Chapter 15 #2
I glanced past her for a second—to the stainless counters, the prep sink full of warm water, the oven ticking softly. The Pennywhistle kitchen was closed and quiet, the kind of quiet that settled into your bones once the rush was gone. I turned back to her.
“Her name is Juliette,” I said. “We dated in Portland. It was easy in a way you tell yourself won’t matter later—too easy, too shallow.
I didn’t understand at the time how wrong that could be.
” I reached for a towel, drying my hands slowly.
“When she got pregnant, she was honest with me. Motherhood wasn’t something she wanted. Not now. Not ever.”
Eliza stayed where she was, leaning lightly against the counter, listening without filling the space.
“But I knew what I wanted,” I went on. “I wanted Tilly. I asked for custody, and Juliette agreed.” My throat tightened, familiar and steady all at once.
Her shoulders eased, like something inside her had unclenched. “You chose Tilly,” she said quietly. “All in.”
“All in,” I echoed.
She stood, stepping closer without seeming to realize she was doing it, close enough that I could smell her perfume, sweet and floral. “She’s lucky,” she said.
“Sometimes,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck, “I still worry I’m not enough. That one day she’ll wonder why she wasn’t enough to make her mom stay.”
Eliza reached for me then, her fingers wrapping around my forearm, grounding and sure. “You are,” she said immediately. “I’ve seen you with her. I know what a good father looks like.” Her thumb brushed once, deliberate. “And you’re it, Nate.”
The words settled between us. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath—the hum of the fridge, the faint click of cooling metal, the smell of baked pastry lingering in the air. Neither of us moved.
“Thank you for trusting me with that,” she added softly.
I swallowed. “Thank you for asking.”
Another pause. Longer this time. Charged.
She glanced at my mouth, then back to my eyes, like she was deciding something she already knew the answer to. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said quietly.
“You don’t have to,” I said, just as quietly.
Her hand tightened on my arm. “Okay...”
That was it. The last thread holding us still.
She stepped into me, and then she kissed me—slow and sure, like she’d finally stopped arguing with herself.
We didn’t speak after that. Not until the timer dinged and the kitchen filled with the smell of golden, buttery crust, herbs, and something that felt like hope.
We pulled apart, breath mingling in the hush that followed, and I turned away right as the oven timer chimed again. With a shaky laugh, I reached for the mitts and opened the oven, the rush of heat brushing my face as I pulled out the pot pies, their golden tops bubbling with promise.
She cut into the pie, and we shared a fork, laughing over who got more of the filling.
When we stood to clean up, she turned. I turned, too.
And then she kissed me again.
It was soft at first. Gentle. Her lips brushed mine like a question, one I answered with a careful hand at her waist. For a moment, all I could feel was the soft press of her lips, the way her hand found mine and held on just long enough to steady us both.
The world outside faded, the only sound was our breathing as we lingered there, suspended between this moment and what we might become.
The world narrowed to the gentle pressure of her mouth and the faint taste of sage and thyme lingering between us.
My breath caught as her hand settled on my jaw, her thumb tracing a slow, trembling line along my cheekbone.
Time stretched, the oven’s warmth cocooning us as the quiet of the kitchen wrapped around the delicate spark blooming in my chest.
I let myself hope—just a little as her breath mingled with mine, slow and uncertain, as we drew closer still, letting the moment unfurl between us.
I felt her pulse flutter under my fingertips, a steady reassurance that echoed the quiet hope settling in my chest. For the first time in a long while, it was enough just to be here—just to feel her, to share the lingering flavors we’d created together and promises neither of us dared to speak aloud.
I didn’t know what to do. The kiss lingered—gentle, electric—hanging in the air between us. I could still feel the warmth of her hand pressed against my cheek, both of us caught between surprise and something like relief.
But I didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to be one more person who took something from her. So I eased back, heart racing.
“Eliza…”
She touched my chest. “I kissed you. I started it. Don’t you dare apologize to me.”
“But we said—”
“I know.” She sighed. “Let’s go slow. Can we?”
I nodded, brushing her cheek with the back of my hand. “Whatever pace you need, I’m here.”
The air between us was charged, sweet with possibility, and the last notes of laughter lingering in the kitchen. For a second, neither of us moved, both quietly measuring what this night had given us, and what it might mean tomorrow.
We cleaned in silence after that, moving around each other easily. She laughed once when I dropped a spoon, and I caught her watching me like she didn’t want the night to end.
As we stepped outside, the glow from Graham’s restaurant down the street caught my attention. Lights on. Movement in the window.
Eliza stiffened.
“Don’t,” I said gently. “Don’t give him your peace.”
She glanced up at me, lips parting. “I think he sees us.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I walked her to her car, opened the door, and waited.
She paused. “Thanks for tonight.”
“Anytime.”
She got in, rolled down the window. “Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“I feel like I’m starting to remember who I was before him.”
I swallowed hard. “Good. Because that woman?” I nodded. “I know she’s incredible. Because you’re amazing, just as you are, right now.”
She drove off. I stood there until her taillights disappeared.
Then I turned. Graham stood in his restaurant window, arms folded, gaze fixed on me.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
I got into my car and smiled. For a moment, the night felt impossibly quiet, the air thick with unsaid words. The distant hum of traffic was miles away, and all I could hear was the echo of her words lingering between us. I took a moment to breathe in the silence, calming the storm inside.