Chapter 29
Nate
Morning came anyway.
I made breakfast on autopilot—toast popping up a little too dark, eggs scrambled softer than usual, fruit cut into uneven pieces because I kept spacing out. Tilly sat at the counter in her pajamas, legs swinging, conducting a stuffed-animal meeting with very serious authority.
“Okay,” she announced to the reindeer and the dog, who was very much asleep on the rug, “today is a school day, so no nonsense.”
Lois snorted in her sleep.
“That means you,” Tilly told her sternly.
I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself and slid a plate in front of her. “Eat before the meeting gets out of hand.”
She eyed the eggs suspiciously. “These are normal eggs.”
“Define normal.”
“They’re weren’t loud,” she said. “Are you sad?”
“No,” I protested mildly. “Well, maybe a little bit. I’ll be fine.”
She patted my hand. “It’s okay.”
I closed my eyes for a second, smiling. “Thank you for your patience with me.”
She took a bite, nodded approval, then leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“You’re thinking loud, though.”
I squinted. I’d almost forgotten how observant she was. “Am I?”
“Uh-huh.” She pointed her fork at my forehead. “Your face gets all scrunchy. Like this.” She demonstrated, crossing her eyes and scrunching her nose.
I laughed then, real and surprised. “That’s not what I look like.”
“That’s exactly what you look like.”
“Noted.”
She studied me for another beat, then slid her plate closer to mine. “You can have my strawberries,” she said solemnly. “They help with sad thoughts.”
My throat tightened. “How do you know I have sad thoughts?”
She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Sometimes people do. It’s not a big deal. They go away.”
I took one of the strawberries and bit into it. “You might be right.”
“Also,” she added, “if they don’t go away, you can tell me. Or Grandma. Or Lois. Lois is a good listener, but she does fall asleep.”
Lois let out a long, dramatic sigh on cue.
Tilly nodded. “See?”
The drive to school was calmer, lighter. Tilly hummed along to the radio, making up lyrics about waffles and backpacks. When we pulled up, she hopped out, adjusted her jacket, then leaned back in through the open door.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“You did a good job today. Quiet eggs are good too.”
My chest warmed in a way that felt dangerously close to tears. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Then she ran off toward the building, waving once over her shoulder like she always did—confident, certain, completely unaware of how much she carried me with her.
I waited until she was inside before I drove away, the quiet returning—but softer now, buffered by strawberries, loud sad thoughts, and the steady reminder that even on hard days, I was someone’s safe place.
I drove to the Pennywhistle on autopilot. Everything felt too quiet. Too tight in my chest. Like the part of me that had started to stretch toward something good was curling back in.
My grandma met me at the door with a wary glance and a full coffee pot in hand.
“Dining room is half full. I put the cinnamon rolls in the warmer, and Nancy is handling refills. You okay, sweetheart?”
I gave her a tired smile. “I’m fine, Grandma. I’ve got it.”
She squeezed my arm. “He’s in booth four.”
I didn’t have to ask who he was. I spotted Graham the second I turned around—sprawled across the booth like he owned the place, stirring his coffee with deliberate slowness while eyeing the morning crowd like they were there for him.
My gut tightened. The Pennywhistle always felt like home. Until he walked in.
I slid behind the counter, poured myself a mug, and walked over to his booth.
“Coffee’s good,” he said, glancing up with that glossy, insincere smile. “Not as trendy as what you get across town at the Coffee Cabin, but it has that old-school charm.”
I didn’t answer. Just stood there until his grin faltered.
Finally, he set his cup down and leaned back. “Trouble in paradise?”
My jaw clenched. “You need something, Graham?”
He shrugged. “Breakfast. And maybe to offer a little friendly advice.”
I didn’t respond.
“You know, Eliza gets pouty when she doesn’t get her way. Makes things complicated. It might be good to keep a little distance. I saw her pull up to the Coffee Cabin on my way here. She had that look about her. Familiar.”
I set my coffee down carefully. “You done?”
“Not yet.” He picked up his mug, like this was casual. Like he wasn’t twisting knives under the table. “It’s a small town. People remember what they hear. Just saying—being too close to her might not do your reputation any favors.”
I leaned down, hands on the table.
“You don’t get to talk about her,” I said, my voice low. “You sure as hell don’t get to warn me off like you’re doing me a favor. Eliza is not a complication. She’s the best part of my day—always. If you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest you take it somewhere else.”
He blinked, but the smirk returned. “Guess I hit a nerve.”
I stepped back. “Enjoy your breakfast. It’ll be your last here.”
“You’re throwing me out?”
I smiled without warmth. “Call it customer selection.”
Graham sat there like he wanted to say more, but then my grandma appeared at my side, crossed her arms, and raised one eyebrow like she’d been listening from the start.
He stood up, brushed imaginary crumbs off his sleeves, and smiled at her with politician polish. “Good morning,” he said to her, startled.
“Get. Out.” She didn’t break her stare. Graham hesitated, searching for some angle, and apparently finding none he could work with.
The tension hung in the air—sharp, but fleeting. With a stiff nod to both of us, he moved past, his smile melting away as soon as he thought no one was looking. He left with fake charm and a nod toward the counter.
She patted my shoulder. “You looked like you’re about to punch him in his big dumb face.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You’re not,” she said, gently. “But you’re allowed to not be.”
“He’s an ass, Nate,” Nancy said as she patted my shoulder. “Always has been. Soon enough, the half of town that didn’t know it will find out. Don’t you worry about that.”
I looked around the diner—still half full, clinking spoons and murmured conversation. Conversations that seemed to agree with Nancy and my grandma.
“We’ve got it covered,” Grandma gave my hand a squeeze.
“Grandma—”
“I’m serious. Take a walk. Go for a run. Take Lois. She’s probably dying to get out of the house. Your grandpa loves walking her, but he can’t run like he used to.”
My lips twitched. “You just want me to stop brooding around the customers.”
“That too.”
I grabbed my jacket and keys. The cold air would help. Maybe.
She was right about one thing—I needed to get out of my own head before I did something stupid. Like, drive back to the Coffee Cabin and kiss Eliza again until she forgets why she ever pushed me away. Or go to Graham’s restaurant and punch him in his smug face.
I went home to change into my workout gear, picked up Lois, and ran.
And tried not to think about how it felt like I was losing something I’d only just started to believe I could have.