CHAPTER 53
The heat pressed down from early morning.
The air was thick, humid, and clinging to the skin.
Nina stood in the shade of a white tent the volunteers had set up near the finish line, handing out water to the marathon runners.
The race was a fundraiser for cardiac rehabilitation for children—something far more personal to her than just another charity event.
She knew all too well what it meant to fight for someone’s health.
The plastic bottles had long since lost their chill, but the runners still accepted them gratefully. Sweat streamed down their faces, their shirts stuck to their backs, their breath came ragged—yet none of them stopped. Each fought for their next yard.
Nina picked up another bottle. Her fingers felt the thin sheen of moisture on the plastic. She extended it toward the next runner, and as his fingers brushed hers, she automatically lifted her gaze.
For a second—maybe two—time stopped.
Jasper stood in front of her.
His breath came hard and fast, his chest rising and falling in a sharp rhythm.
His face was flushed from the run, hair tousled, sweat beading at his temples.
But most dangerous of all was his look. It caught her, held her, and in that instant, the noise around them faded away.
It was like they were back in the dim bar, slow jazz pulsing, nothing existing except the way he looked at her.
Her fingers were still touching his. She felt the warmth of the plastic heating between them.
Jasper looked away first. He jerked the bottle from her hand and stepped back. Nina’s throat tightened; her breath stumbled. She wanted to say something, anything, but no words came. He glanced at her again—briefly—and his eyes held something like surprise, tension… maybe regret?
Or she imagined it.
What was wrong with her?
Why did his presence strip her defenses so easily?
She inhaled deeply, steadying her breath, reached for another bottle, and handed it to the next runner. But her thoughts drifted back—to the bar, to their strange dance, to the kiss that almost happened.
“You’re here too?” she heard herself say suddenly, as if someone else had spoken for her. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
He looked up at her. His breathing had almost evened out, his expression relaxed—but his eyes were still too tight, almost troubled.
“I run every year,” he said simply. “It’s a tradition.”
Her mouth felt dry.
“I volunteer every year,” she replied, passing water to an exhausted runner. “Strange we’ve never crossed paths.”
It truly was strange. They could have walked past each other for years without noticing. And fate brought them together only when she’d been at the darkest point of her life. As if it had all been inevitable.
Jasper lifted a brow.
“Maybe you were just trying not to notice me,” he said with a faint smirk. But something sharp flickered behind his eyes, the same tension that made her chest tighten painfully.
They fell silent.
Just stared at each other.
And the air between them grew dense, almost palpable, the same heaviness as in the bar. The same slow pull that made her want to step closer and run away at the same time.
Nina offered another bottle to a runner. But Jasper was still there. Still not leaving.
“Lynn’s here too,” he said suddenly, taking a sip from his bottle. “Somewhere behind me. We bet who’d finish first. Looks like I won.”
Nina forced a small smile. And again came that cold pinch under her ribs—that instinct to avoid, escape, hide. She still didn’t know how to look Lynn in the eye.
“I should probably switch places,” Nina murmured, looking away. “Trade spots with one of the other girls.”
Jasper studied her for a moment. His expression softened. His gaze warmed.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “You’re not planning to hide from her forever, are you?”
For some reason, those simple words hit painfully deep.
His words hit exactly where they shouldn’t have. Nina felt something tighten painfully inside her, but she tried to keep her expression calm.
“I’m not hiding,” she said, though even she didn’t believe it. “I just don’t want to make anything awkward.”
Jasper gave her a long, assessing look, then dropped his gaze and squeezed the bottle in his hand, as if he wanted to say something more but changed his mind at the last second.
“I think she’s cooled off,” he said unexpectedly. “She’s angry, sure, but she’s curious. She does want to know who her mother is.”
Nina swallowed. Her throat felt dry. They fell silent again, their eyes locking for a moment, that same strange tension rising between them—tight, heavy, not fully understood by either of them.
Then she noticed someone waving in their direction: Lynn.
She was looking at Jasper, not seeing Nina yet. Nina’s heart clenched sharply, and she instinctively stepped back, but Jasper caught her wrist in a quick, firm motion.
“Stay,” he said quietly, leaning in a little.
She froze.
His fingers closed slightly around her skin, and again she didn’t understand what was happening to her—why every small touch from him knocked the ground out from under her.
Lynn was almost there now, and the tension between them stretched so tight it felt like it might snap.
“No, Jasper, I should go,” Nina whispered, avoiding his eyes. “It’s better this way.”
Before he could answer, she turned away and hurried out of the tent. Her heart pounded, her hands trembled, and her thoughts tangled into chaos.
Why did she react to him like this?
Why was even hearing his voice suddenly too much?
She slipped between the other volunteers, muttering a quick apology to the girl whose shoulder she nearly bumped, and walked fast down the path toward the picnic area.
People were already laying out blankets, setting up tables with fruit and drinks.
A couple of girls arranged plates and baskets of bread.
Nina stopped at the edge of the lawn, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.
She leaned her back against a large oak tree and closed her eyes. She needed to pull herself together. This was just an event. Just a normal day. She came here to help, not to run from people.
She took a sip of hot tea, the paper cup burned her lips, but warmth spread through her chest, evening out her breath.
In her other hand was a simple ham-and-cheese sandwich that, oddly, tasted wonderful.
She chewed slowly, willing herself not to think about Jasper, not to think about his words, or about the way his fingers had wrapped around her wrist.
The far side of the lawn was quiet. Volunteers bustled near the tables, laughing and talking about the runners.
Nina felt like she belonged to this calmer, lighter world—so far removed from everything that had consumed her for months.
