Chapter 13
Nate
It had been a little over a week, but Eliza’s text still hit me like a punch to the gut.
I can’t see you anymore. Seeing Graham again reminded me of that. I’m sorry. I just need a little space. Please don’t hate me…
I didn’t hate her. Of course I didn’t. But I’d be lying if I said the message hadn’t been gnawing at me ever since I received it.
I hadn’t been back to the Coffee Cabin since I got it.
Hadn’t brought Tilly for hot cocoa or stopped in for a quick hello.
I wasn’t sure if I was giving her space or just avoiding her because I didn’t know what to say.
I’d never kissed someone with as much intensity as Eliza.
I’d never felt the way I was feeling right now, except for her. I didn’t want it to end.
I reread it three times before shoving my phone in my pocket and walking into my grandparents’ house like I wasn’t unraveling inside.
I wanted to fix it. Protect her. Do something. But I’d seen the way she looked at Graham—tight-lipped and pale, like she was bracing for a hit she couldn’t dodge. Something told me he’d hurt her in ways she hadn’t said out loud yet.
And that made me want to deck him.
I knew she wanted space. But every part of me—the overthinking part, the loyal-to-a-fault part, the heart-in-his-throat part—wanted to barge through her walls anyway. Just to remind her, she wasn’t alone in this.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Grandma said as I walked into the kitchen, her apron on and hair pinned up like she was still running the diner instead of feeding three and a half humans and a dog.
Tilly ran past me in a blur of sparkles and leggings, Lois hot on her heels. Grandpa leaned back in the recliner with the newspaper, half-watching the chaos with a smile that said he wouldn’t change a thing.
We sat down around the table fifteen minutes later—Tilly between Grandma and me, Lois parked strategically under the table for the best chances of catching dropped food.
I poked at my meal while everyone else dug in.
“You look like someone told you your birthday was canceled,” Grandma said, handing me the garlic bread.
“I’m just tired,” I lied.
“Mmm,” she replied, not buying it for a second.
“Lois is tired too,” Tilly offered, rubbing the dog’s floppy ears. “She chased a squirrel, and it yelled at her.”
Grandpa snorted. “That squirrel had an attitude.”
I smiled, but it didn’t stick.
After dinner, Grandma was clearing the plates when she glanced up and asked, too casually, “Have you picked what dish you’re entering for the Taste-Off?”
“Not yet.”
“Did you ask Eliza to enter with you?”
I nearly dropped the plate I was drying. “Uh, no. I haven’t.”
“You should,” she said, busying herself at the sink. “I think the two of you would work well together.”
“What do you know? Do you know something I don’t?” I hesitated before asking.
The idea of working with Eliza made a flutter start up in my chest, part excitement, part dread.
I pictured us side by side in the kitchen, flour on our hands, tasting sauces and laughing—except I wasn’t sure we were at the laughing stage anymore.
Still, maybe Grandma had a point. Maybe sharing something familiar could help bridge the quiet distance that had grown between us.
Or not.
“Hmm,” she hedged. “Not much. But definitely more than you think I do.”
I huffed a laugh. “Well, she told me she’s not ready to date.
” I took a deep breath, weighing the possibility in my mind.
It felt risky, like stepping onto a bridge I wasn’t sure would hold—but there was something hopeful in the thought, too.
Maybe if we worked together, we could find our way back to that easy camaraderie we used to share.
I glanced at Grandma, searching her face for any sign that this was more than just matchmaking, but all I saw was quiet encouragement.
“Who said anything about dating?” Grandma asked innocently. “You need help, she knows food. Maybe she needs a little reminder that she’s still allowed to enjoy herself. Something is different about her. I noticed it when I was picking up some decaf from your grandpa this morning.”
“She’s not—she’s not just—she’s complicated. The situation is complicated, too. I can’t talk about it too much; it’s her business. Not mine to share.”
“Well, maybe working with you on something that matters to both of you could be good for her.”
I started to argue, but then closed my mouth as my mind raced through possibilities.
Grandpa pushed his chair back from the table and stretched. “Come on, Tilly,” he said. “Let’s take Lois for a walk and see if that squirrel has any more attitude to spare.”
“Okay!” Tilly hopped down and put on her little puffer coat.
When they were gone, Grandma handed me a towel and leaned back against the counter.
“Mabel told me how you look at her,” she said softly. “So I know you’re disappointed right now. But this isn’t just about dating or not dating. Both of you could use a friend.”
She reached for a folded sheet of paper beside the saltshaker and slid it across the table. “Here’s the application form for the Honeybrook Hollow Taste-Off.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t know about this. I’m not sure.”
“Tell her I can’t do it. Blame my bad knee, or tell her my carpal tunnel is acting up. Doesn’t matter. You need a partner. She’s it.
“That sounds like tricking her.”
“It’s not tricking, it’s nudging. And you’re not asking her on a date—you’re inviting her to cook with you. She’s not running from cooking. She’s running from feelings.” Her eyes shifted to the side. “I mean, that’s my guess.”
“Sure. Uh-huh. Your guess. You must have been spending time with her grandma. Is that it?”
She shrugged in answer.
I stared at the form, then looked back at her. “You think this’ll work?”
