Chapter 4
ISLA
“Isla.”
This time, the voice is deeper and rougher, resonating with a sharp edge that sends my stomach fluttering. I freeze at the sound, my muscles locking into place.
Did I imagine it? I’ve heard that voice only inside my head for a decade.
My eyes dart right: to a playful pair of white sneakers, splattered with ketchup, mustard, and maybe chocolate. It’s chaos embodied.
Then left: polished black work boots planted beneath neatly pressed khaki pants. Broad stance. Authority in every inch. Nothing about those boots is playful.
I didn’t imagine it. I’m not ready for this.
Panic stings my chest. I’m cornered in Pages and Pastries. My sanctuary now feels like a trap with every exit sealed. Every instinct screams at me to bolt, but it’s useless. Wildhaven works too fast. My secret lasted mere hours.
Desperate for safety, I lift my gaze from the food-splattered sneakers, up along a baby-blue sundress, until I meet Eden Wild’s curious eyes.
“There’s no way I can recover from this, is there?”
Eden giggles and extends her hand. Her palm is warm and steady, grounding me in a way I desperately need. “I’m afraid not.”
The sunlight from outside etches a silhouette out of the dim interior—broad chest, muscled arms, hands jammed so deep in his pockets the fabric strains. His whole body is a line of tension.
My heart spikes, sharp and chaotic, like a monitor right before alarms shriek. I shut my eyes, breathing once, twice, trying to calm the traitorous organ before I face the boy I swore I’d never see again.
Only the boy I knew is gone. A man stands in his place—rougher, more challenging, jaw shadowed with scruff, hair darker and messier, like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. But it’s his eyes that unravel me.
Those forest-green eyes, once the safest place I’d ever known, lock onto mine with unmistakable heat.
Those eyes once held my future. Now they make one thing unmistakably clear: Luke Wild doesn’t want me here.
A single heartbeat pulses between us, his or mine, impossible to tell, but it’s the loudest thing in the room.
I clear my throat, hoping my voice will cooperate. It doesn’t. “Hello, Luke.”
He studies me, jaw clenching, a muscle in his neck jumping like he’s wrestling down a thousand unspoken things.
“Isla.” His tone is flat, but the tension is razor sharp. “You look better than the last time I saw you. You know…with a pulse and everything.”
Heat rushes up my neck. His sarcasm is a bigger shield than the star on his chest.
“So,” he continues, “you’re not on the missing persons list anymore.”
“I was never missing.” It’s a flimsy lie, and we both know it.
He steps closer, shrinking the air between us.
“No, you were definitely missing.” His voice drops a shade darker. “I remember it clearly because after I carried you out of the burning house, I spent hours pacing the hospital corridors praying you’d be okay.”
His breath shudders, barely, but I catch it. “Then you just…disappeared. Without a trace.”
The lump in my throat claws upward.
Don’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
“I sent you a text.”
“Yes.” His laugh is sharp. Bitter. “That was thoughtful.”
He crosses his arms, biceps flexing under the motion. “Nothing like finding out, after two brutal, sleepless days, that you left town and never wanted to speak to me again.”
Acid crawls up my throat.
He scoffs. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. Water under the bridge, right? We’re not the same kids anymore.”
I hate how easily he still fits inside my silence, how every word I don’t say sounds like his name.
Eden watches us like she’s courtside at a championship match, eyes darting between volleys of emotion. After a beat, she slips a warm hand over mine.
I offer her a tight smile. “I should go.”
Luke lifts a hand. “No. Stay. I have important things to do.”
Talking to me isn’t important. Noted.
“Just came for coffee.” His voice has that clipped, authoritative edge.
He grabs the paper cup from the counter and heads toward the door. But halfway out, he turns. And the way he looks at me…
It’s betrayal. It’s regret. It’s someone staring at a ghost he doesn’t trust to stay real if he reaches for it. “I’m very sorry about your mom, Isla.”
And then he’s gone.
My inhale is sharp, my shoulders sinking with the force of release.
“Isla, it’s so good to see you,” Eden beams, her warmth softening everything. “And I’m sorry about your mom, too.”
“Thank you.”
She guides me back to the table with a gentle hand on my back, comforting and steady. “Come sit. Let’s catch up.”
My legs still shake from Luke’s emotional storm, so I follow her.
Eden’s eyes, warmer, earthier olive-green than I remembered, study my face.
