Chapter 40
Mac
"Thanks for coming," Mac said, accepting the coffee. He hadn't slept or eaten. The fight with Rachel played on repeat in his mind all night.
You chose Derek over my word.
She was right.
"Let's get this done," Cole said simply. "You need to fix things with Rachel before the town hall. We need you two united."
They approached the counter where a barista Mac vaguely recognized. A female, maybe twenty year old, college student, had that perpetually tired look all baristas seemed to have, was wiping down the espresso machine.
"Hi, good morning there," Mac said. “Can I ask you a question?”
The barista, her nametag said JESS, looked up, recognition crossing her face. “Shoot.”
"I need to ask about Monday morning. Around ten AM. Do you remember a woman sitting alone in the corner booth? Brown hair, gray cardigan, working on a laptop?"
"Oh yeah, the librarian. Rachel, right? She comes in like twice a week. Always gets an oatmeal latte with extra foam and two sugars."
Something loosened in his chest. "She was alone?"
"Yeah, totally alone. She sat in the corner booth for like an hour, maybe an hour and a half? Worked on her laptop the whole time. Looked stressed." Jess paused, frowning. "Why?"
"Did anyone sit with her? Talk to her?"
"Nope. She was by herself. I remember because I felt bad, she looked like she was dealing with something heavy."
Cole stepped forward. "This is important. Is there any chance someone could have sat across from her without you noticing?"
Jess thought about it. "I mean, it was busy Monday morning. But I would have noticed if someone joined her. She was in the corner booth, I have a clear sightline from the counter. She was definitely alone."
"Do you have security cameras?" Mac asked, every muscle tight.
"Yeah, the owner has cameras. For insurance or whatever." Jess gestured to the corners of the shop. "Two cameras. One covers the counter, one covers the seating area."
Twenty minutes later, Harold the owner, a man in his fifties with a graying beard and Red Sox cap, had pulled up the security footage on his laptop.
"Someone's been harassing Rachel?" Harold said, already scrubbing through files. "She's one of my regulars. Sweetest person."
Mac and Cole watched the screen: Rachel enters The Grind, ordering at the counter, taking her latte to the corner booth. Settling in with her laptop. Working intently, occasionally sipping coffee, completely absorbed in whatever she was doing.
Alone.
No one sat with her. No one approached her table.
"Wait," Mac said suddenly. "Go back. Around 10:15."
Rick rewound.
And there, in the background, near the door, a figure in a dark jacket. Standing. Watching Rachel from across the shop. Holding up a phone.
Taking a photo.
"That's him," Mac said, his voice cold with fury. "That's Matthews."
Cole leaned closer to the screen. "That's stalking."
Harold transferred the footage to a thumb drive and handed it to Mac. "I’m so sorry this creep is bothering, Rachel. I’ll keep an eye out for him. Tell Rachel next coffee's on the house."
Mac sat in his truck outside The Grind, staring at the thumb drive in his hand.
The footage proved Rachel was alone which he knew in his heart but something darker followed it. She shouldn't have to prove herself, she was right. But neither should I.
He'd doubted her. For five minutes. And she'd looked at him like he'd betrayed everything they'd built.
When do I get the benefit of the doubt? Mac thought, then immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
But the thought lingered.
Mac hung up and drove to the library, his stomach churning with nerves.
Rachel
Rachel was re-shelving books in the romance section, ironic, given her life, when Mrs. Henderson appeared beside her with that knowing expression that meant a lecture was coming.
"You look terrible, dear," Mrs. Henderson observed.
"Thank you. That's very helpful."
"I'm not trying to be helpful. I'm trying to be honest." Mrs. Henderson took the books from Rachel's hands. "Talk to me. What happened?"
Rachel's composure cracked. The whole story poured out: Derek's photo, Mac's doubt, the fight, the devastation of not being believed.
Mrs. Henderson listened without interrupting. When Rachel finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"This arrogant fellow sounds like a professional liar," Mrs. Henderson said finally. "And he's very good at creating doubt."
"But Mac should have believed me without needing proof."
"Yes. He should have. And I suspect he's realized that by now." Mrs. Henderson squeezed Rachel's hand. "But ask yourself. Do you want to lose Mac over this? Him doubting you for all of five minutes? You also have to trust him. Do you want Derek to drive you apart?"
Before Rachel could respond, the library door opened. Mac walked in, looking like he hadn't slept, carrying his laptop with desperate determination on his face.
Rachel froze.
Mrs. Henderson squeezed Rachel's shoulder. "I'll give you two privacy." She gave Mac a look that clearly communicated: Don't mess this up again.
