Chapter 3
KACEN
The morning light creeping through the curtains feels aggressive. My head isn’t pounding, but it’s heavy, like regret has settled somewhere behind my eyes. I slept for shit last night. Had her in my arms the night before, and already I can’t sleep without her.
The cabin is quiet, the silence reminding me that someone is missing. Kingston’s not here. Natalie’s not here either. Just me, the echo of her laugh still burned into the air, and the cool side of the bed where she used to be.
Rolling over, I stare at the ceiling, my body still remembering the way she moved against me, how her voice broke when she said it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t sleep much, couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her walking away.
There’s a faint smell of her perfume lingering on the pillow.
Floral. Warm. Familiar in a way that guts me.
I glance toward the dresser and spot something small and silver.
A tiny hair clip. Butterfly-shaped. She wore it last night.
I pick it up and turn it over in my fingers.
Did she mean to leave it? Probably not. But I hold on to it anyway.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it, thumb hovering over the screen. I almost text her. My fingers type out "Are you okay?" but I delete it. Then type, "Can we talk?" and delete that too.
Instead, I finally send a message to Kingston.
Me: Made a mess already.
He’s going to read too much into that. Or worse, not enough.
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Kingston: That’s what second chances are for.
Tossing the phone onto the bed, I drag a hand through my hair. Whatever last night was, it changed something. I don’t know what it means, but I know I want her more than I did back then. And this time, I’m not going to screw it up by pretending I don’t.
Spending the rest of the morning at Kingston’s desk, I answer a few emails and review the property reports he left for me.
He’s got an entire folder marked “Downtown Development,” with sketches and handwritten notes in the margins.
One of them has Ruby’s name circled in bold, next to a list of vendors.
I sigh. If she’s involved, I won’t get through the week without being volunteered for something.
Right on cue, my phone buzzes again.
Ruby: Emergency meeting at the community center. Don’t be late. Bring coffee.
I groan and grab two from the corner café, because if I’m walking into a Ruby Nelson situation, I’m not doing it without caffeine. Though why I need to bring coffee when she serves coffee at the Merc, I’ll never know.
The center is bustling with the usual small-town energy turned up to eleven. Jensen’s trying to wrangle a stack of donation boxes, Hades is lounging under the front window outside like he owns the place, and Ruby is already bossing people around with a clipboard in hand and a gleam in her eye.
“Look who showed up almost on time,” she says, snagging one of the coffees before I can offer it.
“You texted me less than an hour ago.”
“And yet you’re not holding a clipboard. We’ll call it even.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s this about?”
“Friendsgiving. Community potluck, volunteer signups, seating chart drama, the usual.” She waves towards the tables that are already being rearranged. “And since you’re now officially back, you’re on the committee.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“You don’t have to agree, sugar. You just have to lift things and not break them.”
I open my mouth to argue, but that’s when I see her.
Natalie.
She’s bent over a folding table, with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail and a deep scowl on her face. Since she hasn’t seen me yet, I take a second to watch her. Even though I should look away, and give her space, something keeps me rooted there like gravity.
Ruby sees the direction of my stare and clicks her tongue. “Still stewing in that mess, huh?”
She’s one of the few people who knows the whole story because she sat me down—an unruly teenager—and made me talk. I will always be grateful she kept that night to herself because if the town knew, I would never live it down.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good. Because you’re going to have to show her, not talk her into anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Actions, darling. Words are for cowards. You want her to believe you’ve changed, you better start proving it.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before Ruby claps her hands and shouts something about mismatched tablecloths. I drift toward the back, where Natalie is now reading a list Ruby handed her. She doesn’t look up when I stop next to her.
“Morning,” I say carefully.
She doesn’t respond right away. Just keeps writing something in the margins before finally speaking. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
“Ruby didn’t give me a choice.”
Her lips twitch. “That sounds about right.”
I want to say more, to ask how she’s doing or apologize again, but I know none of that will land right now. So, I nod toward the boxes on the floor. “Want me to move those?”
She shrugs without looking at me. “If you’re here, might as well make yourself useful.”
It’s a start, I guess.
By the time we finish sorting through mismatched donation centerpieces, my shirt is damp with sweat, and I’m second-guessing everything about agreeing to this. But Natalie hasn’t told me to go to hell, so that feels like progress.
Later, Kingston ropes me into helping remotely with inspections on the buildings he’s been investing in. He’s got spreadsheets, photos, blueprints, and a million questions, and since I’m here, I’ve been volunteered as his eyes on the ground.
“You’ll be looking at the old Baxter building today,” he says, telling me where to find the keys and a folder thick enough to double as a doorstop. “And if you see anything dangerous, don’t touch it. The last thing we need is you falling through a floorboard.”
“You really know how to inspire confidence.”
The next few days are more of the same. Friendsgiving prep during the day, project site work in the afternoon, and surprise, Natalie is always nearby. Ruby’s clearly orchestrating some kind of forced proximity scheme. She’s sneaky that way.
And it’s working.
Every time I see Natalie, it gets harder to pretend I’m not in over my head.
Her walls are solid, but I see the cracks.
The way her eyes linger on me a little too long.
When I’m close, the way she fidgets with her necklace.
Or the way she corrects me, even when I’m right, just so she doesn’t have to admit it.
Once again, we get paired up to organize the seating chart, which is basically a minefield of small-town politics.
“You can’t put the Greshams next to the Petrovskys,” Natalie says, scanning the list.
“Why not?”
“They’ve been fighting about property lines since the late nineties. Someone’s chicken coop got bulldozed. Long story.”
I glance at the list. “What about here?”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you seriously suggesting putting Orville next to Mrs. Dunham?”
“Why not?”
“She’s been trying to get him fired for three years.”
I throw my hands up. “You know what? You pick. I’ll just move names around when you get mad.”
To my surprise, she laughs. It’s quick, unexpected, and beautiful.
“Fine,” she says. “But don’t blame me when a centerpiece gets set on fire out of spite.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Later that evening, I find myself walking back toward the community center alone, trying to remember the last time something felt this complicated. This real. The town’s lights twinkle, mocking me, as if they know I’m in trouble.
Leaning against the side of the building, I stare up at the sky. I can still feel the echo of her body against mine. The warmth of her hands. The way she wouldn’t look at me the next morning.
And still, I want her. More than I did when we were kids. More than I expected when I saw her across the room at that party. It’s not just guilt. It’s not nostalgia. It’s this pulsing need to be near her. To fix what I broke. To show her I’m not the same boy who hurt her.
But no matter how many chairs I stack or tables I clean off or beams I measure, I can’t erase what I did back then.
And maybe I shouldn’t try to.
Maybe all I can do is keep showing up. Every day. Every awkward moment. Every too-long stare. Every shared coffee and accidental laugh. Maybe that’s how redemption works. Not in grand gestures, but in the quiet persistence of being better.
I pull out my phone and text Kingston again.
Me: You ever screw everything up and still hope it’ll work out?
Kingston: Every damn day.
Me: How do you keep showing up?
Kingston: Because people are worth it. Even when they don’t believe it yet.
I stare at the screen and let out a breath.
Natalie might not believe in me.
But I believe in her.
And maybe, just maybe, I can prove I’m worth believing in too.