Page 78 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

The room falls quiet, the kind of quiet that isn’t empty but stuffed to the brim with all the things we aren’t saying. Allie’s still beneath my hand, her pulse tapping a silent code against my fingertips. There’s a whole conversation in the space between our breaths, in the way her gaze doesn’t quite meet mine anymore.

“Well…” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, but doesn’t finish. What can she say? What can I? With every word unspoken, the air grows thicker, like we’re swimming through the last dregs of something neither of us is ready to let go of.

She shifts, and the bed creaks under us, a sound that feels as loud as a siren in the stillness. Her eyes finally find mine, and it’s like looking into a mirror that reflects all the things I’m afraid to face—my need for control, the terror of history repeating itself, the raw edges of a heart too scarred to play it safe again.

“At least I know where I stand with you,” she murmurs, so soft I might’ve imagined it. But it’s there, acceptancemixed with a dash of defeat, and it stirs something fierce in my chest.

“You stand as someone I’d give my life to protect,” I echo back, and it’s a promise, a plea, and a prayer all rolled into one.

We stay like that, caught in the eye of a storm that’s more than just the danger lurking outside—it’s the push and pull of two people trying to navigate the mess of their own making.

“Tell me one thing,” she says.

“Anything.”

“You, Griffin, and Hunter. What’s your backstory? What’s the real reason the three of you opened up a matchmaking business? And don’t give me some bullshit answer about it always being your dream. It’s obvious the three of you have some darker background and if you’re grounding me from helping, then being honest with me is theleastyou can do.”

“We were on a team of special forces, the three of us. Brothers, not in blood, but in camaraderie. After Jenna died, I had to retire; I couldn’t keep risking my life day in and day out when this helpless little baby had no one else.” My voice breaks as I remember how colicky Duke was at first. How I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. How if I had kept on in my platoon, I might have left our little boy an orphan. “And after I left, Griffin and Hunter followed me, retiring soon after, too. Jenna’s dream was to open a matchmaking business…so the three of us started Mission Match in her honor.” I chuckle to myself at how ridiculous it must sound. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But Mission Match is mostly a front. On the side, the three of us have been working together to find the truth behind Jenna’s death.”

It feels good to get all that off my chest for once. Almost imperceptibly, a shift happens.

It’s nothing tangible, no grand gesture or sweeping declaration, but it’s there. In the way Allie’s hand relaxes in mine, in the renewed determination that sets her jaw at an angle, in the slow nod she gives me.

It’s the subtle acknowledgment that from here on out, everything changes. The rules of the game have been altered, the stakes raised with a few honest declarations. And I know, deep in the gut of me where the most inconvenient truths live, that Allie Larsen isn’t someone who can be sidelined—not by danger, not by fear, and sure as hell not by me.

“I’m glad you have them—Griffin and Hunter,” she says, and there’s that spark again, the flicker of light that refuses to die out.

“You have no idea. I wouldn’t have survived losing Jenna without them,” I reply, allowing myself a half smile. It’s brittle, but it’s a start.

The city hums outside the window, a reminder that life goes on, relentless and unapologetic. We’re part of that rhythm whether we like it or not, each beat a step toward an unknown that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

“Yes, you would have,” Jenna says with a determination and belief in me that I don’t even have. “Because Duke needed you.Needsyou. You would have not only survived…you would have thrived, with or without your best friends.”

Her assertion hangs in the air, a challenge to my self-imposed narrative of dependency. Before I can muster a response, the sudden blare of my phone’s ringtone slices through the stillness, jarring in the intimacy of our moment. The screen flashes with Hunter’s number and my heart jumps intomy throat.

Hunter doesn’t call.

Ever.

Allie’s eyes narrow at the interruption, her journalist instincts kicking in. “Who is it?” she probes, curiosity coloring her tone.

“It’s Hunter,” I murmur, then swipe my thumb to the right to answer it. “What’s wrong?” I ask as I yank my pants on over my hips, phone cradled against my ear.

Allie sits up, alert, the sheet pulled up over her chest.

“An alert from the new security cameras at your house. Someone was in the tree outside Duke’s room.”

Fuck. “I’m on my way. Maybe we can get there in time to catch the guy red-handed.”

“I’m one minute out,” Hunter says. “Griffin’s ETA is four minutes. Meet me there as soon as you can.”

I hang up the call and curse under my breath as I search the room for my boots.

“What’s wrong? Is it Duke?”

I shake my head. “Duke’s fine. He’s with his aunt in Tennessee for a few days. But my security camera caught someone in my yard. I’ve gotta go.”

Allie scrambles out of bed, grabbing clothes. “I’m coming with you.”

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