“Give her space if she needs it. But don’t disappear.”
“She told me she doesn’t want to hurt me.”
“She won’t,” Grandma said. “Not if you show her she doesn’t have to be alone. Invite her to cook. Make it her idea, if that helps. But don’t give up on her.”
I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “You really think this will work? Seriously?”
“I think,” Grandma said, “that amazing and beautiful things often start in ordinary places. Like a kitchen counter, elbow-deep in cookie dough and pie crusts. No pressure to decide anything more than what comes next. You need to meet each other where you are and see what happens.
I stared at her, heart thudding.
Yeah. I’d ask her to cook with me.
Not as a date.
Just as… us.
Whatever we were becoming before Graham got into her head.
I sat back in my chair, thoughts spinning. Maybe she was right. Maybe Eliza didn’t need flowers or romantic gestures right now. Maybe she needed flour, a prep list, and someone to believe she still had something worth sharing.
And maybe—I was that someone.
When we got home, Tilly crashed hard—pink cheeks and soft snores within minutes of being tucked in.
Lois curled up at the foot of her bed like the world’s most loyal guard dog.
I lingered outside her room for a while, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
The quiet moments always got me the most.
I stepped into the hall, feeling a strange mix of hope and nerves tangling in my stomach. I gathered the courage to reach out, and I realized how small gestures could mean everything. Maybe this was the start of something—messy, uncertain, but real.
Back in the living room, I sank onto the couch with a heavy sigh and pulled out my phone.
Still nothing from Eliza. And I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
I stared at her message: Please don’t hate me. Even in those few words, I felt her doubt, her worry about being “too much”. I couldn’t hate her. Not now, not ever. If she needed proof, I’d give it a thousand times over.
Eventually, I put my phone down and sat in the quiet of the room, letting the weight of the day settle around me.
The shadows crept across the walls, stretching longer as time passed.
I wondered what tomorrow would bring—if it would be more silence, or if maybe it would be a step closer to understanding each other.
For now, all I could do was wait, holding tight to the hope that small acts could slowly rebuild what felt fragile.
I finally typed out a message.
Me: You’re allowed to need space. I just hope you know I’m still here.
I hovered over send, then hit it before I could second-guess myself.
A few minutes later, just as I was getting ready to call it a night, my phone lit up with a call.
My heart thudded. I answered immediately.
“Hey.”
There was a pause. “Hey,” she said back, voice soft, a little scratchy. She sounded tired. Worn thin.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d respond,” I admitted.
“Me neither,” she said. “But I didn’t want to just disappear. That’s what I used to do. I’d ghost people and call it self-preservation.”
“That’s not what this is,” I said. “You’re still here. Talking to me.”
She exhaled, a little laugh buried in it. “Don’t give me too much credit. I almost hung up twice.”
I smiled. “You doing okay?”
“No,” she said, honest as ever. “I’m freaking out a little. I can’t sleep. My brain’s running in circles. And I didn’t want to dump this on anyone, but…” She trailed off.
“But you called me.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Because you’re the only one who actually sees him for what he is. I mean, that’s mostly my fault for not telling anyone but—”
My grip on the phone tightened. “You don’t have to explain. Just talk to me. I’m here.”
She did. She didn’t tell me everything. But it was enough to crack the surface. She told me about how Graham had always made things feel like her fault. How he could twist a moment until she second-guessed herself. I didn’t interrupt. I let her speak until the words ran dry.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “I didn’t mean to make you my emotional dumping ground.”
“You didn’t,” I said. “But I don’t want you carrying this alone. And I don’t want you shutting down again.”
“Yeah. Me neither, I’m sorry I shut down on you.”
“It’s okay. I care about you, Eliza. I mean it.”
“I… I care about you as well,” she murmured. I could almost see her cheeks flushing a soft pink, that inherent shyness peeking out from under her usual sharp wit.
“You doing anything tomorrow?” I asked.
There was a pause, the kind that settled between words and made the silence feel heavy.
I could hear her quiet sniffs on the line, how she tried to hide them, and it made my chest tighten.
I hated knowing she was upset. I didn’t say anything.
Didn’t push. I just listened, letting the stillness speak for me, letting her know I was there and I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Not really.” She finally answered. “Just work.”
“Come to lunch,” I said. “Late, like before. No pressure. Just burgers. And maybe a cherry pie milkshake if you eat all your food,” I teased to lighten the mood and show her I was here for her.
She hesitated, her breathing barely audible over the line. “I…”
I wanted to reach out to bridge the distance between us, but all I could offer was patience.
“You know, it doesn’t have to be a big thing.
Something normal, something easy. I also have something I want to run by you.
” I kept my voice gentle, hoping it would make things simpler for her.
The invitation hung in the air, not demanding, just waiting for her to pick it up if she wanted.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Eliza.”
“What?”
“Come to lunch,” I repeated, softer now. “As friends. No pressure. I’ll even let you choose: fries, tots, or onion rings. It’s your call.”
“Okay. Lunch.”
“See you soon.”
She laughed then, a soft sound like relief finally seeping in. “Alright, alright. But you have to promise—no questions about my mood, okay?”
“Deal,” I said, feeling something in me ease.