Chapter 17 #2
Last night’s talk with Nate accomplished nothing. We circled the same arguments—him insisting Daniel has ulterior motives, me insisting it’s just business—until we both gave up and went to bed exhausted.
Saturday morning, I’m at the kitchen table reviewing the contracts Daniel sent when my phone rings. I answer.
"Harper, we have a problem." Daniel’s smooth voice has an urgent edge. "The Sinclair family’s lawyer can only meet Monday evening. If we don’t get signatures then, they’re moving forward with a different investment."
"Monday’s my cake tasting." The words are out before I can stop them.
"Cake tasting?" He laughs, soft and patronizing. "Harper, this is four hundred thousand dollars in private funding—matching the funds I promised. Surely that trumps frosting flavors?"
Nate walks in from feeding Duke, and Daniel’s voice is audible through the phone. Nate’s whole body tenses.
"I need to discuss this with Nate," I say.
"Of course. But Harper? This is non-negotiable. Monday at seven, or we lose them."
I hang up, and Nate and I stare at each other across the kitchen.
"Let me guess," he says. "Another urgent meeting that can’t possibly wait."
"The Sinclair family. The four hundred thousand in matching funds, Nate. But their lawyer can only meet Monday."
"Our cake tasting is Monday."
"I know."
"Which you’re choosing to miss."
"I’m not choosing anything! This is their lawyer’s schedule—"
"I’ll come with you." His jaw is set, determined. "To the dinner."
"That’s ridiculous."
"Why? I’m co-director. This affects me too."
"Because it’ll be awkward. Daniel already set it up with just me—"
"Of course he did." Nate’s voice is bitter. "Because Daniel always needs you alone."
"Or because I handle the PR and documentation side, which is what they want to discuss. We’ve been over this."
"Right. Documentation. At a dinner. On a Monday night. That just happens to conflict with our wedding planning."
My temper spikes. "You think Daniel somehow orchestrated the lawyer’s schedule?"
"I think Daniel takes any opportunity to get you alone, and you keep giving them to him."
We’re interrupted by Nate’s phone buzzing. He glances at it, his face shifting instantly.
"What?"
"Breech birth at Henderson’s. Calf in distress."
Of course. Another emergency, just when we need to talk.
"Go," I say, exhausted. "Save the calf."
"We’re not done discussing Monday."
"Yes, we are. I’m going to the dinner. We need that funding."
"You mean you need Daniel’s attention."
The words hang between us like a slap.
"That’s not—" But he’s already grabbing his keys, heading out.
"I’ll be back late," he says, not looking at me. "Don’t wait up."
The door slams, leaving me alone with Duke and the growing realization that we’re spiraling toward something neither of us knows how to stop.
I text June:
Might need to reschedule cake tasting.
Her response is immediate:
Harper Elizabeth Lane. Do NOT.
But I’m already texting Daniel:
Monday at 7 works. Send me the restaurant details.
Each choice feels like a step away from Nate, from our wedding, from the future we planned. But I can’t seem to stop making them.
Maybe it’s because part of me wonders if he’s right—if I am choosing Daniel’s attention over our relationship.
Or maybe I’m just tired of being accused of things I’m not doing, so I might as well do them.
Either way, Monday’s dinner just became inevitable.
***
Monday evening arrives too fast. I’m sitting across from Daniel at Marcello’s—our place, mine and Nate’s, though lately it's starting to feel more like mine and Daniel's—trying to focus on the Sinclair contract papers spread between our wine glasses, while everything feels wrong.
“The Sinclairs are particular about their investments,” Daniel says, refilling my glass before I can protest. “They want to know the people behind the projects, not just the numbers.”
“Makes sense.” I take a small sip, determined to stay sharp. “When are they arriving?”
“Actually, there’s been a change.” He doesn’t look remotely apologetic. “Their lawyer had to reschedule to tomorrow. But since we’re here, we might as well go over the preliminary paperwork.”
My stomach drops. “They’re not coming?”
“Tomorrow lunch instead. More professional than dinner, don’t you think?”
I stare at him, Maya’s warning echoing in my head. “You knew they weren’t coming when you called me Saturday.”
“The change just happened an hour ago.” His smile doesn’t waver, but something flickers in his eyes. “Besides, this gives us time to strategize without the pressure.”
“Daniel—”
“You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” He leans forward, his hand brushing mine as he reaches for a contract page. “That dress is stunning.”
I pull my hand back. “We should focus on the contracts.”
“Of course.” But his eyes linger on my face, drop to my neckline, then return. “Though I have to say, Nate’s a lucky man. Does he tell you that?”
