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CHAPTER 1
NATALIE
The headlights of my old van cut through the darkness, the engine grumbling its displeasure as we finally roll into town.
It's late, way later than I planned, all thanks to a flat tire and a stubborn lug nut that decided today was the day to put up a fight. Well, if I'm being fair, it wasn't just the lug nut that was being stubborn today.
The van, packed with what remains of my life post-Hayden Kennedy, groans under the weight of my hasty decisions. Each rattle and creak a reminder of the mess I've left behind and the uncertain future I'm driving into.
I should've hired a moving van. I should have accepted the help of the kind older man who pulled over and offered to change my tire in the pouring rain. I should have thought about this whole thing for more than a few minutes.
But in a fit of independence and a desire to sever all ties with my old life, I insisted on doing this myself. All of this.
That's the funny thing about being a runaway bride. On the one hand, I'm proud of just how much I've been able to accomplish on my own, and in a single weekend, no less. On the other hand, I'm now a half-drenched mess of a rejected woman—driving a rickety van holding everything I own in this whole world—back to my hometown of Mariposa.
In short: this is not how I expected to spend the first days of what should have been my honeymoon.
As I navigate the dark but familiar streets, the neon sign of the twenty-four-hour diner flickers into view, a beacon in the night. Despite the sorry excuse for food that I know awaits me inside, my stomach growls, protesting the lack of food since this morning's gas station coffee and a stale bagel. At the very least, I'll have a chance to stretch my legs.
I pull into the diner's parking lot, the van shuddering to a halt when I park. I swear I can almost hear it sigh with relief. Both of us are grateful for the break, I guess. Locking up, I promise myself this is just a quick stop—grab some food, maybe a strong coffee, and then it's straight to my brother Jack's place.
I can already imagine his I-told-you-so look when he sees me and the van, both of us looking like battered soldiers returning from war. Better not prolong that scolding any more than necessary.
The restaurant is warm, a contrast to the chill outside, and smells like fresh coffee and fried eggs. I order a turkey club sandwich and a large coffee to go, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait. The sooner I'm out of here, the sooner I can collapse into a bed and forget this day—and the last four years—ever happened.
Sandwich and coffee in hand, I push through the front door, and am immediately slapped by the cold, damp air. And that's when I see him, a shadowy figure fiddling with the lock on my van. At first, all the breath rushes out of me as if I was just punched in the gut. But right on its tails, anger flares up inside me, hot and blazing.
"Hey!" I shout. It’s more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else. The figure startles, glancing my way, and in that split second, I realize I have no idea what to do next.
He takes one step towards me, and then another, and I feel like I'm watching everything in slow motion. My fingernails tear holes in my sack as my hand balls into a fist. Every muscle in my body tightens as the figure continues to advance, and I try to steel myself against whatever might be coming.
Then another figure streaks into view, this one unmistakably large and moving with purpose across the puddled lot. Before I can wonder if these two are going to take me down together, the second man charges at the would-be thief with a speed surprising for his size, and the slimy criminal decides he's not sticking around to see how this plays out. He darts off into the night, leaving me standing there, sandwich and coffee forgotten in my hands.
My rescuer turns to me, and the dim light from the diner spills out onto the parking lot, finally illuminating his features. A thunderclap of recognition shatters over me.
Julian Rodriguez.
He's changed—gone is the slender, spiky-haired rebel I remember from my teenage years. In his place stands a muscled mountain of a man. His olive skin is decorated with ink, most notably a jet-black serpent that snakes around his broad left arm, disappearing beneath his shirt, and reappearing at his neck where his dark hair is pulled back into a bun. Aside from his shining gray eyes, the only thing about him that remains the same is his undeniable, palpable presence.
"Julian?" I manage, my voice an incredulous rattle.
He nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, as if he's aware of the effect his transformation has on me. "Natalie Williams," he says, his voice deep and smooth, "as I live and breathe."
I'm speechless, the danger of the moment totally forgotten. Julian Rodriguez, the boy who once raced through our streets on a beat-up bike, the boy who was responsible for all the trouble my brother got into, the boy I had my first kiss with, is now this...this towering man of strength and tattoos. It's a lot to take in.
It takes a moment for my voice to return to me. "Thanks," I finally say, lifting my coffee in a half-hearted toast. "For, um, scaring him off."
He shrugs, as if chasing off thieves is just part of his nightly routine. "No problem.” His eyes survey my current state—matted hair, no makeup, and coffee-stained sweats—and my skin goes flush beneath his gaze. Then, with a smirk and a twitch of his brow, he asks, “What brings you back to town?"
It's a simple question, but loaded with the weight of my recent past. I opt for a shrug, trying my best to mimic his casual demeanor. "Just... visiting. I uh, broke up with my fiancé," I finally offer, internally kicking myself for mentioning that little detail.
I glance nervously at the sidewalk, praying he doesn't ask anything more. The last thing I want to tell Julian is that I left Hayden at the alter after finding out he was sleeping with our neighbor.
Julian nods, accepting my answer with an ease that makes me wonder if he can still read me like a book, or if on some level he knows what I'm going through. Before I can stick my foot in my mouth, he glances at the van, saving me for the second time this evening.
"Did you drive all the way out here in this thing?” he teases, giving the wheel a light prod. “Looks like it's seen better days."
I laugh, a genuine sound that surprises me. “That makes two of us.”
