Chapter Twenty-Two

Piper

I wake up to the smell of coffee. Really good coffee. Coffee so good I forget for a second about everything that happened last night, including how I ended up in this bed. It's a lot like the other one, but the layout of the room is all wrong. I blink hard, trying to get my bearings and not freak out, until I see Fallon out of the corner of my eye and everything comes back to me at once.

I remember the cruise, and everything after it with Tate. After storming out on him, I had wandered around the resort for an hour or so, not sure where I wanted to go. I didn't have anywhere else to spend the night, but I couldn't stomach going back into the cabin with him. Especially not after making such a dramatic exit. My pride wouldn't allow it. I walked until I couldn't keep my eyes open, then made my way back to the main lodge and curled up on one of the couches by the fireplace, hoping that nobody would notice me.

Of course Fallon did. And she saved me.

She sits on the edge of the bed, holding two cups of coffee, offering me one with all of the care one would use when interacting with an injured feral cat. I must have been in quite the state when she found me last night.

"I'm so sorry about all of this." I take the cup from her hands, blowing on the liquid and watching the steam rise in clouds. "You didn't have to let me use this room. You've been more than kind."

Shaking her head, she cuts me off. "It was nothing. Are you ready to talk now?"

"I should've known this coffee came with strings." I let out a laugh, but it sounds sadder and smaller than I intended, and I can feel my lip starting to quiver and my eyes starting to mist. Funny, I thought I had cried out every tear I had left in my body last night. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, start with the stuff that happened before I found you curled up on the couch downstairs trying not to cry and after the part where Tate dragged you back to the cabin after the Couple's Cruise." She pauses for a second, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Also, leave out any grizzly deets a sister wouldn't want to know about her brother. Please."

I laugh again in spite of myself, much more genuine this time.

"No problem. Um… so we don't want the same things. In life. In love. There. You're all caught up."

"Nice try." Blinking slowly, she stares at me over the top of her coffee. Spending so much time with Tate over the years has made me forget what it's like when people are actually interested in your personal affairs, or what it's like to have friends who care about what's eating you up inside. "What doesn't he want? Or even more important, what do you want?"

"Love," I sputter out with a series of sniffles, feeling acutely pathetic. "Is that so much to ask? I mean … he wants all the things that go with it. I just want the emotional connection in return. I know I sound stupid. I should be glad he wants to be with me at all. I get it."

Fallon sets her coffee on the nightstand with a long suffering sigh, before placing both of her hands on my shoulders. I'm a little worried she's going to try and shake some sense into me, and I grip my mug tightly.

"No. You, Piper Hart, are a glorious light-filled being. Anything you dream of, anything you desire, should be yours. You deserve to be loved." She stares into my eyes so intently that I can't help but believe what she's saying. If nothing else, she definitely believes it. "And you should never settle for less than what you deserve."

"You're very wise," I squeak out, gently disengaging from her hands on my shoulders.

Fallon shrugs, picking her mug back up and taking a long sip. "It's easy to be wise. And single. Those two things have a tendency to go together. Relationships are hard."

"No lie," I let out with a low whistle.

"Even ones that aren't clearly defined," she adds wistfully, picking at a loose thread in the comforter.

"I've noticed." There's a nonspecific air to the advice she's giving me, and I can't help but feel like she's dancing around something. I approach the subject as delicately as I can. "You know… you and Leo seem to have the same issue."

She stiffens at my mention of his name, her face tightening. "Right. I will say this."

"I'm listening."

"Don't give up on Tate. He's slow to get there. His mind is always on his passions, his projects, whatever he does." Her face relaxes again, and I can see from the look in her eyes that she really does care about her brother, no matter how estranged they've grown over the past few years, or how hard Tate has tried to pry himself away from his family and Sunset Lake. "I do know, however, that he has never been like this with anyone. Ever. Even that chick who worked on the doctorate with him, the one he dated back then. The one who probably broke his sensitive heart for the first time and started this whole ball rolling."

Tate's reluctance to discuss his past extends to that period of his life as well. I've always had the vaguest of notions about what transpired there, and my time with him this past week has helped to illuminate things and fill in some gaps for me. Even if I don't know what happened for certain, I can make an informed guess.

