Page 105 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

“She’s great,” Griffin says. “A few scrapes and bruises, but she is about to be discharged.

I exhale in relief. Thank God. We’d been texting, of course. The nurse even allowed her to visit me here in my room briefly. But it’s still torture not being able to hold her, to see her every day, to tell her exactly how I feel.

“So?” Duke presses. “Are we going to go ask her now?” He blinks up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

For the first time in years, I feel it—the certainty that I’m ready. That I’m finally, truly, moving forward. That the ghosts of the past don’t hold me anymore.

Because the only thing that matters is right here in my arms. And the woman who made me believe in something again is waiting just beyond that door.

I smile down at Duke. “I have a better idea…a mission, if you’re willing to accept it.”

Chapter 30

Allie

My phone rings, rattling loudly from within my purse. I glance at it, tempted to let it go to voicemail again. But then it rings again. And again. With a sigh, I lock my car and reach for it, my pulse ticking up.

“Abby?” I cradle it to my cheek with one shoulder, fumbling to slide Biscuit into his little travel carrier. “You’d better have a good reason for calling me six times.”

“What the hell is this news Mom and Dad said about you taking a full-time position as an investigative journalist? Do you have a death wish?!” Her voice is a frantic screech, cutting through the early evening buzz of traffic and pedestrians like a siren.

My stomach twists, but I keep my voice even. “I hoped you would be happy for me.” That’s a lie—I knew better.

“Have you forgotten what happened to you? You could have been killed! It’s a miracle you’re still alive! You promised me when you were laid up in the hospital that you wouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations anymore!”

My grip on the carrier strap tightens. “No…” I let out a slow breath and start walking toward the café. “What I actually promised was that I wouldn’t stupidly rush into danger anymore. But investigative journalism always comes with some risks.”

“Then it isn’t worth it!”

Tears prick my eyes, blurring the sidewalk. “It’s my dream, Abby. What I’ve been working toward my whole adult life. You can’t ask me to give up on my dreams.”

There’s a pause, and when Abby speaks again, her voice is quieter. “I know. I’m just…scared, that’s all. I can’t lose you.”

I almost sayyou won’t, but then Thatcher’s wife flashes in my mind. How sudden and tragic her death was. How life can change—or end—in the blink of an eye. I don’t want to make promises I might not be able to keep.

“No one is truly safe. Hell, you’re an ER nurse—you know that better than anyone. A car could come out of nowhere tomorrow and take me out. I could suffer an aneurysm. A heart attack?—”

“Okay, okay, enough!” Abby cuts me off, and I can almost see her standing there at her kitchen counter, wincing. “I get it. But can you please, at leasttryto be careful?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I will. My gun-wielding days are over. I promise, no more armed standoffs. Cross my heart.” My voice wavers a little, as I turn the corner to the café—the same café where I first saw Thatcher weeks ago. My lungs pinch at the memory.

“Hey, Abbs? I’ve really gotta go. Thatcher’s waiting for me.”

She inhales sharply. “I’m so glad you two can finally meet up. Doyou know what he’s going to say?”

With Thatcher, it could be anything. Abby knows all about our trauma-induced confessions of love. And even though I meant mine with all my heart, I don’t know if he meant his. Sure, we’ve been texting, but the “L-word” has conveniently been left out of our messages. What if I was just another moment of adrenaline, another fleeting reaction to chaos? The thought carves a hollow ache inside me. “Maybe he wants to take back his words…to tell me that he got caught up in the heat of the moment.” Thatcher is absolutely the kind of man who would want to do so in person. Not over text.

“Well, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not. But that won’t make it hurt any less.” Actually, it will shatter me. Because I’ve already let myself imagine a future where he meant it, where we could be something real. And if I was wrong, if I let myself believe in something that was never there…I don’t know how I’ll come back from that.

Abby sighs. “Love you, Allie.”

“Love you more.”

We hang up, and I press the phone against my chest, hugging Biscuit’s soft carrier to my side. “Biscuit, you ready?” I whisper. I’ve been to this place a thousand times, but never like this—never with so much on the line. The future stretches out before me, vast and terrifyingly uncertain. My heart pounds. But for the first time in a long time, I think I’m ready to face it.

The café isbusy but not packed. I half expected Thatcher to already be waiting here, but he’s not. So instead, I awkwardly make my way to the counter, shifting my bagfrom one shoulder to the other as I text my mom that I’ll call her tomorrow.

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