49Sienna. Whispers were going around town.Willow Creek wasn’t a gossip town, not in the loud, theatrical sense. But it was a small one, and small towns had their own way of saying everything while pretending they’d said nothing.This morning, I heard it behind me at the farmer’s stall.“She doesn’t seem like a liar,” a woman murmured.The man beside her shrugged. “Well, appearances lie, don’t they?”I turned my head slightly, just enough to see them exchange a look. The woman had her arms folded tight. The man was holding a bag of apples.They didn’t say a name. They didn’t have to.A minute later, I passed by two teenagers near the bakery, giggling over something they were reading off a phone screen.One said, “Wait, wasn’t she sued or something?”The other replied, “I don’t know. There’s a whole thread now. Some literary drama, I think?”Literary drama.Right.I didn’t confront them. What would’ve been the point? Rumors move like wind through dry branches. Once it starts, all you
48Noah. I didn’t know what to expect when the door chimed. It was late morning, the café half-full with locals sipping lattes and watching the rain come down again. I’d stopped by on a whim. Something had felt off, and caffeine was a good place to chase that feeling away.She was standing by the counter, looking calm and composed. She had that polished presence people notice. Her hair was in soft waves, blouse ironed and skirt crisp. She looked like she belonged in a boardroom, not a small-town coffee shop.“You must be Noah,” she said before I could move. Her voice had practiced warmth.I lifted my gaze and met steady green eyes. She held a paper bag and a coffee cup. “I’m Natasha,” she said. “I’m… well, I’m a friend of Isabella’s.”None of it surprised me more than her presence here. She looked too old to be a friend of Isabella’s.“Hello,” I said carefully.She smiled. “She’s been wonderful here. I owe her a visit.”I nodded. I could appreciate a thank-you visit. Friendly, polite
47Isabella.I was curled up on the window seat in the cottage, fresh tea in hand and sunlight spilling through the glass like something out of a cheesy Hallmark movie. I’d even written three good paragraphs that morning, which, considering the creative drought I’d been living in, felt like a miracle.Then my phone buzzed.Unknown Number.I stared at it for a second longer than I should have.I almost didn’t answer, but something in my gut told me this wasn’t the kind of call you ignore.I swiped and pressed it to my ear.“Hello?”A pause. Then came a voice I hadn’t heard in years.“Isabella. It’s Dani.”I blinked. “Dani… Dani Morgan?”“Yeah. It’s me.”I stood up, pacing before I realized I was doing it. “Wow. Uh. It’s been a while.”“Two years,” she said. “Maybe three.”That was accurate. Dani had been one of the assistants at Harper Quinn during my short-lived dance with traditional publishing. She wasn’t important enough to stop what happened, but she was nice.“I heard you were in
46I wasn’t used to people getting under my skin and staying there. Most didn’t even make it through the surface. But Isaac, that man had carved out a little space in my thoughts and was now living there rent-free, feet up, smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing.It was annoying. Mostly because I couldn’t convince myself I hated it.I kept telling myself it was just residual tension, a leftover reaction from all the magic and fire and the strange gravitational pull that had stirred in the clearing. I’d been startled. That was all. Nothing more.Still, I caught myself thinking about the way he’d looked at me before he said “Truce.” Like he meant it.I shook the thought off as I unlocked the door to the apothecary.The bell above the door jingled softly. The shop still smelled like lavender and sage, and everything was where I had left it, the shelves lined with labeled jars, the bundles of herbs hanging upside down in the corner, and the sun filtering in through the dusty fron
45SiennaThe forest was louder than usual.Not in a a dangerous way. There were no wolves howling or wind shrieking through the trees. It was just… louder. Like everything had its volume turned up slightly. Every branch that cracked under my boots. Every rustle of leaves behind me. Even the birds sounded like they were announcing something I hadn’t been told.I tried to ignore it.I headed toward the riverbend,where the moss grows thick and the wild mint hides between rocks. I needed a few things, and early morning was the best time to harvest them. That was the excuse I told myself, anyway.The real reason?I needed space.I needed quiet.And, maybe, I needed to move.Still, I felt him before I heard him.Isaac.Persistent, silver-eyed, frustrating as hell.He was trailing me again. I didn’t have to see him to know it. The man walked like sin, he walked smoothly, very deliberate, a little too quiet to be casual. Which would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so damn obvious.I stopped
G4NoahThere were a hundred things I could say to her right now.I’d rehearsed every version of this moment in my head, each word polished, each excuse rounded off to sound a little less like the truth. But the second I saw her, barefoot, hair loose, curled on the edge of the bed like she was trying not to take up space, every line I’d planned vanished.She looked up at me and smiled softly.I sat beside her, careful to leave space between us. I’ve learned to give her that, even when it goes against every instinct I have.She hugged her knees tighter. “You’ve been MIA.”“Yeah. I’m sorry.”“You okay?”I could’ve lied and could’ve said I was tired, or distracted, or anything else that didn’t matter. But something about tonight made lying feel wrong.“No,” I said.She waited for me to talk.“There’s something I’ve been trying to say,” I continued, staring at the floor.“Okay.”“I’ve done things,” I admitted quietly. “Things I can’t undo.”She tilted her head. “Same.”I turned to her.Sh