Chapter 8 Eliza #2
“Hey, Tilly,” I said, crouching to pet the dog because that was less complicated than looking Nate in the eye.
“She’s been asking if you’d be at the Coffee Cabin all day,” Nate said lightly, voice even. “And I told her you would probably be closed. We were heading to the park.”
“Hi, I’m Graham,” said Graham, ever the opportunist. He stepped forward and extended a hand. “Friend of Eliza’s.”
The lie stung like lemon juice on an open cut. He was no friend of mine.
Nate shook his hand. “Nate Winters.”
Graham gave a smooth smile. “You new in town? You look kind of familiar.”
Nate nodded. “Took over the Pennywhistle Pantry from my grandparents.”
Graham’s eyebrows lifted like he’d just realized he was slumming it. “Ah, the diner. I remember it well. Hard to believe it’s still around.”
“Hope to keep it that way,” Nate said, his tone pleasant but firm. He turned to me. “Anyway. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just saying hi.”
I opened my mouth, ready to explain, to say something that would make it clear Graham was not someone I wanted to be caught standing next to—but nothing came out.
“Nice meeting you,” Nate added to Graham, and then turned to Tilly. “Come on, sweetheart. Park’s waiting.”
“Bye, Eliza!” Tilly called, waving with both hands.
“Bye, sweet girl,” I said, my voice a little hoarse.
I watched them walk away, Nate’s hand back in Tilly’s, Lois trotting happily behind them.
Graham gave a low whistle. “You into him?”
I didn’t answer. I turned and unlocked my car door.
“You’ve got a new type,” he added casually.
“No,” I said, opening the door and sliding in. “I’ve got a tolerance level. And you used up all of yours.”
He stepped back, hand over his heart, like I’d wounded him. “Fair enough. But you’ll see, Eliza. This town loves a success story.”
I slammed the door.
And I hated that, even as I drove away, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Nate’s face when he saw me with Graham.
Not angry. Not even jealous.
He was distant and it hurt.
Like maybe I’d closed a door I hadn’t even known was open for me.
By the time I pulled into my townhouse complex, my grip on the steering wheel had officially become a stress position.
Remy and Linguini were waiting at the door, their tails flicking with enough attitude to remind me that I was late for dinner—their dinner.
“I know,” I muttered, kicking off my boots and heading straight for the kitchen. “You’ve both been tragically neglected. I’ll expect a formal complaint filed with HR.”
Remy gave a chirp. Linguini tried to leap onto the counter and promptly knocked over a spoon. Chaos. Comforting, familiar chaos.
I fed them and stood in the kitchen, staring at the microwave clock like it owed me an apology. Graham had some kind of nerve. Showing up at my car. Acting like we were friends. Acting like he hadn’t taken something I loved and twisted it until it no longer felt like mine.
And Nate…
Ugh.
Why hadn’t I said something? Told him Graham was my ex. That he was the reason I’d lost the part of myself that once dreamed in recipes and handwritten menus.
But no—I’d stood there like a statue, letting Nate walk away thinking—who knows what he thought. But I know it wasn’t good.
I flopped onto the couch, curling up with my blanket that smelled like cinnamon and espresso. Linguini promptly climbed on top of me like a purring hot water bottle. Remy took his usual spot on the armrest, watching me like a judgmental roommate.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Cara: I just saw Nate walking past the bookstore. He waved. Still handsome, right? Don’t you kind of want to fix him up with someone? Yes, that’s a hint…
I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I wanted to tell her. Desperately. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I sent:
Me: Yeah, maybe.
She replied with a heart emoji. I threw the phone onto the couch and groaned into my blanket.
I felt like a teenager again—shut out, unsure, and suddenly suffocated by secrets. Only now the stakes were higher, because the person I was shutting out wasn’t some guy I had a crush on. It was Nate.
And I liked Nate. Liked him in a way that made my heart trip over itself and my brain scramble. Liked him in a way that felt scary and honest and so far out of my comfort zone, I might as well be on the moon.
But now there was Graham. Smiling. Lurking. Charming the town like he’d never been anything but golden.
And me?
Now I was lying to everyone who cared about me and pretending it was fine.
Remy meowed, the sound sharp and scolding.
“You’re right,” I told him. “I hate it too.”
A knock at the door made all three of us jump. I paused, my heart stuttering.
Nobody ever knocked at this time.
I padded to the door and peeked out the side window.
Grandma.
I opened it and stepped aside. “Come in. I was busy wallowing in poor life choices.”
“Excellent,” she said, breezing in with a bakery box. “I brought emotional support pie.”
“Piper’s?”
“Of course, straight from her bakery. Chocolate chess pie, my favorite. Now tell me everything.”
I blinked. “Everything?”
She arched a brow. “Eliza Mae Darlington, I changed your diapers and taught you how to fake a fever to get out of school. You think you can keep secrets from me?”
I sighed. “Nate and I had lunch.”
“I know.”
“I told you, but I also told you not to tell anyone. I’m not used to anyone knowing about me,” I added in a whisper.
“I haven’t said a word about it. I know you like him a lot.
I can tell,” she said, opening the box and handing me a fork.
“I would never tell that kind of secret, not even to Joyce. Could you imagine that conversation?” She laughed.
“Although she’ll figure it out soon enough.
That girl has eyes like a hawk and a matchmaking soul. ”
“I figured. She’s exactly like you.”
She sat beside me. “So, what’s the problem?”
I hesitated. “An ex. From before. He’s back. He’s opening a restaurant here.”
She went very still. “That ex? The ex is Graham? He’s the dick?”
“The one and only. And Grandma, nobody knows about him and me—I mean nobody. It was a secret. Don’t say a word. It was bad—”
“I won’t. I’ll keep your secrets, sweetheart.” She reached for her fork. “We’ll poison his coffee next time he comes in. A little laxatives never hurt anyone, and diarrhea will keep him busy for a couple of days. Keep him out of your hair while you bring Nate some cookies or something.”
I snorted. “We can’t poison his coffee. Oh my god.”
“Then we’ll add extra shots, get him good and wired so he’ll have to run the extra energy off.”
I let out a laugh that turned into a sigh. “I’m scared, Grandma. Of messing things up. Of not being enough. Of trusting the wrong person again.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Eliza, sweetheart. You are plenty. And if someone can’t see that, it says more about them than it ever could about you.”
I didn’t answer. I just leaned my head on her shoulder and let her hold me.
For a few minutes, we sat there in silence, the pie growing cold on the table, the cats curled around our feet.
And in that quiet, I realized something.
I needed to tell Nate the truth about Graham.
Not because I owed him, but because I didn’t want to start something real or even something casual on a foundation of secrets.
I wasn’t ready to get involved, not fully, but if there was ever a chance for this to go anywhere, he deserved to know.