Annelly

(Two Months Later)

“I need to leave if I’m going to make bingo,” Mom says, her fingers tapping away with practiced precision as she closes out her register.

At sixty-one, Rose Marie Connors still turns heads wherever she goes. She carries herself with the effortless grace that commands attention—a perfect mix of refined confidence and timeless beauty. Even after a ten-hour shift, her dark hair is still perfectly styled in a tight chignon, not a strand out of place. Her makeup remains flawless, not a single smudge or crease to betray the long day she’s endured. Even her 1950s-style waitressing uniform looks fresh and pressed, as though she hasn’t spent hours on her feet, catering to customers with her trademark poise. She’s the embodiment of composure and elegance—a walking testament to perfection.

In short, my mother is everything I’m not, but wish I could be.

“Okay, drive safe.”

“I will, my darling. I’ll see you at home.” She pats my cheek in a gesture only a mother can get away with.

Her smile should warm me, but instead, it only adds to my resentment. I get she’s happy to have me back home, but I hate that her happiness comes at the expense of my own. And while I know, logically, it isn’t her fault, I can’t help but blame her. After all, she raised me to feel this way.

 She may not have planted the seeds of doubt that sabotaged my life, but she certainly tended to them. Nurtured them until, eventually, I was too insecure to take a step without her. And then when I did… well, New York happened, and we all know how that ended.

Now, here I am. Back where I started.

My failure to thrive would be an enormous concern for any other parent, but to my mother, it means life is exactly as it should be.

Tired of wallowing in self-pity, I force myself to focus on the dining room. My gaze sweeps over each table, assessing what our patrons might need. I was raised in this diner. Surrounded by the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation, waitressing is second nature to me.

“Annelly, the Serrano brothers are here.” Wendy’s voice snaps me back to the present and the familiar chaos of the diner.

“Thanks. Can you check with Mr. Kev for table two’s order? They’ve been waiting a while.”

“Of course,” she replies, already heading toward the kitchen to talk to our chef.

With a slight nod meant to acknowledge I’m ready, I straighten my spine, keeping my face neutral even as my chest tightens in anticipation. I’m actually quite proud of myself for not looking in their direction the minute I felt him arrive.

That’s right. Felt him.

It’s like some cruel cosmic joke, the way I can sense him before he even steps through the door. I can’t explain it. It’s like a subtle shift in the air that awakens every nerve ending in my body, pulling my attention straight to him. There was a time when I reveled in the intensity of those feelings. The way he could ignite something deep inside me with just a look or the sound of his voice. Back then, it felt like magic—like we were connected in a way that was unique to us. But that was before everything fell apart. Before, he broke my heart and disappointed me so completely that even now, I’m not sure all the pieces will ever fit back together.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I reach for the stack of menus and grab two rolls of silverware. You can do this. I remind myself—for what feels like the hundredth time since they walked in. Forcing my feet to move, I make my way to the far corner booth where they always sit.

As if this weird connection between me and James wasn’t bad enough, there’s the added torment that he always shows up during my shifts. The first few weeks, I figured it was a coincidence, but now I’m convinced it’s intentional. He knows my schedule, and that he consistently shows up feels like his way of punishing me for what happened at Lucas and Emilia’s wedding.

I replay the memory of that night more often than I’d ever admit: James, with that rare vulnerability in his voice, asking if we could start over, go back to being friends. And me shutting him down. If there’s one thing James Serrano isn’t accustomed to, it’s rejection—and I’m certain what I said bruised more than just his pride.

“There she is. How’s our beautiful waitress today?” Right on cue, James opens with his goofy grin and his usual array of compliments. There was a time that lethal combination would heat my body and send my heart fluttering, but that was before he hurt me. Now, the only heat I feel comes from my anger. In the two months I’ve been back in Ruby Creek, not once has he acknowledged the cruel way he ended our friendship. Instead, he acts like it never happened, like it was just a blip in his otherwise charmed, carefree life.

“Hi, the usual?” I ask, my eyes cast down, focused on the notepad where I’m going to pretend to pencil in their order.

“Hey there, Nell.” Tyler chimes in, cutting through the tension with his usual humor. “Please ignore my ass-hat brother. I keep telling him he sounds like a complete douche when he talks like that.” I almost smile but force myself not to. After a few awkward seconds, he finally answers the question I asked. “The usual works for me, thanks.”

Eager to move things along, I chance a glance at James and instantly regret it. With his jet-black hair and those piercing crystal-blue eyes, he’s easily the most handsome man I’ve ever known. The way he moves and the easy confidence he exudes speak of a man who’s well aware of his good looks. But that’s not what speeds up my heart when our eyes meet; it’s what I see behind them that undoes me.

There’s longing there—raw, needy, wanting—woven between hints of sadness. It’s the same look he used to give me, the one that had me foolishly believing there could be something more between us. It’s also the same look he gave me as he declared there wasn’t any room for me in his life. Seeing it now ignites a firestorm of emotion: anger, heartbreak, and something darker I refuse to name.

The contradiction—his actions versus what his eyes reveal—hits a nerve I can’t ignore, for it reminds me of the man who haunts my nightmares. The one who mastered the art of twisted devotion. Who whispered lies of love, even as he broke me down with cruelty. 

It’s then that memories from that night come rushing back, unbidden and without warning. Images flash behind my eyes, their vividness blurring the lines between then and now. The force by which they constrict my throat awakens my flight response, and suddenly, all I want to do is retreat. I need to go, to find somewhere private where I can ride out the storm before it consumes me.

Swallowing hard, I fight to tamp down the looming sense of panic, burying it beneath the mask of indifference James taught me to perfect.

