Chapter 16
Ella
I’m having déjà vu.
Ashton tosses a mascara wand at me. “How’s your blood pressure?”
“Fine.”
“Well, you’re listening to Taylor Swift and whispering while applying foundation.”
“I’m fine, stop watching me.” I toss the mascara back at her.
She grins. “So, you think he’s actually going to show up this time?”
I pause. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Me too...for his sake, because I will hunt him down if he doesn’t.”
I chuckle to myself and look down at my outfit—a navy sundress that hugs in all the right places, nude heels, minimal makeup. I look like I care… but not too much. Like I know what I’m doing, even though I absolutely do not.
As I head out, Ashton calls from behind me, “You got this!”
When I walk into the restaurant, I freeze.
He’s already there.
Sitting at the same table we were supposed to share last time. Beige dress shirt, rolled at the sleeves. That same jawline that could slice glass. Nathan Reign, in the flesh—and looking like a Calvin Klein ad came to life.
And then I see him, the same waiter from the last time. He catches my eye, smiles warmly, and shoots me a discreet little high five as I walk by.
Oh, no.
Oh, no no no.
Nathan raises an eyebrow as I sit down. “Fan favorite here?”
I force a laugh, cheeks on fire.
We order drinks.
Nathan’s eyes are fixated on me, then they narrow slightly.
“What?” I ask, following his gaze.
He tilts his chin toward my shoulder. “You’ve got… something.”
I glance down.
Not flour.
Cat hair.
Of course.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Oh. That’s just Dr. Doom.”
He blinks once. “Dr. Doom.”
“My cat,” I clarify. “He’s dramatic.”
Nathan studies me like he’s trying to decide if I’m joking. “You named your cat after a Marvel villain.”
“He earned it.”
A corner of his mouth twitches. It’s barely there, but it’s real.
“So you really like animals?” he asks, reaching for his glass.
“Always have,” I say. “Since I was little.”
“How many do you have?”
“Just one rescue cat and a betta fish. Stuart.” I pause. “He has less personality.”
“Just the one rescue?” he asks, like he’s keeping the conversation moving on purpose.
“Yeah. I mean, I’d have more if my apartment allowed it.” I shrug. “And if I wasn’t at the bakery fourteen hours a day.”
“It’s been worth it.”
I frown. “What has?”
“Your weekly deliveries.”
“You think so?”
Something shifts in his expression, subtle and restrained. “Yeah…even if you’re spilling everywhere.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Well… I’m glad your team found us.”
He pauses. “It wasn’t my team.”
I tilt my head. “What?”
His eyes flicker slightly. “I found you.”
The words sit there between us. Too honest. Too unguarded. His fingers tighten around his glass like he realizes it.
“So… you’re a cat whisperer?”
“I wish.” I hesitate, then add lightly, “I’ve always wanted to do more. Travel. Volunteer. Help with conservation projects. Wildlife rescue. That kind of thing.”
He studies me a little more carefully now. “That’s cool, how many times have you done that so far?”
I smile at my plate. “None.”
His brow furrows. “None?”
“I apply,” I say quickly, a little defensive. “Every year. Different programs. Different countries. They just—” I lift one shoulder. “They never pick me.”
“They’ve never picked you…?”
“Nope.” I take a sip of water, pretending it doesn’t bother me.
He watches me for a second too long. “And you keep filling out the applications.”
I nod, a little embarrassed now. “Why wouldn’t I?”
There’s something in his expression I can’t quite read. Not amusement. Not judgment. Something deeper.
“It’s probably for the best,” he says finally. “You couldn’t just leave your bakery.”
“I would.” The answer comes out before I think about it. “I mean, I’d do both, I’d figure it out.”
He goes very still.
I add, softer now, “I guess, I’m not really good at letting things go.”
He looks down at the table like I’ve said something far more significant than I meant to.
He exhales to himself. “Me either.”
The air subtly shifts. Like a door closes somewhere in another room.
“So,” I say carefully, trying to pull him back, “you and Bishop have known each other forever?”
His shoulders loosen a fraction. Safe territory. “Since we were kids,” he says. “We were always meant to play together.”
“Football?”
“Yeah.”
“And now you manage him.”
“I represent him,” he corrects quietly.
“Sorry. Represent.” I smile. “I mean… it sounds like life worked out for you.”
The words leave my mouth easily, but they don’t land that way.
Nathan doesn’t answer.
At first, I think he didn’t hear me, but then I notice the shift, subtle, almost invisible. His shoulders don’t tense; his expression doesn’t harden… he just goes rigid like something inside him stopped moving.
His eyes drift past me, unfocused, resting somewhere over my shoulder that isn’t really part of the restaurant anymore.
I wait for him to say something.
He doesn’t.
The silence stretches long enough that I suddenly feel like I’ve missed a step in a dance I didn’t know we were dancing.
“Do you…want to get dessert?” I ask, softer now, giving him an exit instead of a question.
He blinks once, like he’s returning from somewhere farther away than across a table.
A beat passes.
Then another.
“No,” he says finally. “I’m good.”
Right then, his phone buzzes against the tabletop.
His gaze drops instantly.
I catch the name before he turns the screen over.
Taylor Pierce.
And that’s it, it’s almost like whatever excitement we both had died along with that text alert going off. The walk back is too quiet. The warmth we shared is completely replaced by this frigid awareness between us, as if we both know the elephant exists but neither of us wants to talk about it.
He gives glimpses of greatness only to snatch them back like he’s been broken and can’t find the pieces to glue himself together.