She took another sip of tea and allowed herself a brief moment of peace.
But her little refuge shattered instantly.
Two figures were walking down the path toward her. Directly. Purposefully.
Jasper and Lynn.
Nina’s heartbeat spiked.
She coughed, the piece of sandwich catching in her throat. Oh God. Not now. She should have moved, should have walked farther, should have disappeared among the crowd—but her feet refused to budge. The paper cup in her hand bent from how tightly she was gripping it.
Lynn walked ahead of him, carrying a tray of food. Her brow was slightly furrowed, her expression serious. Jasper followed, two cups balanced in his hands. They were getting closer, and Nina felt panic rise like a hot tide under her skin.
She drew a deep breath, but the sandwich crumbs still scratched her throat. She tried to swallow, failed, and broke into a choking cough instead. Heat washed over her face. Her cheeks burned.
She grabbed her cup and took a gulp of scalding tea, trying to force her breathing back under control. Why were they coming straight toward her? There were dozens of free tables around. Why this way?
Jasper noticed her state the second they stopped near her.
“You okay?” he asked.
Nina jerked away slightly, coughed again, swallowed at last and dragged in a shaky breath.
“Yeah… I’m fine,” she managed, blinking rapidly as her eyes watered from the coughing fit. “Just swallowed wrong.”
Jasper stopped in front of her; Lynn stood a little behind him, still holding her tray. Nina kept her gaze down, pretending to fuss with the sandwich, pretending she didn’t feel Lynn’s stare cutting through her.
Lynn said nothing. She simply watched her—quiet, tense, eyes narrowed just a touch. The silence hanging between them felt sharp as glass. Nina’s insides twisted, the familiar instinctive urge to retreat pressing hard, as if she’d been cornered with no way out.
Lynn flicked a quick glance at Jasper, then back to Nina. Nina tried to look unbothered, to look composed, to look like her heart wasn’t ricocheting off her ribs.
“Maybe we should sit,” Jasper said, nodding toward a small table under the nearby canopy. “There’s space over there.”
“I was actually just about to head back,” Nina breathed, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “They need help taking the tents down.”
Jasper gave a short shake of his head, lips tightening like he wanted to argue.
But Lynn suddenly stepped forward. “Let’s just go,” she said sharply—without looking at either of them. Then she pivoted on her heel and walked toward the open table, her stride quick and determined, as if she feared she’d lose her nerve if she slowed down.
Nina froze for a heartbeat, watching her go, unsure what to do.
Jasper exhaled heavily, threw Nina a brief sideways look—a quiet invitation—and followed his daughter.
Nina’s fingers tightened around the now-crumpled paper cup. She forced herself to move, each step making her pulse pound harder.
They settled at the small plastic table under the canopy. The white disposable tablecloth was already wrinkled and stained by dozens of hands and plates—but that was the least of Nina’s worries.
She took the seat across from Lynn, lowering her gaze to her own tightly clasped fingers.
Jasper set the drinks down. Lynn placed her tray.
Both of them were looking at Nina.
Nina felt something tighten inside her—sharp, painful. Maybe it was her heart, or something she’d lost a long time ago.
The three of them sat around the small plastic table, each too wrapped in their own thoughts to start anything resembling a normal conversation.
Jasper kept his gaze schooled, almost unreadable, but Nina could feel how closely he was watching both women, tracking every flicker of emotion.
Lynn pretended to focus on her salad, but her fork moved too slowly, like she was gathering courage for something.
Then, out of nowhere, Lynn lifted her head. She cast a quick glance at Jasper—as if looking for permission or reassurance—before turning to Nina.
“Nina,” she said suddenly. “Would you… want to come with us next Saturday to the animal shelter? Dad and I go every month. We bring food, check on the dogs and cats. Sometimes we take them out for walks.”
Her eyes flicked to her father again, searching. Jasper simply watched her with a faint smile, something in his gaze warmed for a brief second.
Nina froze. Her breath caught.
She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
The shelter? A trip? With them?
For a moment she couldn’t form a single coherent thought.
Did this mean Lynn no longer hated her?
Did it mean she was willing—however hesitantly—to give her a chance?
To get to know her?
Nina had never dared hope for anything like that.
But maybe this was just politeness, an attempt to ease the awkwardness.
Maybe Lynn was trying to prove something to herself that she was strong enough to rise above her anger.
Nina bit her lip, her gaze drifting aside. She didn’t want to disappoint her. And she knew, deep in her bones, that she would endure any amount of discomfort—yes, even Jasper’s complicated presence if it meant being even an inch closer to Lynn.
Lynn must have noticed her hesitation; her brows knitted together, and she looked back down at her plate. Her fork scraped faintly against the plastic, betraying her anxiety.
“If you have other plans,” she added quickly, sounding almost apologetic, “that’s fine. I just remembered it and thought I’d ask. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
Nina caught her cautious glance, and something inside her clenched again.
No. She couldn’t let this chance slip through her fingers.
“No, no, it’s fine!” she blurted out, far too quickly—hands lifting in a little, flustered gesture. “I’d love to go. Really. Thank you for inviting me.”
Lynn froze for a beat, then gave a small nod and went back to her salad. But Nina saw it—how Lynn’s shoulders relaxed just barely, a quiet exhale of relief.
Jasper watched the two of them with a look Nina couldn’t quite decipher, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
And in that moment Nina understood that this was a first step.
A tiny one, unsure and fragile, but a step nonetheless.
Toward becoming someone more to Lynn than a stranger she wished she’d never met.