Chapter 18
Nate
Six AM and I haven’t slept. Duke’s been pacing with me all night, both of us waiting for the sound of Harper’s car that never came. My phone’s been buzzing since midnight—the Willowbridge gossip network working overtime—but I can’t bring myself to read the messages.
Lucas finally just shows up, letting himself in with the spare key.
“She’s okay,” he says first thing. “She’s at our place with Maya.”
“I know.” My voice sounds hollow. I sent the text telling her not to come home after Mrs. Henderson called June, who called Maya, who called Lucas. Small town telephone at its finest.
“You want to know what actually happened?”
“I know what happened. Mrs. Henderson saw them together outside Marcello’s. Harper in Daniel’s arms.”
Lucas grabs two beers despite the early hour, hands me one. “Mrs. H has a tendency to dramatize.”
“She said Harper was pressed against her car with Daniel all over her.”
“She also once said the Johnson’s chickens were possessed by Satan because they laid eggs on a Sunday.”
I can’t even crack a smile. “Harper chose to go to that dinner. After everything, all my warnings, she still went.”
“Because it was for the center—”
“It’s never just been about the center with him, and we both know it.” I take a long pull of beer that tastes like nothing. “I told her he had a plan. I begged her not to go alone.”
Lucas is quiet for a moment. “What did she say when you asked her not to go?”
“That I was being possessive. That it was just business. That I needed to trust her.” The memory of that fight makes my chest constrict. “So I let her go, and look what happened.”
“And after? When Mrs. Henderson saw them?”
“I told her not to come home. Haven’t heard from her since.”
“Nate—”
“I can’t, Lucas. I can’t hear her explanation right now. I can’t look at her and wonder what would have happened if Mrs. Henderson hadn’t walked by.”
“You don’t actually think Harper would—”
“I don’t know what to think.” I set down the beer, hands shaking. “Six weeks before our wedding and she’s in another man’s arms outside our restaurant. What am I supposed to think?”
Lucas shifts uncomfortably. “Maya says Harper was really upset. That Daniel cornered her, that it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It never is, is it?” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “There’s always an explanation. Always a reason. But at some point, Lucas, if it keeps looking bad, maybe it just is bad.”
Duke whines from his spot by the door, still waiting for Harper to come home.
“I warned her. I begged her to see what he was doing. And she chose to go anyway.”
“What are you going to do?” Lucas asks.
I look around our kitchen—her coffee mug from yesterday still by the sink, the wedding magazines scattered on the table, June’s cake testing samples in the fridge because she missed the tasting.
Our life together, built over months of careful reconciliation, and it feels like it’s crumbling all over again.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We need to talk. I just... I need time to figure out how to do that without saying something we can’t take back.”
***
The sound of Harper’s car in the driveway at seven-thirty makes my chest constrict. Lucas left twenty minutes ago after making me promise to actually listen to her. Duke’s already at the door, tail wagging tentatively, confused by the tension.
She walks in looking destroyed—hair pulled back in yesterday’s messy bun, wearing Maya’s oversized college sweatshirt, eyes red and puffy. She sees me at the kitchen table and stops.
“Can I explain?”
“Go ahead.” My voice sounds calmer than I feel.
She moves closer but doesn’t sit. “Daniel said the Sinclairs would be there. When I arrived, he said they’d rescheduled to lunch today. The whole dinner was a setup.”
“But you stayed.”
“To go over contracts. I was trying to salvage something from—”
“You stayed for dinner with a man who’s been pursuing you for weeks.”
“I was trying to be professional!”
“Professional.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Is that what Mrs. Henderson saw? You being professional?”
“He grabbed me, pushed me against my car.”
“He WHAT?” The words come out as a snarl. My fists clench involuntarily. “He put his hands on you?”
“I was pushing him away, Nate. I swear I was pushing him away.”
“I’m going to kill him.” I’m already moving toward the door, seeing red. “He assaulted you—”
“Nate, stop.” Harper’s voice cracks. “Please. That’s not—that’s not what matters right now.”
“Not what matters? He physically—”
For a moment, all I want is Daniel’s head on a pike. But the pain in Harper’s eyes, the tears streaking her face, drag me back from rage to the sickening reality: This isn’t just about him—it’s about what everyone saw, what everyone will believe, and what this means for us.
“What matters is that you were right about him. And I didn’t listen. And now the whole town thinks...” She trails off, tears starting again.
