21. Kate #2
She laughs, short and brittle.
“Josie died carrying his child, and he’s playing house with…what, some art teacher from god-knows-where?”
She’s talking like he’s not in the room, like I’m not sitting right here, breathing through the ache her words leave behind.
Josie died carrying his child.
The words hit harder than I expect, like someone yanked the floor out from under me. My stomach twists so sharply I nearly flinch.
The air around me thins. I’m suddenly too aware of every eye in the room, of Parker looking up from his chair, confused, of Blaze lifting his head like even he can feel something is wrong.
My fingers tremble under the table. I can’t look at Noah. I can’t look at anyone. Shame and panic crawl up my spine like a tide I can’t hold back.
I’ve been here a month. I’ve tried to be careful. Kind. Small. But Tara sees through me, straight to the part I’ve been working so hard to keep hidden.
You don’t belong here.
She doesn’t have to say it again. I already hear it in my head—echoing from every room I ever left behind. From every guarded dinner table and every whispered conversation back home.
My heart beats like it’s trying to escape. And for a terrifying second, I want to grab Parker and run. Disappear. Before it all unravels.
The blood drains from my face.
I feel like I’ve been slapped, right in front of everyone. Parker stirs in his chair, confused, and I can’t even meet his eyes. My chest constricts.
“She’s hiding something,” Tara goes on, voice deceptively light. “Come on, look at her. Does anyone really believe a woman like that just... ends up here? Like some wandering saint with a paintbrush and no past?”
My throat tightens, vision blurring for a second like the floor has gone uneven. My heartbeat slams harder, a warning drum I can’t silence.
Noah’s chair scrapes back.
He rises slowly, hands braced on the table, voice low and controlled but lethal in its edge.
“She’s not random,” Noah says, voice like flint striking steel. “And if you have something to say, say it to me.”
Tara laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, I am. Trust me. You moved on didn’t you? The new princess is here, and you’ve forgotten all about Josie?”
My heart stutters. I see Rachel’s eyes widen. Emily makes a small, strangled sound under her breath, and Margaret leans forward like she might actually throw her coffee at Tara.
Elaine stands. “You will not speak about Josie like that. And you will not speak to Kate like that, either.”
But Tara doesn’t stop. She pivots toward Noah like she’s trying to drag him into the fire with her.
“She’s not who you think she is,” she spits. “You think she fits here? You really believe someone like her belongs in Porthaven? Look at her. She’s hiding something. And I promise you, Noah, whatever it is—when it comes out, it’ll ruin you.”
“Every word slices deeper, leaving me raw. I can’t breathe, can’t move. I just stand there, absorbing the hit.”
Noah's eyes turn dark, jaw tight.
“You don’t get to come in here and do this,” he says, voice dangerously calm. “Not to her. You have something to say about me? Fine. Say it. But you leave Kate out of it.”
“She doesn’t belong here,” Tara hisses. “And one day, you’ll see I was right.”
She storms out before anyone can respond, slamming the door so hard the bell stutters on its hook.
Silence settles, thick and stunned.
Elaine closes her eyes, rubbing her temple. “I am so sorry,” she says quietly. “Tara’s... not herself lately.”
Noah sits beside me again, his knee brushing mine. He doesn’t take my hand this time, but his presence is steady beside me, protective and quiet, but still simmering.
I swallow and nod, even though my chest feels hollow and tight.
I force myself to keep going.
I flip to the next page in my binder like I didn’t just get gutted in front of half the town. My voice comes out a little too high, a little too rushed.
“I have a list of potential vendors for lighting,” I say. “There’s this one I remember, they handled my…uh….this high-end party in New York. The name’s Wickham & Reed. They do those exclusive garden installations with the chandelier lights and floral arches. Very… very visual-forward.”
Emily’s head tilts. “Wickham & Reed?”
“Oh,” Beverly pipes up, brows rising. “That’s not a vendor you just come across . They only do society events. Galas. I’ve read about them in Town & Country. ”
Dottie narrows her eyes. “You’ve worked with them before?”
