Page 101 of Fall Love

Tate and I have moved faster than a witch on a broom, zipping across the sky. We hardly know each other, but like he said, he wants to live together, to learn more about each other. There is just this teeny-tiny element called love that might be missing from the equation.

Tate likes me. He cares about me, as he said. He adores me. But I want him to love me. In many ways, he’s shown he does, but strangely, I need the words. I need that confirmation.

Driving down the coastal highway from one small town to another, I will pass Rusty’s Wrecks to get to Lumi’s house. I wish there was an alternative route, but there just isn’t. Construction fencing isn’t in place on the property yet, but a giant placard is set in the small strip of grass beside the driveway to the bays. I expect it to say, SOLD, but instead, it looks like a design. An image, perhaps, of the future Bucky Beaver Body Shop.

Curiosity has me pulling onto the shoulder, then checking over my shoulder for oncoming traffic before reversing into the driveway. I park a few feet from the sign, check that Wren is still asleep in her car seat, and exit the SUV.

For a second, I just stand there, staring at my past. The building looks even sadder than it did the last time I left here. The sign above the entrance is gone. Saint pulled it down for us, and it is one more thing in Lumi’s garage. The plant pots on either side of the entrance were taken by Isolde, so the front door looks dull and uninviting.

I swallow thickly, considering I put an application in with Bucky Beaver, although they didn’t have this location open for hires yet. I applied early with the assumption that having the application already in their system would help expedite my employment once they start hiring staff. Tate is my top reference.

With a heavy heart, I trudge over to the sign that feels even larger up close. Like it’s looming over me when it’s just two thin fence posts and a large board.

But that board has me catching my breath.

My heart might even stop beating.

Because that sign doesn’t show the future for Rusty Wreck’s as Bucky Beaver Body Shop.

This land is going to be developed . . . into a hotel. A sprawling, three-story resort facing the scenery at my back. A view I don’t need to see to envision.

As my feet go numb and my fingers begin to tingle, I lift my phone, which I had in my hand.

I press call on the top number in my contacts. A number I purposely moved to the top because of his importance, because I was already prepared to tell him yes.

Yes, I’d move in with him. Yes, I want to live with him. Yes, I want to love him.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers cheerfully.

“Guess where I am?” I state, bypassing any greeting. My jaws clench.

“Is everything okay?” The cheeriness instantly drops, possibly detecting the anger in mine. “How is Wren?”

“I’m standing in front of Rusty’s Wrecks.” I chuckle bitterly, bypassing his questions. “In front of this giant sign that I thought would show me the future Bucky Beaver Body Shop.”

Silence fills the phone.

“But there is no Bucky Beaver Body Shop.”

“Neve,” he says quietly, then mutters to someone else, “Give me a second.”

“You’re tearing it down,” I continue, my voice cracking. I always knew it was a possibility. Hell, an inevitability. In order to bring the space up to code, and build something bigger, better, I knew, deep down, that they might demolish the original building. But I envisioned a garage on this land, not a hotel.

A place for the locals, not something that represents the summer folk.

“A fucking hotel, Tate.” My voice squeaks as I fight to control it.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

I didn’t think my heart could sink any lower. It didn’t only drop to my feet but dug into the soil beneath it. Like it dropped down a magical well and drowned.

“You mean you didn’t want me to find out at all.” I pause, swallowing another crack in my voice, attempting to strengthen it. “You should have told me.”

“I should have told you,” he repeats, sounding vaguely contrite. “I’m so sor⁠—”

“You’ve stolen everything from me,” I snap, the hysteria beginning to rise. Knowing all I’m about to say next isn’t one-hundred percent true, but my anger has reached a new level. One three stories high with a view of the ocean. “You took my business. You want me to sell my home.”

“Neve, I never⁠—”