The admission should feel like victory. Instead, it just feels hollow.
My voice cracks. “After our fight, after I begged you not to go alone, you chose to go.”
“I chose wrong.” Tears are streaming down her face now. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry that it happened or sorry you got caught?”
The words hit like a physical blow. Harper staggers back.
“How can you ask me that?”
“Because the whole town saw you in his arms! Because Mrs. Henderson’s been calling everyone since last night! Because our wedding is in six weeks and everyone thinks my fiancée is cheating on me!”
“I’m NOT cheating on you!”
“But it looks like you are!” I’m shouting now, all the hurt and fear pouring out. “And you know what? Perception becomes reality in a town this small. By noon, everyone will have their own version of what happened, and in every single one, you chose him.”
We stand there, breathing hard, both crying, the kitchen island holding us at arm’s length, keeping the war alive.
“What do you want me to do?” Harper asks, voice small. “Tell me how to fix this.”
“I don’t know if you can.”
The words hang between us, heavy with implications neither of us wants to face. Duke whines, sensing the devastation in the room.
“So that’s it?” Harper wipes her face with her sleeve. “One manipulated moment and we’re done?”
“I don’t know,” I repeat, because it’s the only truth I have.
"Is this who we are?" I ask, the question that's been building in my chest finally escaping. "A couple who can't trust each other?"
Harper's hands grip the counter edge. "I trust you."
"But I don't trust you." The admission tastes like poison. "And maybe that's the real problem."
"You don't trust me."
"No. I don't trust you because you keep making the same choices. You get an opportunity, you get tunnel vision, and suddenly nothing else matters."
"That's not—"
"Isn't it? Your internship, now Daniel's funding. You say you're choosing both—career and us—but when push comes to shove, you choose career every time."
Harper's eyes flash. "Like you chose California?"
"I left because my father was dying!"
"But you didn't tell me! You made a choice for both of us without even giving me the option to support you!"
We're circling the same wound we've been prodding for months, maybe years. The pattern we can't seem to break.
"Maybe we're too broken," I say, the words falling into the silence like stones. "Maybe we've hurt each other too much to come back from."
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I?" I run my hands through my hair, suddenly exhausted. "Look at us, Harper. Six months of rebuilding, and one situation with Daniel sends us right back here. You not trusting me enough to listen to my concerns. Me not trusting you enough to believe your explanation. We're just... stuck."
"We're not stuck. We're scared." Harper moves around the island, stopping just out of reach. "You're scared I'll leave. I'm scared you'll push me away. So we both act in ways that make those fears come true."
"Self-fulfilling prophecy."
"Exactly." She takes another step closer. "But we can break the pattern."
"How? Because right now, all I can see is you in Daniel's arms. All the town can see is the gossip. How do we come back from that?"
"You never trusted me," Harper says quietly. "Not fully. Not even before Daniel showed up."
"You gave me reason not to." The words are cruel but honest.
"When? When I went to professional meetings? When I pursued funding for our center? When exactly did I give you reason not to trust me, besides being ambitious and wanting success?"
"When you stopped seeing the warning signs because you wanted the opportunity more than you wanted us."
"I wanted both!"
"But you chose him! You chose that dinner, that car ride, that conference. Every single time, you chose Daniel's opportunity over my concerns."
"Because I thought you were wrong! I thought you were being jealous and possessive!"
"But I was right!"
"Yes!" she shouts. "You were right! But being right doesn't fix this! Being right doesn't make the trust magically appear!"
We stand there, both breathing hard, both realizing we're saying things that can't be unsaid.
"Maybe," Harper says, voice breaking, "maybe we're just two people who loved each other at the wrong time. And now it's too late."
The words hang there like a verdict.
Duke presses against my leg, whimpering at the distress radiating from both of us.
"Six weeks," I say hollowly. "Six weeks until our wedding."
"If we even have one."
Neither of us disagrees.
I can't breathe. The walls of our kitchen—our home—feel like they're closing in. Harper's still standing there, tears streaming down her face, but I can't comfort her. Not when I'm drowning too.
"I need space." The words come out rougher than intended. "I need to think."
"Nate, please—"
"I can't do this right now." I grab my keys, my jacket. Duke starts to follow, but I shake my head. "Stay, boy."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know. Out. Anywhere but here."
"So you're leaving." Her voice is flat. "Just like six years ago."
The accusation stops me at the door. "This is nothing like six years ago."
"Isn't it? Things get hard and you run."