Chapter 5
FIVE
KATHRYN
I’m not going to cry.
I am not pouting in my car in a random parking lot, staring at the steering wheel, replaying the exact moment he walked away like some kind of emotionally unavailable action hero.
I am not wondering what would have happened if his phone hadn’t rung.
I am not thinking about the way he looked at me right before he left.
I am not going to be sad.
I’m mad, which is better than the alternative.
“Three times,” I mutter, pulling out of the parking structure a little harder than necessary. “Three times, Kathryn. That’s on you at this point.”
Because once? Fine.
Twice? Questionable.
Three times? That’s an insane pattern.
And I am not the kind of woman who sticks around repeating patterns like that. Not anymore.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder.
I don’t look at it. I don’t need to. I already know.
Still, it buzzes again. And again.
I let it go to voicemail.
Then another.
Then a text.
At a red light, I finally glance down.
I’m sorry.
I’ll explain.
Please don’t—
I don’t read the rest.
Because I know how this goes. I’ve lived this story before.
Different man. Same ending.
I open my settings. Scroll.
Block.
“Wait, you blocked him?”
I glance up from my kitchen counter where I’m aggressively chopping a cucumber that has done absolutely nothing to deserve this level of violence.
Elizabeth stands across from me, arms crossed, watching like she’s witnessing a slow-motion disaster.
“Yes.”
“Already?”
“It’s been twelve hours.”
“That is not a long time.”
“It is when someone leaves you hanging off the side of a building.”
She winces. “Okay, when you say it like that…”
“Because that is exactly what happened,” I say, slicing a little harder. “Twice, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Third time? I’m done.”
Elizabeth leans her hip against the counter. “He said it was an emergency.”
“They all say that.”
“He’s not all of them.”
I look up at her.
She doesn’t back down.
“He’s different,” she adds.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know what I saw,” she says. “He was clearly into you. I’m sure he didn’t want to leave.”
My grip tightens on the knife.
“Well, he did. Three times.”
She hesitates a second. “Kat…”
“No,” I cut in. “I’m not doing this again. I’m not waiting around for someone who might show up. I deserve better than that.”
“You do,” she agrees immediately. “But—”
“No buts.”
She raises her hands. “Okay. No buts.”
“Thank you.”
A beat.
“…but—”
“Elizabeth.”
“I’m just saying,” she continues quickly, “maybe don’t burn it all down before you actually know what happened.”
“I know what happened,” I say. “He left.”
Again.
That’s the part that matters. That’s the part that always matters.
She studies me for a long moment.
“You liked him,” she says quietly.
I don’t answer. Because I did.
Which is exactly why I’m shutting this down now. Before it turns into something worse.
“Tell your friends at the auction to keep the money,” I say finally, setting the knife down with a little more force than necessary. “Tell them he doesn’t have to reschedule anything. I’m out.”
“You’re really done.”
“I’m really done.”
Because I have to be.
The flowers arrive the next morning.
Of course they do.
They’re beautiful. White roses, soft greenery, something delicate and intentional that feels like it was chosen—not just ordered.
There’s a card.
Of course there is.
Elizabeth hovers behind me like this is a live event.
“Open it,” she says.
“I am opening it.”
“You’re opening it very slowly.”
“I’m building suspense.”
“For who?”
“For me.”
I finally pull the card out and read it.
My throat tightens.
Which is even ruder than the flowers.
“Well?” Elizabeth presses.
I slide the card back into the envelope and set it down on the counter like it’s suddenly not important at all.
“Take them.”
Her brows lift. “Take them?”
“Yeah. Take them home. Or throw them away. Or press them into a scrapbook and memorialize the time I almost made a bad decision. I don’t care.”
“Kathryn.”
“I don’t want them here,” I say, a little sharper than I mean to.
She watches me for a second longer.
Then nods slowly. “Okay.”
She gathers the arrangement, careful, like it might break.
Or like I might.
