Chapter 4 Detours and Discoveriees

Detours and Discoveriees

The storm hit just as Cassie was leaving Tony's, three hours of forced smiles and business talk finally behind her. The dinner had been exactly what she'd expected—Jake holding court with the Hendersons while she played the perfect supporting actress, nodding at the right moments and laughing at jokes that weren't funny.

"You were wonderful tonight," Jake had said as they stood under the restaurant's awning, waiting for the valet. "Patricia Henderson was quite taken with you."

Cassie had smiled and said all the right things, but inside she felt hollow. Empty. Like she was watching her life happen to someone else.

Now, as rain lashed her windshield and thunder rolled overhead, she found herself driving aimlessly through the city. She should go home, get some sleep, pretend today had never happened. Instead, she pulled into a 24-hour diner, the kind of place that served coffee black and asked no questions.

The Moonlight Diner was nearly empty—just a trucker in a corner booth and a teenage couple sharing a milkshake. Cassie slid into a booth by the window, ordered coffee she didn't need, and stared at her phone.

No messages from Jake , which wasn't unusual. He'd gone home to review contracts, his mind already on tomorrow's meetings. But there was a text from an unknown number, sent twenty minutes ago:

Is this Cassie Hunter? This is Greyson Christianson. I have your business card—you dropped it in the elevator. Thought you might need it.

Her heart performed that same Olympic somersault from earlier. She stared at the message, reading it three times before her fingers found the courage to respond.

How did you get my number?

The reply came immediately: Your business card. It's what they're for.

Despite everything, she smiled. Smart ass.

Guilty. Are you okay? You seemed... rattled when you left.

Cassie hesitated. She could lie, say she was fine, maintain the professional distance that was supposed to exist between them. Instead, she found herself typing: Long dinner. Longer day. You?

Couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about the elevator.

Her breath caught. The claustrophobia?

Among other things.

The three dots appeared and disappeared several times, like he was typing and deleting responses. Finally: Are you home?

No. Some diner on Fifth Street. Hiding from my life.

Moonlight Diner?

How did you

I'm in the parking lot.

Cassie's head snapped up, scanning the rain-soaked windows. Through the storm, she could see a figure standing beside a dark BMW, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You're stalking me now?

I was driving around too. Saw your car. Figured you might want company.

Presumptuous.

Accurate.

She laughed, the sound surprising her. When was the last time someone had made her laugh like that? Really laugh, not the polite titter she'd perfected for business dinners.

Come in. But you're buying your own coffee.

She watched him run through the rain, shoulders hunched against the downpour. When he slid into the booth across from her, his hair was damp and his expensive shirt clung to his chest in ways that made her forget why she'd thought this was a bad idea.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, signaling the waitress for coffee.

"Small world." Cassie wrapped her hands around her mug, using the warmth to steady herself. "What's your excuse for being out in this weather?"

"Insomnia. You?"

"Existential crisis."

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "At least you're honest about it."

The waitress brought his coffee and refilled Cassie's cup. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the storm rage outside.

"How was dinner?" Greyson asked finally.

"Educational." Cassie took a sip of coffee, welcoming the bitter burn. "I learned that Jake 's business partners think I should consider law school. Apparently, I have the right temperament for corporate litigation."

"Do you?"

"I have no idea. I've never thought about it." She set down her mug harder than necessary. "That's the problem with my life—everyone else has opinions about what I should do with it."

"And what do you want to do?"

The question hung between them like a challenge. Cassie realized she couldn't remember the last time someone had asked her that. Really asked, not as a lead-in to helpful suggestions or career advice.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I used to know. I used to have plans, dreams, all those things you're supposed to have figured out by twenty-eight. But somewhere along the way, I got caught up in other people's expectations."

"It's not too late to change course."

"Isn't it?" She held up her left hand, the diamond catching the diner's fluorescent lights. "Three months until the wedding. Invitations already sent. Deposits paid."

"Sunk cost fallacy," Greyson said quietly.

"What?"

"It's an economic principle. The idea that you should continue investing in something because of what you've already put into it, even when it's not giving you the returns you want."

Cassie stared at him. "Are you comparing my engagement to a bad investment?"

"I'm just saying that what you've already spent—time, money, energy—shouldn't determine what you do next. The only question that matters is: what do you want going forward?"

The question hit her like a physical blow. What did she want? Not what her parents wanted, not what was expected of her, not what looked good on paper. What did Cassie Hunter want?

"I want to feel something," she said finally, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I want to wake up excited about my day. I want someone to know me well enough to surprise me. I want—"

She stopped, horrified by her own honesty. But Greyson was listening with an intensity that made her feel seen, really seen, for the first time in months.

"Go on," he said softly.

"I want to matter. Not as someone's daughter or fiancée or business asset. As myself."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Outside, the storm was beginning to ease, but inside the diner, the air felt electric.

"You matter to me," Greyson said finally.