Chapter 16 Eliza #2
He wasn’t here because he missed me. He wasn’t here because he cared.
He was here because he was threatened. Because for the first time, he could see it—really see it—that I might beat him.
That I was good. That the thing he’d spent years minimizing was now standing in his way, tied to a diner this town loved and a competition he fully expected to win.
The realization settled into my chest, warm and steady. Almost… satisfying.
Oh, I thought. That’s why you’re here.
I almost smiled. Almost let myself enjoy the fact that this—me—was enough to rattle him.
“Good news,” came a voice from the side, cool as shade. “She’s not going to be hurt by you ever again.”
Cara stepped into view like she’d been summoned, expression pleasant and lethal all at once.
“But,” she continued, “she might get very dramatic anyway. And so will we.”
Relief washed through me, sharp and sudden. Not because I needed saving—but because I wasn’t standing alone. I hadn’t been for a while now. I just hadn’t fully trusted it yet.
Graham’s smile faltered.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel small across from him.
“You know who really gets dramatic when they’re hurt?” Cara continued. “Men. So dramatic the lot of you,” She shot Graham a sharp look, then let her gaze flick down just enough. “Funny how those big egos usually cover… other deficiencies.”
She stood just to the side of the porch, arms crossed over a navy peacoat, expression politely lethal. Beside her, Lucy’s cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright and furious in a way that would terrify any sensible person.
“We were dropping off books,” Lucy said, too pleasantly, “but I guess we can stay and find out exactly what the hell is going on here.”
Graham straightened. “Ladies. Good to see you both. You look well. Nothing is going on, right, Eliza?”
“Everything is fine,” I confirmed.
“Mm,” Cara muttered, clearly trying not to say anything else.
A man entered the walk-up line—Mr. Hawkins, who taught woodshop at the high school, cleared his throat. “Is this line for coffee or a show? I’ll take either.”
“Coffee,” I said, moving to make his usual order. “A show will cost you extra.”
I made his usual and slid it across the sill, heart thudding a steady, furious beat I kept under my ribs. Graham watched me like he was judging the air I breathed.
“You don’t have to explain anything, Eliza,” he murmured. “Least of all to them. Remember our agreement?”
“I don’t have to explain myself? To my sisters? Funny,” I said. “That’s what I was thinking about you. I don’t owe you anything, least of all an explanation for what I choose to do with my life.”
His smile thinned. “I guess we’ll see what the town thinks at the Taste-Off.”
“I look forward to it,” I said brightly, which was Eliza for bring it, you condescending dillweed.
He tipped two fingers off his brow in a mock salute and turned away, footsteps crisp. The porch felt larger when he left, like someone had cracked a window.
I let out a breath.
“I’m just glad Piper and Paige didn’t hear that,” I said, forcing a laugh. “They’d be—”
“Enraged?” Piper’s high-pitched, pissed off voice floated up from the far end of the cabin, and my stomach did a flip. She and Paige rounded the corner together. “We needed coffee, instead we walk in on some kind of intimidation scene?”
Paige planted her hands on her hips. “He was out of line. Beyond. No one gets to talk to you like that. Like, what the hell? Who does he think he is? I have half a mind to follow him to his dumbass, fancy pants restaurant and kick his stupid ass.” She stepped off the porch muttering, “Maybe I will—”
Piper grabbed her arm. “No.” Paige shot her a look. “Okay, fine. Maybe later. After we find out what’s happening here.” They stepped back up and joined Cara and Lucy at the window.
Cara’s mouth curved into a snarl. “I believe the legal term for men like him is gaslighting garbage person. Is he mad about you entering the Taste-Off? That makes no sense.”
“Were you with him?” Paige asked knowingly. “Personally? Professionally? Both?”
“He’s just—um…”
What was I supposed to say now?
Lying by omission was one thing. Answering a direct question with a lie—to my sisters—was not something I was willing to do.
“Both.” I covered my face for two seconds, then dragged my hands down and smiled helplessly at all of them. “Okay. I love you. Please don’t form a vengeance club on my porch.”
“Too late,” Piper bit out. “We meet on Tuesdays.”
I laughed, which was maybe the first time I’d truly felt relaxed all morning. The knot in my chest loosened another notch. I prepared four mochas without asking and passed them out like party favors.
