Chapter 16
Nate
One month later.
The education center’s temporary construction office smells like sawdust and ambition. I’m reviewing blueprints with Harper when Mayor Davidson walks in with a man who makes every instinct in me bristle.
“Nate, Harper, meet Daniel Reeves,” the mayor announces, like he’s presenting royalty. “The city investor I mentioned—he’s interested in matching our federal grant with private funding.”
Daniel Reeves is everything I distrust on sight: expensive suit that’s never seen real work, handshake that tries too hard to be firm, and eyes that slide past me to land—hungrily—on Harper, like she’s the only person in the room.
“Ms. Lane,” he says, holding Harper’s hand a beat too long. “I’ve been following your agricultural journalism. Your piece on sustainable farming in the Statesman was brilliant.”
Harper lights up the way she does when someone truly appreciates her work. “You read that?”
“Every word. In fact, it convinced me to look into this project.” He glances at me, finally. “Dr. Wilder.”
“Mr. Reeves.” I keep my voice professional—though every part of me is on alert. Maybe it’s the scent of expensive cologne, maybe it’s how his smile never quite reaches his eyes. Or maybe it’s just the way he watches my fiancée.
“Please, call me Daniel.” He turns right back to Harper. “I understand you’re spearheading the educational documentation initiative? With the right funding, we could triple the center’s reach—satellite locations, online programs, even another documentary series to follow up on the last one.”
“That’s… ambitious,” Harper says, eyes bright with possibility.
“I prefer ‘visionary,’” Daniel replies with a confident smile. “Your skill in making agriculture accessible to urban audiences is exactly what this expansion needs.”
Harper launches in, animated and passionate about bridging the rural-urban gap through storytelling and hands-on practice. Daniel leans in, nodding at all the right moments, asking questions that make it clear he’s done his homework—on her, most of all.
“Fascinating,” he says when she finally pauses. “We should discuss this further. How about lunch? I’d love to explore how we could expand this vision with new funding.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Harper says, quicker than I’d like. “When were you thinking?”
“Tomorrow? Just the two of us, to focus on the journalism and PR. We can bring in the bigger team after we’ve got the outline for the media strategy.”
My jaw tightens. Of course. Just the two of them.
“I can join,” I offer, not bothering to sound casual. “My schedule’s free tomorrow.”
Daniel’s smile tightens by a millimeter. “I wouldn’t want to bore you with marketing talk, Dr. Wilder. I’m sure the actual construction demands your attention.”
“Nate’s very involved in all aspects,” Harper says, but she’s already checking her calendar. “What time tomorrow?”
They agree on noon while I stand there, trying not to look like the jealous fiancé I’m rapidly becoming. Outside, Duke barks—a single sharp note that echoes my mood.
When Daniel finally leaves, his hand lingers on Harper’s shoulder. “Looking forward to tomorrow, Harper. We’re going to do amazing things together.”
The words hang in the air long after he’s gone, and I hate how they sound like a promise of something more than just investment.
***
That evening, I’m chopping vegetables for dinner with unnecessary force while Harper sits at the kitchen counter, still glowing about Daniel Reeves and his expansion plans.
“Satellite locations, Nate. Can you imagine? We could reach rural communities all over.”
“Mmm.” I keep my eyes trained on the cutting board, the knife thwacking relentlessly against the wood.
“And the documentary series—that could put Willowbridge on the map nationally, not just regionally.”
“Great.”
She finally catches my tone. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Thwack. “Why would anything be wrong?”
“Because you’re murdering that carrot.”
I set the knife down and turn to face her. “I don’t like him.”
“Daniel? You met him for ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes was enough.”
Her excitement dims, defensiveness creeping in. “He’s offering to double our impact, Nate. Maybe even triple it.”
“He’s offering to get you alone for lunch.”
“To discuss PR strategy!”
“Right. Because that requires a private lunch at—let me guess—somewhere fancy in the city?”
“Actually, he suggested Marcello’s. Here in town.” She crosses her arms. “To save me the drive.”
Of course he did. Marcello’s—our place. The restaurant where we had our first date, where I asked her to dinner after fixing her car. This guy’s done his research.
“How thoughtful,” I say, returning to the vegetables.
“Nate.” Harper comes around the counter and puts her hand on my arm. “What’s really going on?”
“The way he looked at you.”
“How did he look at me?”
“Like you were the special on the menu.”
She pulls back. “That’s ridiculous. He’s a professional investor interested in our project.”
“He’s interested in something, but it’s not just the project.”
“You don’t trust me.” Not a question.