“That’s not appropriate.”
“Just an observation.” Another ‘accidental’ touch as he passes me a pen. “You seem tense. Everything okay at home?”
I shift my chair back, putting space between us. “Everything’s fine.”
“Really? Because you seem to be spending less time on wedding planning and more time in meetings with me.” He swirls his wine, watching me. “Having doubts?”
“How would you know anything about my wedding planning?”
“Small town. Everyone knows everything.” He leans back and studies me. “Mrs. Henderson mentioned seeing you at my office three times last week instead of at the bakery for your appointments.”
“Mrs. Henderson should mind her own business.”
“She cares about you. The whole town does. They’re all wondering if the wedding’s still happening.
”He holds my gaze. “I care about you, Harper.” His foot brushes mine under the table—definitely not accidental.
“If you’re having doubts, you should honor them.
Not everyone’s meant for small-town life forever. ”
I tuck my feet tightly under my chair. “I’m not having doubts.”
“No? Because from what I’ve seen, Nate doesn’t appreciate what he has.” His hand moves across the table, fingers nearly touching mine. “You’re brilliant. Ambitious. You deserve someone who celebrates that, not someone who resents it.”
“Nate doesn’t resent—”
“Doesn’t he? Then why are you here alone?” His fingers graze my wrist. “Why does every opportunity you pursue become a fight?”
I pull my hand away, placing both in my lap. “We should review these contracts and call it a night.”
“Harper.” He says my name like it means something more. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I see how unhappy you’ve been.”
The words hit too close to the truth. I have been unhappy. But not for the reasons he thinks.
“I’m engaged, Daniel. I'm getting married in six weeks.”
“Six weeks is a long time.” His smile makes my skin crawl. “A lot can change.”
I stand abruptly. “I need to go.”
“We haven’t finished—”
“Email me what needs to be looked at. I’ll review it at home.” I grab my purse, my coat, desperate to be anywhere but here.
He stands too, throws cash on the table. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“I’m fine.”
But he’s already beside me, his hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the door.
And I realize, too late, that Nate was right about everything.
Daniel insists on walking me to my car despite my protests, his hand firm on my lower back as we exit Marcello’s. I’m anxious to leave, skin still crawling from his touches during dinner.
“Thanks for dinner. Send me those contract edits,” I say, fumbling for my keys, hands shaking—anger and discomfort, not from the wine I barely touched.
“Harper, wait.” He catches my arm as I reach my car door. “We’re not done talking.”
“Yes, we are.” I try to pull away, but he backs me against my car.
“You feel it too, don’t you? This connection?” His hands are on my shoulders now, holding me in place.
“Daniel, stop.” I push against his chest. “I’m engaged.”
“To someone who doesn’t appreciate you.” He leans closer. “You could have so much more.”
“Let go.” I shove harder, but he’s stronger than me.
That’s when I see her—Mrs. Henderson coming out of the pharmacy across the street. She stops, stares, and I know exactly what this looks like. Me pressed against my car. Daniel crowding me. My hands on his chest.
“Mrs. Henderson!” I call out, desperate, but she’s already hurrying away, phone in hand.
Daniel finally steps back, smirking. “Small towns. Everyone sees everything, right?”
The implication slams into me. He wanted this. Wanted someone to see us like this.
“You planned this.” My voice shakes with rage.
“Planned what? Having a business dinner?” His smile is pure innocence. “I can’t control what people think they see.”
My phone starts buzzing.
June:
Mrs. H just called. Says you’re all over Daniel in Marcello’s parking lot. WHAT IS HAPPENING?
Then Maya:
Harper, whatever Mrs. Henderson thinks she saw, come to the bar. NOW.
And then the one that makes my blood run cold.
From Nate:
Don’t come home tonight.
“Trouble in paradise?” Daniel asks, reading my face.
“You manipulative bastard.”
“I’m a businessman, Harper. I see what I want and I go after it.” He walks toward his Mercedes. “The offer stands—the funding and everything else. When you’re ready to upgrade your life, you know where to find me.”
He drives away, leaving me shaking against my car, sick with the realization that I walked right into this. Mrs. Henderson’s version is already spreading through town like wildfire. By morning, everyone will know Harper Lane was in Daniel Reeves’ arms in the parking lot.
I text Maya:
Coming to the bar. It's not what it looks like. He cornered me.
But I know how it looks. And Daniel got exactly what he wanted—me compromised, Nate furious, and our relationship hanging by a thread just weeks before our wedding.
The worst part? Nate warned me. He saw this coming from the beginning, and I was too stubborn to listen.