I turn away before I can think too hard about that.
Still mad.
I’m definitely still mad.
By the time I get to the animal shelter that evening, I’ve convinced myself I am completely over it and him.
I tie my hair back, grab an apron, and step into the main room. And stop.
Because he’s there.
What the…
Douglas is crouched on the floor near one of the kennels, a golden retriever practically climbing into his lap while he scratches behind its ears like he’s done this a thousand times.
“Hey, buddy,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “You’re a lot, huh.”
The dog licks his face.
He just laughs. My heart hitches.
No. Absolutely not. I am not softening.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
He looks up.
And something in his expression shifts instantly.
I cross my arms. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He stands, stepping away from the kennel. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“I volunteer here.”
I blink. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
His lips twitch. “A bit.”
I glare.
“You blocked me?” he says.
“You noticed?”
“Of course, I noticed.”
“Then maybe you should have taken a hint.”
He nods once. “Still wanted to try.”
I exhale sharply. “You don’t get to just show up here and assume everything is fixed.”
“I’m not—”
“Really? Because it looks a lot like you’re trying to fix it.”
“I’m trying to explain.”
I laugh, short and sharp. “Explain what? That you have terrible timing? That you can’t follow through on a single plan? That—”
“It wasn’t random.”
The words cut through mine.
I stop.
Because something in his tone— steady, controlled, serious— makes me listen.
“Then what was it?” I ask, quieter now. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like every other time a man has decided I’m not worth sticking around for.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
He glances around, then back at me. “Walk with me.”
I hesitate. I really shouldn’t. But… I’m curious. And, damn it all, completely captivated by him.
We step outside, the evening air cooler now, quieter. For a second, neither of us speaks.
“It’s my sister,” he says.
I go still.
“She lost her husband last year fighting a fire,” he continues, voice steady but lower now. “He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
My chest tightens.
“He was also one of mine,” he adds. “We served together. I set them up”
I swallow.
“I was supposed to deploy again,” he says. “Then he died, and I didn’t.”
“Because of her,” I say softly.
He nods once.
“They have two little kids,” he continues. “They’re still trying to figure out how to live without their dad. And she…” He exhales. “She doesn’t like asking for help. Doesn’t like people knowing she needs it.”
“So you stepped in.”
“I promised him I always would,” he says simply.
That lands.
Hard.
“I got out of service,” he adds. “Took a contractor job instead. Something… quieter. More boring.”
“Boring?” I ask, trying for light.
“Compared to before? Yeah.”
A small huff of laughter escapes me before I can stop it.
“You could have told me,” I say after a second.
“I don’t tell people.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not my story to tell.”
I press my lips together. That actually makes sense.
“I didn’t want to put her in a position where she felt exposed,” he continues. “And I didn’t know how to explain disappearing without explaining that.”
“So you said nothing,” I say.
“Yeah.”
I shake my head slightly. “That’s… still incredibly frustrating.”
“I know.”
“At least now I know you weren’t ditching me for something stupid.”
“Never that.”
Silence stretches between us. But it’s different now.
He takes a step closer.
“I didn’t tell you before,” he says, quieter now, “because I don’t share that with anyone.”
My breath catches.
“But you’re telling me now,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
His gaze holds mine. “Because you’re not just anyone. You matter.”
That’s unfair. Completely unfair.
Because I want to stay mad. I want to walk away. And now—
Now I’m standing here, looking at a man who left because he was taking care of his family, who didn’t want to betray his sister’s privacy, who showed up anyway to explain it to me in person—
“Okay,” I say, before I can overthink it.
His brows lift slightly. “Okay?”
“One more chance.”
The words come out firm.
Clear.
“But that’s it,” I add quickly. “This is the last one. If you disappear again, no more chances.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Understood.”
“And no more mystery emergencies,” I add. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I need something.”
“I can do that.”
I can’t believe it. I’m giving him another chance.
I’m crazy. I must be.