By the time we get to my door, my heart’s in my throat. Is he going to kiss me again? Or am I about to get the world’s most awkward wave?
He just…stands there.
So, in full awkward mode, I panic. I lean in for a hug.
He hugs me back, but it feels…detached like he’s hugging his aunt. Or worse, his dentist. Oh, God.
We say bye, and the door clicks shut, and I exhale the breath I’ve apparently been holding since the elevator. My back slides down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, mentally replaying every awkward second of that goodbye.
Literally every second.
Why did I smile like that?
Why did my hands suddenly forget what to do with themselves?
I push myself up, flick on the light. “Dr. Doom?” I call, already reaching to unclip my earrings.
Silence.
I pause. “Doomy? I’m home.”
Still nothing.
A tiny knot forms in my chest. I check the couch. His favorite blanket pile. The top of the fridge. Behind the curtains.
Nothing.
My heartbeat starts climbing.
I drop to my knees and check under the bed.
Under the dresser.
Behind the laundry basket.
“Dr. Doom?” My voice cracks.
He would never ignore me this long…
Not unless something was wrong.
I grab my phone.
“Ashton,” I breathe when she answers. “I can’t find Dr. Doom.”
She’s at my apartment fifteen minutes later, hair messy, backpack still over her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she says, scanning the room. “He’s probably just doing his cryptid thing. We’ll find him.”
We search everywhere.
My apartment.
The hallway.
The elevator.
The stairwell.
The lobby.
Outside in the dark, calling his name like lunatics.
Nothing.
Two hours later, we end up back in my apartment, exhausted and defeated.
“I hate to leave you,” Ashton says, guilt all over her face, “but I have an exam tomorrow. Text me the second he turns up… he will.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
She hugs me tightly before leaving, and then I’m alone in the too-quiet apartment, fighting tears and imagining every worst-case scenario.
I sit on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest.
He’s gone.
He’s actually.
A soft knock at the door.
I freeze.
Another knock, gentle.
I stand slowly, heart in my throat, and pull the door open.
And everything inside me collapses.
Nathan is standing there.
At my door.
In the dark hallway.
Holding Dr. Doom in his arms.
“Oh, my God!” I gasp, grabbing the cat instantly. “You found him…Nathan, thank you…thank you, thank you.”
Dr. Doom meows, like he had the traumatic night, not me, and burrows into my chest.
I look up just in time to see the scratches on Nathan’s forearms.
“What happened?”
Dr. Doom wiggles out of my arms and makes a beeline for the kitchen.
Nathan clears his throat, understated as ever. “He was under Glynys’s recliner. Didn’t like being picked up.”
Emotion surges so fast I don’t think, I just wrap my arms around Nathan’s neck and hug him hard.
He stiffens at first, surprised, but doesn’t pull away.
When I let go, I see the perfect smear of rose-colored lip liner I left on his collar.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, no, I can fix it—come in for a second.”
I pull him in before I know what I’m doing. Shirt unbuttoned. Collar in the sink. Sponge in my hand. I’m in autopilot mode, scrubbing like a lunatic.
And then I look up.
He’s shirtless in my apartment.
Jesus.
I freeze mid-scrub. “I—uhhh.”
He steps behind me. Gently grabs my hand. “It’s okay. It’s just a shirt.”
Scrubbing harder, I whisper, “No, no, I’ll get it out, and you brought my cat back, and tonight has been…”
His fingers wrap lightly around my wrist, stopping my hand.
It’s not firm. Not forceful. Just enough to make me pause.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”
I swallow and finally turn to face him.
Too fast.
Because he’s closer than I realized.
Much closer.
I freeze.
His hand is still around my wrist.
His chest is an inch from mine.
His breath catches.
“Nathan…I…” I start babbling.
But he doesn’t let go.
And he doesn’t step back.
He just looks at me, eyes darker than they were a second ago, jaw clenching like he’s fighting something he’s already losing.
I don’t know what possesses me—panic, adrenaline, relief, every emotion I’ve swallowed—but I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
Really kiss him.
For half a second, I think he won’t move.
And then he does.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me in, his mouth answering mine with slow, devastating certainty, and the room tilts, or I do, or the world does; I’m not sure.
All I know is that he’s kissing me back.
My back hits the counter.
He lifts me onto it like I weigh nothing, his mouth never leaving mine.
I undo his belt. Toss it. Dr. Doom screeches.
My dress hikes up. His pants drop. And suddenly, we’re colliding, a blur of need and heat.
We end up on the couch. A tangled, messy, beautiful heap of bodies and breath and skin. My head on his chest. His fingers in my hair. We haven’t spoken in ten minutes.
I don’t want to move.
I don’t want it to end.
On the floor at our feet, his phone buzzes again. I’m closer, so I pick it up and hand it to him. I swear I don’t intend to look, yet I can’t seem to keep my gaze averted.
MESSAGE: Taylor Pierce
What? Is this some sort of curse? An ex? A friend? Oh God, what if he really is married…? He opens it. His entire body changes beneath me.
He sits up. Starts dressing. Doesn’t even make eye contact. “I’ve gotta go.”
I sit there, stunned. Still naked. Still hoping he’ll say something, explain—anything.
But he doesn’t.
He just walks out the door.
Like ten minutes ago never happened. Tears burn the backs of my eyelids. I suddenly realize how naked I am, and how vulnerable.
What the hell was that?
Who is Taylor Pierce?
Did I just get used? Was it real for him?
Because it was real for me.