“Same for me. Thanks, Annelly,” he says as his eyes assess me, his half-smile fading into a look of concern.

Because he can see.

That thought ignites a fresh wave of dread, and heat rushes to my cheeks as shame courses through me. I can’t let him see. I won’t. Turning quickly, I catch my foot on a chair leg, and my balance falters. Though I manage to stay upright, the clatter draws every eye in the diner. Conversations stall, and the weight of their collective attention lands squarely on me. My chest tightens further, embarrassment fanning the flames of my growing panic.

By the time I reach the counter where Wendy is entering an order, my pulse is a thunderous roar in my ears. Her teasing smile cuts through the haze, but her words sting all the same.

“You alright there, Nelly?” she asks with a soft chuckle, her tone light but, in my current state, unwelcomed.

“I’m fine. Taking a quick break.” I manage, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me.

I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I key in their order and hurry toward the back office, my steps quickening with every stride. The second the door clicks shut behind me, I lock it and collapse onto the loveseat. Tears burn my eyes as I bury my face in my hands, surrendering to the silent sobs that tear free.

I hate this. Hate the weakness that grips me. Hate that no matter how far I’ve come, it always circles back to him. To Victor. To the way he shattered my sense of safety. It’s been two months, but I’m still trapped in that room, reliving the terror he inflicted. Even as I breathe the air of freedom, he’s still caging me, stealing the peace I’m not sure I’ll ever fully reclaim.

The soft knock at the door startles me. Embarrassment floods through me as I swipe at the tears streaking down my cheeks. I can’t fall apart—not here, not now. Clearing my throat, I shove the memories back into the box where they belong, sealing them away for later when I’m alone.

“What is it?” I call out, my voice surprisingly steady.

“It’s me. Can I come in?” The familiar voice of my cousin Emilia carries through the door. Resigned, I wipe my face one last time before unlocking it.

She steps inside, her eyes scanning me with concern. “You okay?” Her voice is soft, laced with worry, as her hand cradles her very pregnant belly.

“Yes,” I force a faint smile. “Just having a moment. You know how I get.”

Her brow furrows. “I saw what happened. Were the boys giving you a hard time?”

“No, they were fine. I’m just having a bad day.” I try to wave it off, but the weight of her gaze tells me she’s not buying it.

“Nell.” She hesitates before laying a hand on my arm. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think you should talk to someone. Since coming back from New York… well, I can tell something’s wrong. If you can’t talk to me, maybe it’s time you try someone else. A professional. Maybe your old therapist?”

While deep down, I know she’s only trying to help, her advice strikes a nerve. It’s a reminder of how the people in my life see me. Like I’m someone that needs to be managed, protected, and saved. Someone broken and fragile.

And maybe that’s exactly what I am. Regardless of how much I wish it weren’t true.

In the end, she’s right. Because I do feel like I’m going crazy. It’s been two months since that night, and though there’s no sign he’s looking for me, the fear inside me keeps growing. Every day feels like I’m walking a tightrope, teetering on the edge, wondering if today will be the day he shows up to make good on his promise to make me his.

Plus, there are moments when the feeling is so strong it’s impossible to ignore—like a pair of unseen eyes boring into my back, watching my every move. Logically, I know it’s not possible. I know he’s not here. But logic doesn’t reach the part of me that’s been rewired by fear. Every nerve in my body screams that he’s close, lurking just out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“I know, and I promise I will seek help if things get to be too much. Today’s just… a bad day.” I offer a tight smile, then step forward to guide her out of the office. “Now come on, Lucas is probably pacing the floor, looking for you.”

She hesitates, her voice behind me full of uncertainty. “You sure you’re okay?”

The knot in my chest tightens. Her worry only feeds the growing guilt inside me. It’s a reminder that I need to do a better job at hiding how far my life has unraveled.

Plastering on my most convincing smile, I nod. “Yes. Now, get back out there. He’s waiting for you.”

As she walks away, I watch her return to her husband and daughters, their love and happy little family, a stark contrast to the chaos that is my life. With a strange sense of longing, I linger on them a moment longer, then I step back out to the middle of the room, checking on my tables like everything is fine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch James watching me. His brow furrowed with concern. His worry digs under my skin, but I don’t let myself look his way again. Instead, I bury myself in my work, throwing every ounce of focus into staying busy until, finally, he and his brother leave.

After that, the hours pass by in a blur. By the time I flip the CLOSED sign, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. One more weird day behind me. But as I reach to lock the door, that familiar, unwelcome prickle of dread snakes up my spine. The unsettling sense of being watched has my eyes scanning the darkness beyond the glass door.

That’s when I see it. A shadowy figure. The unmistakable shape of a man. My pulse stutters as he turns the corner and vanishes from sight. Goosebumps break out over my skin as my mind spirals, attempting to process what it thinks I saw.

That shadow… it could have been anyone. At least that’s what I tell myself as I dart around the front of the diner, yanking the blinds shut with trembling hands.

“You all right there, Ms. Nelly?”

The sound of Mr. Kev’s voice nearly makes me jump. His worried tone cuts through the fog of my panic, and when I turn to see his concerned expression, my worst fear is confirmed—he saw me.

He saw me freak out.

Forcing my breathing to slow, I summon every ounce of composure I can muster. Schooling my features, I reach for the cleaning spray and rag, turning my back to him to hide my shaky hands.

“Of course,” I say, forcing a steadiness I don’t feel. “Everything’s just fine.”

The lie tastes bitter, but I don’t look back. Instead, I focus on scrubbing the tables as if, by doing so, I can wipe away the lingering fear clinging to my skin.

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