Chapter 33 Eliza
Eliza
The last box slid into the truck bed with a soft thump, and I turned to find Nate already watching me.
His smile was soft—the kind that didn’t need a punchline to feel like joy.
My heart was still racing from the win, the music, the laughing, the way Tilly had bounced in place when our names were called.
I couldn’t stop smiling even if I wanted to.
We’d cleaned our booth in record time, thanks to my sisters, both sets of grandparents hovering nearby to help, and Piper’s efficient, mildly bossy energy as she darted back and forth between our booth and hers.
The glow from the stage lights still shimmered across the park lawn, catching the strands of lights in the trees and the delicate glitter of night as it began to settle in.
Lois wagged her tail at the truck, already curled into her spot in the backseat like she was waiting for us to get our act together.
“You ready?” Nate asked, brushing his hands on his jeans as he looked between me and the truck like we were his two favorite things.
I nodded, feeling the weight of the night settle around my shoulders—but not in a heavy way. More like a blanket, soft and certain.
Tilly climbed into the back with Lois, chattering about the votes and how she’d told her grandma they were totally going to win.
“And then Lucy brought Larry the llama, and I think he voted too, even though llamas probably like to eat grass more than pot pie,” she said as she buckled in, petting Lois behind the ears.
We pulled away from the park, the warm murmur of the crowd trailing behind us. Outside the window, Honeybrook Hollow glowed like a dream.
I exhaled. “This town, man. It’s ridiculous how perfect it looks tonight.”
“It does that on purpose,” Nate said, glancing at me. “Wants you to fall in love with it.”
“I already did,” I murmured. “A long time ago.”
His eyes softened. “Me too.”
Tilly leaned forward between the seats. “Hey. Are we celebrating at our house? Like with games, or a movie? Can Lois pick the movie again? She liked the one with the talking animals.”
I laughed. “She fell asleep ten minutes in.”
“She was thinking,” Tilly insisted.
Nate chuckled, then turned down the radio and tapped the steering wheel gently.
“Actually, sweetheart,” he said. “We wanted to tell you something.”
She perked up, immediately suspicious and interested. “What is it?”
Nate looked at me. I nodded, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with pot pies and small-town cooking competitions.
“We love each other,” Nate said simply. “Eliza and me. We’re together now.”
Tilly’s eyes went wide and shiny. “For real?”
I swallowed. “For real. Only if that’s okay with you.”
She let out a delighted squeal and reached forward to hug me over the seat. “You’re like boyfriend and girlfriend now, right? Like, you’ll come over and make spaghetti again and smell like coffee and hug Lois and—”
“Yes,” I said, tears slipping down before I could stop them. “If you want me to.”
“I do,” she whispered, beaming. “This is the sparkliest day ever, Daddy!”
My heart cracked wide open.
Nate reached over and took my hand.
Nate’s house glowed softly when we pulled into the driveway—porch light on, windows golden, as if it had been waiting for us to come home.
Lois bounded inside ahead of us, flopped immediately onto her dog bed, and gave a satisfied snort. Tilly ran to change into pajamas and came back out holding a blanket, dragging it behind her like a cape.
“Can we do pancakes in the morning?” she asked sleepily.
“You bet,” Nate said, lifting her into a hug. “With chocolate chips and whipped cream and maybe a few sprinkles for winning.”
“Even though I didn’t cook?”
“You were our mascot,” I said. “You get pancakes forever.”
She gave a happy sigh and kissed Nate on the cheek, then did the same to me. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she whispered.
“I am too,” I whispered back.
Later, when she was tucked into bed and the house was quiet, Nate and I curled up on the couch. The quilt was wrapped around us, Lois snoring softly nearby, and the soft rhythm of the night hummed in the background—crickets, trees shifting in the breeze, the breath of something steady and safe.
“I’ve never felt this,” I said finally. “Not ever.”
Nate brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “Me either.”
“It doesn’t feel like falling,” I whispered. “It feels like standing still for the first time.”
His smile curved into something that felt like forever.
And in that quiet, full moment, I let myself believe it.