“I don’t trust him.”
“Same thing.” Her voice goes cold. “If you trusted me, it wouldn’t matter what his intentions are.”
“That’s not—Harper, come on.”
“No, you come on.” She’s really angry now, that flash in her eyes I remember from our college arguments. “We’re getting married in two months. We’re supposed to be past this jealousy stuff.”
“It’s not jealousy. It’s—”
“It’s you being possessive and controlling.”
It stings because it’s partly true. But I can’t shake the gut feeling—the kind that’s saved countless animals over the years. Something’s wrong here.
“Fine,” I say, though I don’t mean it. “Go to lunch. Discuss your PR strategy.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
We eat dinner in tense silence, Duke looking between us like he’s worried. Harper goes to bed early, saying she needs to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting. I stay up poring over blueprints, trying not to think about her having lunch with Daniel Reeves.
This is different, I tell myself. We’re different.
But when I finally crawl into bed, Harper’s turned away from me, and the space between us feels like a canyon that will only get wider.
***
Two weeks pass, and Daniel Reeves has somehow woven himself into our daily routine like an invasive species I can't uproot.
Harper’s phone buzzes during breakfast. She glances at it, smiles.
"Daniel?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"He found a contact at Modern Farmer who wants to feature the education center."
Her phone buzzes again before I can respond. Then again.
"Does he ever switch off?"
"He's just enthusiastic about the project," she says, typing back, not looking up. "This is good for us, Nate."
Us. Funny how it feels less like 'us' and more like Harper and Daniel—with me as the awkward third wheel in my own education center.
That afternoon, I stop by Harper’s office at the Chronicle to drop off lunch—a peace offering, her favorite sandwich from June’s. She’s on the phone, laughing.
"Daniel, that's brilliant," she says, not noticing me in the doorway. "Yes, dinner Thursday works perfectly."
Dinner. Thursday. That’s the third meeting this week.
She finally sees me and holds up a finger, mouthing one minute. I can hear Daniel's voice through the phone, smooth and confident, making her laugh again. I set the sandwich on her desk and leave without another word.
That evening, she's distracted during wedding planning. June’s showing us flower arrangements, and Harper’s barely glancing.
"Earth to Harper," June says, waving a hand in front of her face. "Roses or peonies?"
"What? Oh, either’s fine."
June and I exchange a look. Harper’s never been 'either’s fine' about anything wedding-related.
"Everything okay?" June asks, careful.
"Perfect! Just thinking about the center. Daniel has this idea for a partnership with the city’s Community College—"
"Daniel has a lot of ideas," I interrupt.
Harper’s eyes narrow. "Ideas that could change everything for rural education."
"Or ideas that mean spending more time with you."
June excuses herself quickly, mumbling something about checking on a cake.
"We're not doing this again," Harper says once we’re alone.
"Doing what? Noticing that he texts you constantly?"
"He texts about work!"
Her phone buzzes on the table. The preview flashes: Can't wait to share my surprise at dinner tomorrow — Daniel.
"Right. The surprise that requires dinner. At eight. Without me."
She stands, shoving her phone in her bag. "You know what? I’m tired of defending perfectly normal business interactions. He's offering to double our funding, Nate. Double. More kids served, more farms saved. More of what we said we wanted."
"I want him to stop looking at you like—"
"Like what? Like I’m competent? Like my work matters?"
"Like he’s imagining you naked."
The words land—ugly, honest, unfixable.
Harper’s face goes cold. "I’m going to Maya's tonight. I need space from... this."
She leaves. I sit surrounded by wedding magazines and flower samples, wondering how we fell from 'three months until perfect' to watching it unravel over texts and dinner meetings.
Duke puts his head on my knee, whining softly.
"I know, boy," I tell him. "I don’t like him either."
But I know it’s not really about Daniel Reeves anymore. It’s about Harper and me, the distance growing, measured in unanswered texts and separate dinners and a wedding she suddenly says 'either’s fine' to.
Two months until the wedding, and I’m starting to wonder if we’ll make it there.
***
Another week passes before Daniel drops his next bomb. Harper and I are having a rare peaceful morning—both trying to pretend things are normal—when her phone rings.
"Daniel! Hi." Her face lights up in a way that makes my coffee taste bitter. "The State Agricultural Conference? This weekend?"
I set down my mug, watching her pace the kitchen as she listens.
"That sounds incredible. The Central Plains Innovation Fund will be there?" She’s practically vibrating with excitement. "And you have an extra pass?"
My jaw clenches. Of course he does.