Chapter 3
three
. . .
Sophie
On Wednesday morning, I find a photograph that’s been slid through the gap under the diner’s back door. The same gap exists in every old building in town. Nobody bothers to fix it because this is Lush Hollow and nothing bad happens here.
Except it does. I know that better than most.
The photo is printed on plain copy paper, slightly blurred, but clear enough.
It’s me. Standing behind the counter after the lunch rush yesterday, laughing at Roz doing her ridiculous impression of the county health inspector.
I look completely unguarded. Happy. Like a woman who doesn’t know she’s being watched.
Because I didn’t know.
That’s the part that twists my stomach. Not the photo itself. The fact that I let myself forget, even for a second.
I stand at the back door, cold air curling around my ankles, early morning silence pressing in. Then I fold the photo in half, slip it into my apron pocket, and go back to the espresso machine.
Growing up with three Wilde men taught me that when something goes wrong, you have two choices: fall apart or get moving. Falling apart is a luxury I can’t afford.
I make thirty-seven coffees, four hot chocolates, and enough plates of eggs to feed a small army.
I smile at every table. I remember each order.
I ask Mrs. Callahan about her hip and tell Dani her new haircut looks good.
I talk Roz out of changing the soup special because that’s what people come in for on Wednesdays.
I’m good at this.
But the photo sits in my apron pocket like a boulder. Every time I move, I feel its weight.
Someone stood in the alley outside the window I pass forty times a shift. They watched me laugh. And I let myself look unguarded.
You know better.
I had known better. For months, I’ve been tracking each unfamiliar face and checking every car that sat for too long near where I live or work. But one laugh was all it took.
I won’t do that again.
Logan walks in at his usual time.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
He settles onto his stool and sets his notebook on the counter. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t.” He opens the notebook. “Just said you look tired.”
I don’t reply. I need to get through this shift without cracking open in front of half the town.
I move to the other end of the counter and restock the cup hooks and tell myself the relief settling in my ribs comes from a person I trust being in the room.
At two-seventeen, I retreat to the break room and sit on the overturned milk crate Roz calls a chair. I breathe through the tightness in my stomach until it loosens.
The craving hits at two forty-five. Not for alcohol—I swore off that years ago—but for the familiar urge to make it all stop by finding an exit.
I breathe through that too.
Not today.
By four o’clock, the lunch crowd is gone, Dani’s shift is over, and it’s just me, Roz, and the quiet before dinner service. I should go home, but I don’t want to leave the safety of the diner.
Still, I do.
With my keys in hand, I walk to my truck. I’m angry at the photo, at the situation, and unfairly at Logan. If he hadn’t turned me down when I was nineteen, I never would’ve left Lush Hollow. I wouldn’t have come back carrying all this baggage.
I need someone to blame. Today, it’s him.
He’s leaning against the bed of my truck.
I stumble but catch myself. He looks like he did the day the Sarah Jenkins case broke: watchful and unmovable.
I stop ten feet away. Otherwise, I might throw myself into his arms, and that would be even more embarrassing than what happened nearly ten years ago.
He doesn’t say anything.
I want to sag with relief, and I hate that, so I straighten instead. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I know.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile.
I cross the rest of the distance. Close enough that I can smell coffee and pine. “Why now?”
“You’ve looked different. Yesterday, I ran the plate on a car I keep seeing around town.”
My muscles loosen a fraction. Eli and I aren’t the only ones who noticed it. “And?”
“Shell LLC out of Nevada. Goes cold fast. I called a friend at Seattle PD. Waiting to hear back.”
“Logan—”
“You don’t owe me your story right now.” His voice is low and steady. “But I’m driving you. I’m walking through your apartment. I’ll ask you three questions you don’t have to answer yet. Then I’ll leave, and you lock both deadbolts.”
I stare at him. He stares back.
It’s been almost ten years since he turned me down. One month since I wouldn’t bid on his basket. And yet here he is.
I hand him the keys. “There’s something I want to show you when we get there.”
