Chapter 2

Rena

I dropped my phone onto the table with a dull thud, the sound barely audible over the low hum of chatter in the diner. My fingers trembled as I stared at the screen, my mind spinning with the weight of the phone call. A million dollars. It felt like some cruel punchline to a joke I didn’t understand. My stomach twisted as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing. Crying wasn’t an option. Not here, not now. I forced the tears back, even as they threatened to spill over.

The fries in front of me sat untouched, the once-crispy edges now soft and limp. Normally, fries were my go-to comfort food, a reliable remedy for bad days. But today, they tasted like ashes in my mouth. Even my milkshake—a creamy orange Creamsicle blend—had lost its usual appeal, the condensation forming lazy trails down the glass. My finger traced absent patterns in the moisture ring on the table, but my thoughts were a million miles away.

Where the hell was I supposed to find a million dollars? My father’s health was hanging by a thread, and this experimental treatment could save him. But the price tag felt like an insurmountable wall. I’d barely been scraping by as it was, juggling rent, bills, and the growing costs of his care. Now this? It was a cosmic joke, and I was the punchline.

“Rennie, something bothering you?”

I startled slightly and looked up to find Joyce standing beside me, her ever-present coffee pot in hand. The middle-aged waitress had been a steady presence in my life these past two years, offering comfort and unsolicited advice in equal measure. Her sharp eyes scanned my face, her expression softening with concern.

“That looked like one heck of a phone call,” she added, tilting her head.

I opened my mouth to respond but quickly closed it, unsure of what to say. Normally, Joyce was my go-to for venting about life’s misfortunes. She had a knack for listening without judgment and offering just the right mix of sympathy and tough love. But this… this felt too big. Too raw.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“You sure?” Joyce pressed, setting the coffee pot on a nearby table and planting her free hand on her hip. “Forgive me for saying so, but you look like you’re about to have a full-on meltdown. Is it that manager of yours again?”

“Donald…” The name alone was enough to pull a groan from me, but I shook my head again. “No, it’s not him. Well, not this time.”

“Then what is it?” Joyce asked, lowering her voice as she slid into the booth across from me. Her presence felt steadying, a small anchor in the storm raging inside my chest.

I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. But the weight of it all was too much to keep bottled up. “It’s about my dad,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Joyce’s expression softened immediately. She nodded for me to continue, her eyes kind and patient.

“Remember the experimental treatment I told you about?” I asked.

“The one from that fancy German doctor?”

I nodded, picking up a fry and dipping it into the ketchup more out of habit than appetite. “He got approved.”

Joyce’s face lit up with cautious hope. “Rennie, that’s great news.”

For a fleeting moment, I let myself feel it too. The hope I’d felt at the beginning of the phone call came rushing back, fragile but present. But the crushing reality wasn’t far behind.

“It’s not,” I said flatly, dropping the fry onto the plate. “They won’t give it to him.”

Joyce blinked, confused. “Why not?”

“Insurance won’t cover it,” I explained, my voice tight with frustration. “It’s ‘experimental,’ so they can just write it off. And the cost… it’s $1.2 million out of pocket.”

Joyce’s jaw dropped. “A million dollars?”

“More than that,” I corrected bitterly. “Dad’s savings are gone. Retirement, too. I’m already covering as much as I can for his physical therapy and care facility, but it’s not enough. Unless Donald suddenly decides to give me a raise—which we both know isn’t happening—I’m bleeding dry. I probably shouldn’t even be eating out right now.”

Joyce frowned, her lips pursed in disapproval. “You deserve a raise,” she said firmly. “You practically run that library by yourself.”

I sighed, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “If anyone deserves a raise around here, it’s you,” I said, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. “I can’t even imagine the kind of crap customers put you through.”

Joyce chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Speaking of, I should probably get back to work before Mr. Baldy at the counter starts a riot over his empty coffee cup.” She gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she stood. “But don’t give up hope just yet, Rennie. Sometimes these things have a way of working out.”

I nodded, offering her a weak smile as she walked away. But as soon as she turned her back, my face fell. Hope felt cruel, distant, unattainable. Not for me. Not since the accident three years ago that flipped my father’s life—and mine—completely upside down.

The buzz of my phone pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. My stomach dropped when I saw the name on the screen: Donald.

“Where are you?” his sharp voice barked as soon as I answered.

“I’m not scheduled until one today,” I replied, frowning.

“I left you a message to be here at eleven,” he snapped. “The reference section is trashed. Get here and clean it up.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to stay calm. “I’ll handle it when I get there. Did Professor Kingsbury pick up the materials I prepared?”

“How should I know?” he said, irritation clear in his tone. “Just get here.”

Click. He hung up.

“Fucking pencil-dick,” I muttered, shoving my phone into my tote bag. I slapped a twenty onto the table to cover the bill and tip, then grabbed my untouched fries and milkshake and dumped them into the trash. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stormed toward the door, my frustration bubbling over.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t see the man walking toward me until I collided with him. Hard. My tote bag slipped off my shoulder, spilling books and papers across the diner floor.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, kneeling to gather my things.

The man crouched to help, his voice calm and deep. “No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I looked up, and my breath caught. He was stunning. Sharp blue eyes, red-gold hair, and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass.

“Rough day?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Were you eavesdropping?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not intentionally. You weren’t exactly whispering.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. I mumbled a quick thanks as he handed me my books, but as I stood, I stumbled, my foot catching on something. Before I could hit the ground, his arms shot out, steadying me.

For a moment, everything stilled. I collided with his chest, and somehow, our faces ended up close—too close. Then, as if the universe decided to play one more cruel joke, our lips brushed.

Warm. Soft. Unexpected.

“Oh my God!” I scrambled back, my face flaming. “That was an accident,” I stammered. “I’m so sorry.”

His amused smile didn’t waver. “If that was an accident, it was a pleasant one.”

I gaped at him. “It wasn’t…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “I need to go.”

“Wait,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “I’ll give you $2,000 to stay and talk to me.”

I froze, turning to face him fully. “What?”

“Two thousand dollars,” he repeated. “And if the conversation goes well…” His lips curved into a faint smile. “I might be able to give you the million dollars you need.”