“Let’s get into it later,” Cara murmured. “This is not the time or the place. She’s working.”
“Thank you for the backup,” I said quietly to her as she stepped closer to the counter.
“Anytime,” she said. “Also, as your official bookish sister, I’m obligated to tell you: you don’t have to be small to be safe. I’ll bring some good self-help books down tomorrow, and we’ll get to the bottom of all of this. Together. When you tell me everything.”
I swallowed. “Noted.”
I looked up and caught Paige watching me with that soft, knowing look she only wore for people she’d decided were hers.
The familiar comfort of my sisters’ presence enveloped me, making the Coffee Cabin’s usual noise seem to fade into the background. Their support was loud in the quietest of ways—a look, a gentle squeeze, a teasing word—and I realized how lucky I was to have them in my corner.
“Will you be okay?” Piper asked. “We can talk later, but I won’t leave you upset.”
“Getting there,” I said. “Full disclosure. I’m entering the Taste-Off with the Pennywhistle. Also, Graham is my ex, and he’s a huge dick. And yeah, it was a secret for a lot of reasons…” Tears filled my eyes as I grew overwhelmed, not knowing where to start.
“It’s okay,” Paige whispered and reached for my hand, squeezing it just once, a silent promise that she was there if I needed her. “We can talk when you’re ready. No pressure, okay? We’re here.”
Cara leaned against the counter, her presence steady and grounding, while Piper watched me with a fierce protectiveness that made my chest ache in the best way. For the first time in ages, I let myself breathe and trust that they’d be here for me.
“We’re here. No matter what.” Piper’s smile turned sharp and delighted. “Listen, you’re going to win the Taste-Off. And somehow, I have the feeling it will wreck him if you do. Just stay out of the dessert category, we all know who’s winning that.” She gestured to herself, lightening the mood.
“Don’t worry, we’ll think of at least a dozen ways to wreck him,” Paige said. “Nobody messes with family.”
Cara laughed and sipped her mocha. “We got you, no worries.”
Lucy slid onto a stool at the counter and smiled encouragingly. “We’re here for the duration. Go to work. We’ll just sit here, drink our mochas, and make sure you’re okay while we make our nefarious plans.”
Customers kept coming. I kept pouring coffee. The day moved on.
And under the fear and the anger and the stubborn, stupid hope, something steadied inside me.
The line finally thinned, the last latte handed off, and the espresso machine let out a sigh like it was relieved to stop witnessing my personal melodrama. My sisters lingered at the counter, sipping the drinks I’d “accidentally” rung up with the sibling discount of zero dollars.
“You doing okay?” Lucy asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, which was mostly a lie but also partly true. “Just tired. And over men who think they’re the main character in my life.”
Piper slid a fingertip across my knuckles. “We’re not going to let Graham mess with you.”
“I know,” I said. “But I don’t want anyone fighting my battles for me.”
Paige smiled, fierce and proud. “Too late. We already submitted the paperwork. One battle, coming right up.”
I laughed—really laughed—and it loosened something tight in me. Talking to them helped. It didn’t fix everything, but it made me feel like maybe I wasn’t bracing for an earthquake every time someone said Graham’s name.
They gathered their things and got ready to go.
“Text us when you get home,” Cara said.
“And if Graham shows up in the morning,” Lucy added, “hit him with a milk frother.”
“I love you guys,” I said, waving as they left.
They left, and the Coffee Cabin settled into that cozy, warm vibe it only had at the end of the day. I wiped the counters, swept the floor, counted the drawer—tiny rituals that quieted the parts of me still worrying.
Outside, my Beetle was dusted with frost.
I drove home, fed the cats, made tea I barely tasted, and sat on the arm of the couch with the lamp casting soft gold over the room.
Then I reached for my phone.
Me: Made it home. Cats say hi. You free?
The typing bubbles appeared instantly.
Nate: Always. You okay?
I let my head fall back against the wall, closing my eyes.
Me: I’m okay. Sisters in full guard-dog mode. Thank you for everything.
A pause. Then—
Nate: I’m here if you need me. No pressure. I’m here for you. I want you to know that.
Something eased in my chest—small, warm, steady.
Me: I know. And I appreciate it. So much.
I set the phone down next to me. The tea cooled. The cats piled onto my lap like furry little weighted blankets. I let myself breathe.