Chapter 16 #2
"We could drive together, save on gas..." She glances at me, sees my expression, and her enthusiasm dims a little. "Let me check with Nate and get back to you."
She hangs up. We stare at each other across the kitchen island.
"The State Agricultural Conference," she says.
"The biggest agricultural innovation summit in the area.
The Central Plains Innovation Fund will be there—they fund rural education initiatives nationwide.
The plan is to leave Friday, have dinner with the investors, and come back after the conference Saturday evening. "
"And Daniel just happens to have an extra pass."
"He’s a platinum sponsor. He gets multiple passes."
"How convenient."
Harper takes a breath, clearly trying to stay calm. "This is an incredible opportunity, Nate. The connections we could make—"
"We? Or you?"
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"He offered you the pass. Not us. You."
"Because I’m the one who handles the PR and documentation side!"
I stand, needing to move. "And riding together? Three hours each way in his car?"
"To save money."
"He’s a millionaire investor, Harper. He doesn’t need to save gas money."
Her voice cracks with frustration. "Why are you being like this? This is my career. Our center’s future."
"No, this is him wanting you alone for six hours in a car, plus however long the conference is. Not to mention the dinner."
"So what if it is?" She explodes. "So what if he finds me attractive? I’m engaged! I’m marrying you in seven weeks! When did you become so insecure that you can’t handle another man appreciating what you have?"
The words hit hard because they’re true. I am insecure. Because I’ve lost her before.
"You want to know when?" I shoot back. "When you started choosing him over wedding planning. When you stopped texting me back because you’re texting him. When dinner meetings became more important than our time together."
"I’m not choosing—"
"You are! You’re choosing right now. This conference, riding with him, spending the entire weekend—"
"It’s one day! Saturday!"
"With the investor dinner Friday night, right? Having to stay over?"
She goes quiet, caught.
Harper’s eyes fill with tears, but her chin lifts defiantly. "You know what? I’m going. To the dinner and the conference. Because this is my career, my future, and I won’t let your jealousy sabotage it."
"Our future. It’s supposed to be our future."
"Then start acting like you trust me to protect it."
She grabs her bag and heads for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Work. Where my professional goals are supported, not questioned."
The door slams, leaving me alone with Duke and the growing certainty that I’m losing her again. Not because I’m leaving this time, but because I’m holding on too tight.
***
Friday morning arrives like a sentencing. Harper’s overnight bag sits by the door—the same bag she packed for the Wilson farm delivery, which feels like a lifetime ago.
She’s in the bathroom finishing her makeup while I pretend to read veterinary journals at the kitchen table. Duke paces between us, sensing the tension that’s thick enough to choke on.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” she says, emerging with her professional face—the one she wears for interviews, not for me. “Probably eight or nine, depending on when the conference ends.”
“Great.” I don’t look up.
“The dinner tonight is with three potential investors. And I got a hotel room near the conference center.”
My jaw tightens. “A room. Just you?”
“Of course just me.” But there’s a pause, tiny but there. “Daniel booked a block of rooms for all the conference attendees from our group.”
Our group. Like they’re a team now.
I finally look at her, and she’s beautiful in her navy dress—the one that makes her brown eyes look like honey. The one she bought last month for wedding events. Now she’s wearing it for Daniel Reeves.
“Right. Your group.”
A car horn honks outside. Through the window, I see Daniel’s black Mercedes—of course it’s a Mercedes—pulling into our driveway. Our driveway. The audacity of this man.
Harper grabs her bag. “I have to go.”
“He can’t even come to the door?”
“Why would he? You’d probably punch him.”
She’s not wrong. The urge to mark my territory like some caveman is embarrassingly strong.
Harper pauses at the door, something softening in her expression. “Nate, I—”
Another horn honk. Longer this time. Impatient.
The moment breaks. Harper’s face hardens again.