I freeze. My stomach clenches.
“I….uh….no. I uh... found them online. Pinterest, maybe,” I lie quickly, brushing my hair behind my ear. “They have a beautiful website.”
Their eyes stay on me a moment too long.
I can feel it happening. The subtle shift. The suspicion. I offer a weak smile.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing back my chair. “I need the restroom.”
I don’t remember standing. Don’t remember walking.
The door closes behind me with a soft thud, sealing me in quiet.
The silence presses in, thick and humming with the echo of Tara’s words.
I grip the sink with both hands, knuckles white, willing myself not to fall apart. But the tears sting anyway—burning the backs of my eyes, hot and humiliating.
Josie died carrying his child.You don’t belong here.She’s hiding something.
God, she didn’t even have to know the truth to gut me that cleanly.
I stare at my reflection. My makeup’s still intact, my hair mostly in place—but it’s a mask. A thin layer of polish over the panic roiling beneath.
I don’t look like someone who belongs here. I look like someone pretending.
Pretending to be normal.Pretending to be worthy of Noah.Pretending I can keep this secret without it all exploding in my face.
I draw a shaky breath and reach into my purse. The envelope’s still there. Still heavy with everything I haven’t said.
A check. A lie. A lifeline.
I pull it out and unfold it. My real name stares back at me in looping cursive.
Katherine Sinclair
I told myself it was just a donation. That it didn’t matter. But that’s only half true.
The truth is, I wanted to help. Because this town—this sleepy, windswept, imperfect little place—has given me more peace in a few months than I ever had growing up behind locked gates and curated smiles.
And I love it. The café, the firehouse, the women who hug first and ask questions later. I love Parker’s laughter echoing through Ava’s back garden. I love the way Noah holds my hand like he’s not afraid of who I’ve been. Like maybe, just maybe, he sees who I want to be. I’ve fallen for it all.
Almost as hard as I’ve fallen for him.
And this check… it wasn’t about buying my place here.
It was about contributing to something that finally feels like home.
But I couldn’t sign it as Kate Montgomery. Not without raising questions. Not without exposing the past I’ve worked so hard to leave behind. So I used the name I swore I’d never write again. Not to be seen—but to stay hidden
I thought if I kept it quiet, anonymous, it wouldn’t really matter.
But now I know better.
It does matter. Because hiding one part of me means hiding all of me. And if Noah finds out like this—through whispers or worse, through Tara—I’ll lose him before I ever get the chance to explain.
I fold the envelope again, slower this time. The edges are soft now, worn from all the times I’ve taken it out, debated it, and tucked it away again.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirror. Same eyes, but something in them has shifted.
I’m not just running anymore. I’m rooted here. Which means I can’t keep hiding.
I slip the envelope back into my purse and square my shoulders. My hands are steadier now.
Because the truth is going to come out. Maybe not today, maybe not the way I planned—but secrets always find the light.
And when that moment comes, I want to be the one to tell it.
A soft knock sounds at the door.
“Kate?”
His voice is gentle, rough at the edges.
I quickly wipe my face and crack the door an inch. He’s standing there—worried, open, his hand braced on the frame like he’s holding himself back from barging in.
“You okay?”
I try to nod, but it wobbles. “Not really.”
His jaw tenses. I see it—the part of him that wants to go after Tara, to burn the whole place down if it’ll make me feel safe.
“She had no right—”
“I know,” I say, and my voice shakes despite everything I’m trying to hold together. “It’s not about her. I just… need a second.”
His gaze searches mine. Not pushing. Just there. Steady in a way that makes something crack open inside me.
“Take your time,” he says softly. “I’ll cover for you.”
I nod my head. “I will. I just need to breathe a minute.”
He nods, slowly.
I manage a faint smile and close the door again. The room falls quiet.
I consider the envelope in my purse again.
Not yet.