Chapter 26
Nate
“Nate,” Nancy called as I walked into the Pennywhistle.
She didn’t say more, but the look she gave me—chin tilted, eyes narrowed, lips tight—spoke volumes.
Something was off. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper for the next part, as if sharing a secret only meant for me.
“Health inspector’s here. He’s in the back. ”
“Thanks,” I said, heading straight to the kitchen.
The kitchen smelled like it always did after the lunch rush—citrusy cleanser, coffee, and whatever spices had lingered from the afternoon special. No sour milk. No spoiled anything. Still, unease coiled in my chest.
The inspector was already crouched by the walk-in fridge, tapping at a thermometer probe and frowning at his tablet.
“Morning,” I said. “Everything all right?”
He glanced up, all business. “Inspector Callahan. Routine inspection. Going through the town today.”
I nodded. “Nate Winters. Owner.”
He barely acknowledged that, too busy tapping on his screen.
After a beat, he said, “Your fridge is running warm on the lower shelves. Not technically in violation, but higher than we like. Could be a sign the compressor’s struggling.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “It passed last time. It’s old but reliable.” This was my first inspection since taking over as owner, and the weight of that fact pressed on me—every detail suddenly felt more critical, more personal.
I felt a flush of frustration—half at the fridge, half at myself for not catching it sooner.
The Pennywhistle was my responsibility now, and every little hiccup felt weighted with that.
I glanced at the thermometer display, willing it to dip just a few degrees lower, knowing it wouldn’t.
Still, I took mental notes: call the repair guy, check the budget, hope for a miracle.
He shrugged. “Barely passed last time. This time you’re getting a formal warning. I recommend repair or replacement before your next check. Don’t want it dropping out of range completely.”
He printed the notice, handed it to me like it was a parking ticket, and said, “Next stop’s the new restaurant across the square. You know the one.”
I did. And the timing felt like something crawling under my skin. I nodded tightly. “Thanks.”
I watched him leave the kitchen, stiff-backed and methodical, clipboard swinging at his side. The paper in my hand felt heavier than it should have, a thin reminder that I was one surprise away from trouble.
Once he was gone, I stood there for a long minute, staring at the walk-in like I could will it into compliance.
Then I headed to my office—a cozy back room that doubled as storage and my personal clutter zone.
One little window, a chipped desk, my favorite mug full of pens, and a clock that always ran five minutes fast. Home sweet home.
Nancy knocked and popped her head in. “I’ll watch the front. Go ahead and stress out in here.”
“Appreciate it,” I muttered.
She gave me a sympathetic smile and disappeared.
I sank into my chair, rubbing my temples as the enormity of it all pressed in.
The fridge was just one more thing stacked onto a list that never seemed to get shorter, and the uncertainty gnawed at me.
I tried to focus, pulling a legal pad closer and jotting down priorities, but the numbers blurred together, and the margins filled with anxious doodles.
Replacing the fridge was not on this month’s budget. Not even close.
A knock sounded at the door again. Softer this time.
“Come in,” I said.
Eliza stepped inside, two takeout cups in hand, shutting the door behind her. I could already smell the coffee—hers always had vanilla or cinnamon or something that made the air better just by existing.
“I heard what happened,” she said softly.
“Nancy?”
“Yeah, she mentioned it when I got here.”
I took the cup from her and motioned toward the chair beside my desk. She sat, curling one leg beneath her, somehow looking both put together and like she might unravel any second. I knew the feeling.
“It’s just a fridge,” I said, trying to minimize it for her sake.
But she didn’t buy it.
“You’re worried.”
I nodded, swallowing a sip. “It’s old, but we’ve always passed. It might need repairs or to be completely replaced. Either way, I didn’t plan on this expense yet.”
Eliza frowned, brows pulling together. “You think he had something to do with it?” she asked quietly. “I mean, not physical sabotage, that’s not really his style. But he’d definitely bribe an inspector or even just call him to come here to see what comes out of it.”