“I’ll text you when I get there,” she says, but we both know she won’t. Or she’ll send something perfunctory—“Arrived safely”—that tells me nothing and everything.
I move to the window, watching her walk to his car. Daniel gets out to take her bag, his hand lingering on her lower back as he guides her to the passenger side. The same spot where my hand belongs. He says something that makes her laugh—the real laugh, not the polite professional one.
Duke presses against my leg, whining low in his throat.
“I know, boy,” I mutter, watching the Mercedes disappear down our road. “I don’t like it either.”
The house feels immediately empty, like Harper took all the warmth with her.
Seven weeks until our wedding, and I’m standing here wondering if she’ll make it back tomorrow night at all, or if Daniel will find reasons to extend their stay.
Another breakfast meeting. Another investor to meet. Another excuse to keep her close.
My phone buzzes. Lucas:
Want to grab a beer tonight?
He knows. The whole town probably knows by now that Harper Lane is driving to the city with Daniel Reeves while her fiancé stands at home like an idiot.
I text back:
Yeah.
Because what else am I going to do? Sit here all night wondering what they’re talking about over dinner? Whether the hotel rooms are actually separate? Whether she’s remembering what it feels like to be pursued instead of suspected?
Duke barks once, sharp and disapproving.
“I know,” I tell him. “I’m handling this all wrong.”
But as I watch the empty driveway, I know something has to change—before there’s nothing left to fight for.
***
By ten PM, I’ve checked my phone at least fifty times. Lucas gave up on me an hour ago, after I spent the whole evening staring at my silent screen instead of engaging in conversation.
“Just text her,” he’d said.
“She said she’d text when she got there.”
“That was seven hours ago, man.”
The math is simple. Three-hour drive—they arrived around noon. It’s been ten hours. Ten hours of nothing.
At 10:47, my phone finally buzzes. I grab it so fast I nearly drop it.
Harper:
Made it to dinner. Very fancy place.
That’s it. No “miss you.” No “wish you were here.” Just facts.
Me:
How’s the investor stuff?
Three dots appear, then disappear. Then appear again.
Harper:
Good. Lots of interested parties.
A photo comes through. Harper at a table with Daniel and three other people I don’t recognize. She’s smiling, wine glass in hand, Daniel’s arm draped over the back of her chair. Not touching her, but close enough to claim space.
I zoom in on her face. She looks happy. Relaxed in a way she hasn’t been around me in weeks.
Me:
When do you think you’ll be home tomorrow?
This time, the response takes twenty minutes.
Harper:
Conference ends at 5. So 8 or 9? Phone dying, forgot charger. Will text in the morning.
Phone dying. The universal excuse for ending conversations you don’t want to have. Harper’s never forgotten a charger in her life. She keeps backups in her car, her purse, her office.
Me:
Be safe.
Read at 11:32 PM. No response.
I try to sleep, but my brain won’t stop. Daniel offering to lend her a charger. Daniel walking her to her room. Daniel suggesting a nightcap to talk about tomorrow’s sessions. Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.
Duke jumps on the bed around two AM, curling up where Harper usually sleeps. He knows something’s wrong. Dogs always know.
My phone sits silent on the nightstand. No good night text. No “thinking of you.” Nothing.
At three AM, I give up and text her:
Can’t sleep without you here.
It delivers, but doesn’t show as read. Either her phone really is dead, or she’s turned it off. Or she’s too busy to check it.
I don’t want to think about that third option.
Dawn comes without sleep, without word from Harper.
The conference starts at nine. She’s probably having breakfast with Daniel and the other investors.
Probably wearing something professional and beautiful.
Probably not thinking about her fiancé, lying awake in their bed, wondering if this is how it ends—not with screaming fights or dramatic exits, but with silence stretching longer and longer until it becomes permanent.
Duke whines, pawing at my arm.
“I know, boy,” I tell him—again. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”
The silence from Harper’s side of the bed feels like an answer in itself.