Mac
"Rachel," Mac said, his voice rough. "Can we talk? Please?"
Rachel stood there, arms crossed, but nodded. “Let’s go out back.”
They walked into the smaller lunch room in the back, with more privacy. Rachel could swear Mrs. Henderson looked disappointed.
"I need to show you something." Mac opened his laptop on a nearby table. "I should have believed you immediately without needing proof. But I was an idiot, and I'm so sorry."
He pulled up the footage. "This is Monday morning. 9:47 AM. The Grind."
They watched together, Rachel entering alone, sitting alone, working alone.
"I told you I was alone."
"I know. And you shouldn't have had to prove it. That’s not why I went there." Mac fast-forwarded to 10:15. "But look. There. That's Derek. Watching you from across the shop. Taking photos without your knowledge."
Rachel stared at the screen, her face going pale. "So he was watching me?"
"The whole time. He took that photo to make it look like you were meeting with someone, but he manipulated the angle." Mac turned to face her fully. "Rachel, I'm so sorry."
Rachel's eyes were filling with tears. "You hurt me, Mac."
"I know. And I hate myself for it."
"You immediately assumed I was lying to you." Rachel's voice cracked. "That's what Brad did. That's exactly what Brad did."
"I'm not Brad—"
"Then why did you act like him?"
Mac felt like he was being gutted. "You're right. I did. And there's no excuse for that."
Rachel looked at the footage for a long time. Derek watching her and photographing her.
"I believe you're sorry," Rachel said finally. "And I understand why the photo looked convincing."
"But?"
"But Mac, I need you to hear this." She met his eyes, and her voice was steady. "If this happens again, if you doubt me over someone else's lies, I won't defend myself. I won't beg you to believe me. I'll just leave."
Mac flinched. "Rachel—"
"I'm not saying this to threaten you. I'm saying it because I've done this before. It destroyed me." She took a breath. "I won't do it again. Not even for you."
"I understand."
"You get one pass, Mac. This was it. From now on, you believe me first and investigate second. That's the only way this works."
Mac nodded slowly. "I can do that."
"Good." Rachel took his hand. "Because I love you. And I want this to work. But I love myself enough not to repeat my past."
It wasn't forgiveness. Not completely. But it was a boundary set. Mac would spend the rest of his life making sure he never crossed it, Rachel was sure of that.
"So," Mac said after a moment, "on a scale of one to ten, how badly did I screw up? And be honest. I can take it."
"Eleven."
"Ouch."
Mac pulled her closer, his hand sliding to her waist. "I'm sorry. Truly sorry. And I'm going to spend a very long time making this up to you."
"Yes, you are."
"Starting now?" Mac's voice dropped lower, his thumb tracing circles on her hip through her shirt.
Rachel looked up at him, her breath catching at the heat in his eyes.
She nodded.
Mac kissed her gently at first, carefully, like she might break.
But Rachel made a small sound of frustration and kissed him back harder, her hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer.
Mac groaned against her mouth, his control slipping.
His hands slid down to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him so she could feel exactly how much he wanted her.
"Rachel," he breathed against her lips, then kissed her deeper, his tongue sliding against hers.
Rachel's hands moved to his hair, tugging slightly, and Mac made a sound low in his throat that sent heat pooling through her.
He walked her backward until her back hit the wall, his body pressed against hers, one hand braced beside her head while the other gripped her thigh, hitching her leg up around his hip.
"God, I missed you," Mac murmured against her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point.
Rachel arched into him, her breath coming faster. "Mac—"
He kissed her again, slow and deep and thorough, like he was trying to memorize the taste of her. When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Mac rested his forehead against hers. His hands were still on her hips, thumbs stroking the bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.
"I really am sorry," he whispered, his voice rough.
They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, neither quite ready to let go. Mac's hands moved up her sides, achingly slow, and Rachel shivered.
"We should—" she started.
"I know." Mac kissed her once more, soft and sweet this time. Then he stepped back, reluctantly, putting space between them. "Business."
Rachel smoothed down her shirt, her cheeks flushed. "Right. Business. We have the town hall meeting Friday. We still need to expose Derek. United front."
"United front," Mac agreed, his eyes still dark with want.
"After the town hall, after Derek is dealt with, we'll talk more. About us. About what happens next."
"Okay."
Rachel had given him one pass. One chance. One mistake and she'd leave.
Mac accepted her boundary. Of course he did. It was fair and it was reasonable.
But driving to practice afterward, his hands tight on the wheel, he couldn't shake a creeping unease.
Was that trust? Or was that keeping one foot out the door?