We drive in silence. When we reach my apartment, Logan takes in the low ceilings, the tall windows, and the row of bartending books above the sink.
“It’s small,” I say.
“It’s you.” He closes the door behind us. “What did you want to show me?”
I pull the photo out of my apron pocket and set it on the kitchen table.
His hand flattens on the wood. “When did you find this?”
“This morning. Under the back door.” I swallow. “There was a text the other day. My address. I deleted it.”
Logan nods slowly. “Tell me what this could be about.”
I fill the kettle to keep my hands busy. When it whistles, I fill two cups, drop a vanilla teabag in one mug and a lemon ginger in the other. He takes the lemon ginger. I didn’t expect that.
I sit across from him and force the words out.
“I bartended at a place on Capitol Hill. It was everything I wanted. Nice crowd, good tips, creative freedom. I took the recycling out every night. Five minutes of quiet before last call. One night I went out… Three men were in the alley.”
Logan sips his tea. I fiddle with my mug, unsure my hands are steady enough to lift it.
“Two were in the middle of a deal. Cash and product sit on the dumpster lid in plain sight. The third man stood at the far end of the alley. Standing in the dark.”
“Watching?”
Nodding, I curl both hands around the mug. Warmth seeps into my palms. “The two closest to me got into an argument. Then, the buyer pulled out a gun and fired. The dealer went down. The third man saw me see him.”
Logan is quiet, as if he knows there’s more.
My tea has gone lukewarm. I take a sip. “The detective who took my statement said the third man matched a file they’d been building. Something about operations up and down the I-5 corridor. They’d never gotten anyone who could place him at a scene. Until me.”
“His name?”
“No idea. I held it together until I got a text that said one word.” I make myself say it. “Sloppy.”
Logan doesn’t move.
“I came back to Lush Hollow after that. I told Jesse I was burnt out. I told Mason I’d missed the mountain. I told Eli I needed a soft place to land. I didn’t tell any of them what happened because telling them meant they would do something about it. I couldn’t risk it. Them.”
“You could’ve come to me.”
I nearly laugh. “You would do something about it, too.”
“Yeah.” Logan’s voice is even. “I would. Will.”
The photo sits between us on the table. “He waited six weeks after I came home. First call. Blocked. No voice on the line. Just breathing. The texts started a month after that.”
His mouth parts. “This has been going on the entire time you’ve been back?”
“Yes, but seeing that car and this picture… I don’t know what to do now.”
“You let me handle this.”
My eyes sting. “I don’t want to run again.”
“You’re not running.” He stands and rounds the table slowly, giving me time to pull away. When I don’t, he cups the side of my neck, his thumb brushing my jaw. “Not again.”
The touch undoes me. “Logan…”
“Please, Sophie. The thought of you leaving again… The first time killed your family and—”
“And…?”
“Me,” he admits. “I handled everything wrong. If I could do it over… I wouldn’t have turned you down. I thought I was doing what was right. I only hurt you. And that hurt me. I’m… sorry.”
I close the distance and kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s ten years of wanting and hurting. His hand tightens in my hair as he kisses me back, deep and hungry, as if he’s been waiting just as long. A low sound rumbles in his chest. I feel it everywhere.
I pull back first, breathing hard. His eyes are darker, almost black.
“Any regrets?” I whisper.
“None.” His thumb traces the corner of my mouth. “Not a single one.”
“Thank you,” I say. “For driving me home. For this.”
He rests his forehead against mine, then steps back. “You’ll be okay alone tonight?”
I get the feeling he’s asking if he could stay. A kiss was one thing. Anything more feels like too much, too fast. “Yeah. Go home, and we can talk tomorrow.”
A muscle moves in his jaw. “Lock both deadbolts. Call if you need me. “
“I will.”
He leaves.
I lock the door, rest my forehead against the wood, and touch my lips.
Tomorrow will be a new day. I have no idea what it’ll bring with Logan or whoever took that photo. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel completely alone.