened its hold. I finished my shopping, checked out while the store still felt half-asleep, and stepped back into the cold morning with my bags cutting into my palms. By the time I pulled up to the Coffee Cabin, the sky was beginning to lighten, the day ready to start whether I was or not.
I unlocked the door, flicked on the lights, and let the familiar quiet wrap around me—carrying that small, unexpected warmth with me as I set about opening up.