“Look at you. All grown up. And working somewhere cool.”
A soft smile lifts her lips. “I own this place.”
“Seriously? That’s amazing.”
“Yep. I bought the building two years ago with money my grandfather left me. Everyone said it was a mistake, but it’s become my home.”
I count backwards from my age of twenty-eight, so that makes Eden twenty-two. Emotion stings behind my eyes. “I’m proud of you, Eden.”
“How long are you in town?”
“Just a few days.” I take her hand, squeezing. “Sorry, I tried to sneak out. I panicked.”
“I saw.” She laughs. “And honestly, it was adorable.”
I drop my forehead to the table. “I never outgrew my awkward phase.”
“Trust me,” she says, “there’s no universe where you could’ve gotten out without Luke knowing. Knowing everything is part of being the town sheriff.”
My head snaps up.
I saw the uniform, but it never sank in. Luke Wild is the town sheriff.
A wave of pride sweeps through me. It’s hot, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore.
He carved a different path from his father. We talked for hours about that dream. I thought I’d walk beside him while he chased it. Turns out he walked it alone.
“Now that he knows I’m here,” I murmur, “he’ll do everything in his power to steer clear of me. It’s best for everyone.”
“I don’t think so,” she counters. “You two should talk.”
“We just did. You witnessed the train wreck.”
“That wasn’t a conversation,” she laughs. “That was verbal combat. You were both trying to protect yourselves. Now that you’ve acknowledged each other’s existence, you can actually talk like adults.”
“No, thanks. The past belongs in the past.” I force a grin. “And for the record, ’Verbal Combat’ would be a great punk band name.”
Eden giggles. “You’re still the same, Isla.”
Then her expression sobers. “Do you think it’ll be that easy? Ignoring the past?”
“I do.” The lie twists in my gut like a scalpel. “I’m only here for a short time. Then I’ll disappear again.”
“Why does it have to be that way?” she asks softly.
“It just does.”
Her shoulders slump. “Where will you go after this?”
“I’ll head to my mom’s place. I need to figure out what to do with her things.”
“Can I help?”
“Don’t you have an equally adorable boyfriend to get home to?”
She snorts. “Please. No one in this town interests me. And my brothers scare everyone away.”
I laugh. The Wild brothers hovering over her dating life is too easy to picture. Being the youngest of five must be exhausting. Then again, being alone is no picnic either.
I check the time. “I should go.”
“Will you come back before you leave?” she asks hopefully.
“I…don’t know. Maybe.”
Her pout is devastating. I suspect very few people tell Eden Wild no.
A reluctant smile breaks free. “I’ll try.”
“Perfect.” She stands. “Need a ride?”
“No, I’m good.”
After a tight hug, I walk toward the inn. Sweat prickles along my brow at the thought of visiting my childhood home.
A warm breeze carries the musky sweetness of blooming trees, pulling memories from places I fought to bury. Luke is everywhere and nowhere. The ghost in my bones, the whisper in the wind.
I’m not ready for that house. But I can’t sit alone in that hotel room either. So I wander Main Street.
Wind chimes tinkle in the breeze, drawing me into a small home décor shop. Ten minutes later, I emerge with a new set, tucked safely into a paper bag.
The sun dips west. If I’m going to my mom’s house, I’d rather not arrive at dusk.
It’s only a short walk back to the inn. I head toward the crosswalk at the four-way stop. The street is empty, so I step onto the asphalt.
Halfway across, disaster strikes. The paper bag handle snaps. The box of wind chimes crashes to the ground. Muttering a curse, I crouch to grab it. But as I stand, sunlight flares off a windshield. A car swerves—too fast, too uncontrolled—and my feet cement to the asphalt.
I have less than a second to react. My heart slams against my ribs. I squeeze my eyes shut, and suddenly something hits me from the side, flipping me mid-fall. I land hard on a firm yet shock-absorbing surface, not the unforgiving pavement I braced for.
My head snaps back, striking cold metal. Tires screech. An engine roars. The acrid bite of burnt rubber fills the air.
Adrenaline blurs everything. My limbs tremble. Pebbles dig into my palms as I try to push myself up.
Then I feel it—one strong hand cradling the back of my head, another firm between my shoulder blades.
Someone shoved me clear. Someone saved me.
I blink through the haze into forest-green eyes.
I’m sprawled on top of Luke Wild, in the middle of Main Street.