"He didn't believe in love, so he lost her." I'm suddenly feeling a lot of sympathy for a girl I never knew, but probably understand better than anybody else. "Got the doctorate though."

And a billion or so dollars to boot.

"In his mind, that's what counts. But please know this, Piper. Tate's a good person. His heart is pure and he tries to do right by the people he loves. He might not say it, and he might not even show it, but he loves you. I know it."

Until last night, I would have agreed with her. Seeing Tate so quick to get off the boat and get away from anyone he could consider a fan was so uncharacteristic of him. It felt, for a brief moment anyway, that he actually cared about something more than statistics and success. It felt like he cared about me, and what we had. He set the record straight about that soon enough.

"He tries his best, but I'm not sure that's enough. No doubt he'll have his app after this beta test. I'd say it was a resounding success for all of the participants, excluding those inside of this room."

"Yeah, but without you?" She gives me a once over and shakes her head. "I'm not sure he'll care."

"You think so?"

"Yes," she insists quickly, before thinking better of it. "Well, be patient. Give him time."

Throwing my head back against the pillows, I groan. "Why do we always have to give them more time?"

"Oh, I thought you knew. Boys are slow." Fallon rolls her head along her shoulders, stretching her neck before standing from the bed. "There's an extra toothbrush and some toothpaste in the bathroom if you want to freshen up before you go try and tackle the day. Maybe splash some cold water on your face. I'm rooting for you, but things will probably go better if you don't have coffee breath."

She laughs at her own joke before taking my empty mug and making her way out of the guestroom and into the hall, presumably to go start her work for the day. I'm still touched that she let me use this guestroom in the lodge, and that she would be so invested in my happiness rather than immediately take her brother's side in all of this. Time and again, I'm struck by how kind Tate's family is, and how different he would have likely turned out if he hadn't pushed them all so far away.

I steel myself by following Fallon's suggestion, transforming myself into something resembling a human being before stepping out into the hall and heading back toward the cabin. Part of me hopes to see Tate, so we can try and resolve this immediately, while a much larger part of me hopes that the cabin is empty, wanting nothing more than to quickly and quietly pack my things and head for the hills with my tail between my legs.

I need time. And space. I need my things around me and a familiar setting where I can think things over in peace.

Daisy finds me loitering by the grand fireplace in the resort's lobby, looking every bit the heartbroken heroine of my own sad love story. She approaches with a tentative smile, her eyes kind but probing.

"You look like you've lost your best friend," she says gently, her voice low enough that only I can hear.

I manage a weak smile, shrugging as I turn to meet her gaze. "Just one of those days, I guess."

Daisy nods, understanding more than I've said. "I've had my share of those. Sometimes, the heart doesn't know quite what it wants, or it wants something it can't have. But if it helps, I always think it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

I sigh, considering her words. "Even if it leaves you feeling a bit broken?"

She tilts her head, her expression softening. "Especially then. Those breaks can make us who we are. They teach us about resilience, about depth. About our own capacity to heal and love again. It's painful, but it's also powerful, don't you think?"

Her perspective is a balm, soothing in its simplicity and wisdom. Maybe there's a strength to be found in this mess with Tate, a strength that comes from facing the pain rather than fleeing it. Even this ache has its place, carving out spaces within me that were previously untouched, teaching me the contours of my own heart. As she excuses herself to check on a guest, I'm left feeling a little less adrift, a little more anchored, even in the midst of my turmoil as I approach the cabin.

Steeling my spine, I open the door to find Tate sitting on the couch, aimlessly browsing on his phone. His suitcase and messenger bag rest neatly at his feet. Other than his body and his few belongings occupying the two square feet around him, there isn't a single trace of him left inside. He obviously wants to get out of here just as much as I do.

"I thought we'd go back today," he offers quietly and coolly, so much so that he sounds like an automated text-to-speech reader. I'm not sure what I wanted out of him, but it certainly wasn't this. He's acting like nothing happened between us at all, and that everything is just like when we got here. He hasn't even bothered to ask where I was last night, or if I'm okay.

A whisper of white-hot anger skitters over my skin until I want to throw things.