I didn’t need her to clarify who he was.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t prove anything. Just bad timing.”
She nodded, but her lips were tight. “It feels like him.”
“Yeah.” I brushed my fingers along her side. “I hate that you’re carrying the weight of it.”
She gave me a smile. “Maybe we should forget about Graham. Maybe I should pep talk you like you did for me.” Her eyes sparkled, and that was all it took.
“Come here,” I said again, softer this time.
She leaned in first—just a gentle kiss, warm and slow—but it deepened fast. Her fingers curled in my shirt, and my hand slid up her back, not to push, just to hold.
Her breath was warm on my cheek, the close comfort of her presence making the rest of the world fall away.
For a moment, nothing else seemed to matter—just the air between us and the promise in her eyes.
I let myself get lost in it, in her, wanting to hold onto this fragile peace before reality crept back in.
The kiss turned hungry. Like something we both needed and didn’t want to let go of.
She made a small sound against my mouth, and I pulled her closer before catching myself.
Her hand lingered for a moment longer on my shoulder, her thumb tracing an absent pattern through the fabric before she let go.
The silence was heavy, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just full, like the space between us was charged with everything unsaid.
Time seemed to slow down, stretching those few seconds into something that felt almost infinite.
We pulled apart slowly. I didn’t want to let go, but something in the way she looked at me made my chest ache like she was pulling away.
Her voice was quiet. “I should go.” She stood up and paced a little, running a hand through her hair. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. You’re dealing with all of this, and I just—threw myself at you.
“Hey.” I stood too, catching her wrist gently before she could retreat. “You didn’t throw anything. That kiss?” I held her gaze. “It was the best part of my day.”
She looked up at me then, eyes too bright, like she was holding something back.
“Eliza…”
“I’m scared I’ll make things hard for you,” she said quickly, like she needed to get it out before I could stop her.
There it was. Not fear for herself—fear of being a burden. Of being the problem. I could see the walls going up, not out of self-preservation, but guilt. The kind that came from being made to feel responsible for other people’s discomfort for too long.
“You won’t,” I said, stepping closer, lowering my voice. “You make everything feel easier. I promise.”
She shook her head faintly, already reaching for her coffee like it was an exit strategy. “I’ll see you later, Nate.”
I nodded, even though every part of me wanted to ask her to stay. “I’ll walk you out.”
Outside, the air was sharp with a breezy chill, and I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets to keep from reaching for her again.
I wished I’d said more. Wished I’d told her that if Graham was circling, if he was trying to make her doubt herself again, I wasn’t going to let him win.
Not this time. Not when I could already see what she couldn’t yet—that she was strong, and capable, and still very much herself beneath the old wounds.
The Taste-Off wasn’t just a competition. It was a chance. A way back into the kitchen on her own terms. A way to remember that her joy didn’t belong to Graham—or to anyone who’d ever tried to shrink it.
She turned at her car door. “Text me if anything changes with the fridge?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I will.”
She hesitated, fingers curling around the handle. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”
“Eliza…” I started, wanting to tell her all of it—that I wasn’t afraid of hard things, that I believed in her more than she knew, that I wasn’t going anywhere.
But she smiled, small and careful, and I let the moment rest where it was.
As she drove away, I stood there a second longer, resolve settling in my chest. Whatever Graham was playing at, I wasn’t backing down. And neither was she—whether she knew it yet or not.
Outside, the air was sharp with chill, and I wished I’d said more. Wished I’d told her how much I wanted her to stay, even if just for a few more minutes.
She turned at her car door. “Text me if anything changes with the fridge?”
“Yeah. I will.”
She hesitated. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”
“Eliza…” I started, but stopped short. Instead, I just smiled. “Um, thanks for the coffee.”
She gave a small, tight smile in return. Then she got in and drove off, taillights fading into the dark.
I stood there a moment longer than I needed to, jaw tight, heart unsettled. Because if that kiss was a goodbye… I wasn’t ready. Not even close.