He doesn't look too convinced, but thankfully he doesn't press me for more.
"Tomorrow, wanna hang out? Just you and me?"
I feel Nate's eyes on me through the rearview mirror. I'm too afraid to make eye contact with him in case he reads something on my face I don't want him to see.
"Sure, sounds like a plan," I say with a smile that's reciprocated by Jake.
When we finally pull into the driveway, I mumble a quick goodnight to everyone and make a beeline for the bathroom. I stand under the hot shower longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the night’s tension, hoping it might also clear my head. With damp hair and skin still flushed from the heat, I slip into my pyjamas and pad down the hallway toward my bedroom. Wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and disappear, the last thing I expect to see is Nate sitting on the edge of my bed, gently stroking my old stuffed animal Bones. The sight of him—this boy who embodies both danger and safety—cradling something so innocent from my childhood makes my chest ache with unnamed feelings.
"Sorry.” Nate quickly sets Bones down, then looks up with an intensity that catches me off guard, his hazel eyes burning like amber in firelight. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." His usual guarded demeanor has softened, leaving him looking unexpectedly vulnerable.
"I'm good," I mumble too quickly, avoiding his eyes that always see too much. "Just a long day."
"I thought we already figured out you have a terrible poker face," he says, playful but concerned. It doesn't lighten the mood. Instead, it feels like he's peeling back layers I've tightly wound around myself.
He takes my hand in his, the unexpected touch sending electricity racing up my arm. He leans in, his voice dropping to a soft whisper that wraps around me like a familiar blanket.
"Listen, I know I haven't given you many reasons to trust me lately... but you can talk to me, Nora. Whatever it is, I'll listen."
His sincerity hits me like a tidal wave, and for a moment, I consider letting it all spill out—the anger, the heartbreak, the mess I've been drowning in. But fear freezes the words in my throat. I can't let him see that part of me, still bleeding from wounds I've hidden beneath smiles and casual conversation. I want to believe him. God, I want to so badly it physically aches.
But how can I? After that night? The night I called him, desperate, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone. I needed him and he wasn't there.
Instead, he was withher.
Farrah.
Her voice still cuts through my memories, cool and dismissive."Nate's busy,"she'd said, the words dripping with disdain. Like I was nothing. Like my whole world wasn't shattering around me.
"I appreciate you checking on me," I say instead, forcing a smile that feels like porcelain about to crack. "But I'm good, really. I just need to sleep."
He stands reluctantly, like he's surrendering a battle but not the war. At the door, he turns back, his eyes soft yet piercing as starlight.
"For what it's worth," he says, voice barely above a whisper, rough with something that sounds dangerously like longing, "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too," I manage, forcing the words out like pushing through thorns. It's not the whole truth, but it's all I can offer without crumbling.
"Goodnight, Leni." The nickname falls from his lips.
"Goodnight," I whisper back, and he closes the door softly behind him, the click of the latch sounding final as a period at the end of a sentence.
Alone again, I collapse against my pillows like a puppet with cut strings. I wonder how long I can keep pretending that the cracks in my foundation aren't spreading like spider webs across glass. Being invisible has become my shield against a world that feels too sharp, too dangerous. But invisibility can't last forever—I know that truth like I know my own reflection.
CHAPTER22
PIECES OF A PUZZLE
NORA
It's beena few days since the carnival, and the tension between Nate and me has started to dissipate. The awkward pauses are becoming rare, giving way to the easy talks we used to have. Things feel lighter now, almost hopeful.
Needing a change of scenery, I grab my laptop and head to Corrigan's Bakery. The moment I push open the door, the aroma of fresh coffee and vanilla envelops me. The comforting murmur of conversation fills the space, and the familiar tinkle of the bell above the door welcomes me in. I spot a cozy table by the window where sunlight pools on worn wood.
I've been here for hours, alternating between typing furiously and people-watching, with coffee as my steady companion. The afternoon light has shifted to gold when a familiar voice cuts through the café's gentle buzz.
"Nora?"
I turn to find Mia, effortlessly stylish as always, but there's something in her expression—a flash of genuine warmth that catches me off guard. She cradles her coffee cup like precious cargo.