"Fine with me," I bite out, already walking to the bathroom. "I can be ready in five minutes."

I pack silently and efficiently, trying to spend as little time in this cabin as I possibly can. Thinking about what happened here—and how I've been forever changed by it—leaves me with a hollow ache in my chest. I know that I'm visibly off, and I would make an attempt to act more normal if I thought that he noticed or cared. Tate has clearly decided to wear blinders today and to bury his head in the sand about it all. I'm sick of making the first move and being the only person to show my hand. If he wants this to get any better, he's going to have to be the vulnerable one for a change.

But waiting for that is like waiting for a mountain to move.

The whole experience has left me absolutely demoralized, neither of us speaking a word as we load the car. Fallon gives me a pained look as I turn in the room key, noting the way her brother's nose is buried in his phone screen. She gives me a hearty goodbye, and a hug so warm it brings tears to my eyes, before grunting out a perfunctory send-off to her brother with the politest of waves.

They don't even hug.

The car ride is just as painful. Tate withdraws into the passenger seat, and I spend the entire drive wondering what it would be like to take any interstate exit other than my own, watching 35W scroll past the front windshield in a blur as we get closer and closer to our normal lives. I told Tate I wouldn't quit, and I mean that, but I can't imagine what our working relationship will possibly look like going forward, and how spending time with him won't feel like eating ground glass.

I allow myself a glimmer of hope when we get back to the building and he steps inside the elevator with me. There's a moment of silence while he gathers his thoughts, shuffling back and forth on his feet like he's wrestling with himself and his impulses. It seems for all the world like an apology is forming on his lips. Instead, as the elevator slows to a stop and dings as we reach my floor, he awkwardly hands me my bag, running a hand through his hair and looking down at his phone.

A pause. "Are we on for our usual tonight? I'm thinking kung pao chicken and a movie rental? I can spring for both kinds of fried rice this time."

So that's it. Tate has decided that the past week hasn't happened, and that he's just going to do a soft reboot of our entire relationship. I can't say I'm surprised, but it still hurts worse than I had expected.

"No. It isn't our usual tonight, or any other night. I'm not your girlfriend—I'm not even your friend. I'm your assistant. My hours are nine to five. You can send me an email, but only if it's urgent, and I'll get back to you in the morning." I storm out of the elevator, turning back just as the doors are closing in front of him. He has the audacity to look confused, but doesn't attempt to back pedal. Delighting in his shocked expression, I toss over my shoulder, "Goodbye, Mr. Story. Enjoy your evening, sir. I guess I'll see you in the morning."

Not wanting Mrs. Gunderson and Johan to see a weak spot in my armor, I manage to keep my head high until I unlock the door and throw myself through it, dropping my bags in the entranceway and making a beeline for my couch. I kick off my shoes, not caring where they land, and then collapse face first into the cushions, letting out the sob I've been holding in for the last thirty five odd miles of interstate.

The sofa cushions muffle my cries as the reality crashes down on me like a brutal wave. Every shard of my shattered heart aches with the realization that the man I've allowed myself to love sees me as nothing more than a convenient fixture in his life, easily reset after what I thought was a breakthrough. It's as if the person who laughed and shared secrets with him, who dared to believe that love might actually be within reach, was someone else—a foolish girl, naive enough to think she mattered. Now, left in the stark silence of my apartment, I wonder if I'll ever be able to piece myself back together. How do I go back to being just Piper, his assistant, after glimpsing what it felt like to be Piper, his everything? The ache is relentless, a constant echo of what could have been, a reminder that perhaps for Tate, it never was.

I roll over after a minute or so, wiping the old mascara from my cheeks, and the first thing that catches my eye is that ridiculous private elevator. It suddenly fills me with rage at everything it stands for. I can't believe Tate talked me into letting him have it installed. It's the most absurd, boundary-defying request, and obviously allowing him that kind of intrusion into my personal life warped his sense of our relationship. Fumbling around at the side of the couch, my fingers find one of my discarded sneakers. I pick it up, and without another thought, I hurl it at the elevator doors, feeling a deep satisfaction at the dull metallic thud that it makes on contact.

I hope Tate heard it all the way upstairs, and wondered what it was.

It would be nice if he wondered about me at all.