Chapter 148
Chapter 148
The smell of butter and coffee had already filled the kitchen by the time Izzy tied the apron around her waist. Morning light poured through the wide lake-facing windows, soft and gold, turning the steam from the griddle into slow-moving ribbons. The inn’s dining room beyond the door was still empty except for the low murmur of the old television that Lorna kept on for company.
Lorna moved like someone who’d been running kitchens her whole life—brisk but never hurried. “You keep the pancakes small,” she said, flipping one with a confident snap of the wrist. “Tourists like to think they’re eating light, even when they drown the plate in syrup.”
Izzy smiled. “That’s the same trick we used back home. People always want ‘just a taste.’”
“Exactly.” Lorna winked. “Give them a stack of four tiny ones and they’ll tell you you’re an angel.”
For the first time in months, Izzy felt her body remember what it meant to relax. The hiss of batter on the hot surface, the clink of mugs, the easy rhythm of breakfast—these were the sounds that used to anchor her, before everything went wrong. She caught herself humming under her breath, something old and tuneless, and didn’t stop.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Lorna asked without looking up.
“Yeah,” Izzy admitted. “Like I’m…me again.”
“Then that’s worth keeping,” Lorna said simply.
They moved in sync, trading spatulas and jokes, talking about the weather and the early thaw. Every now and then a guest wandered in for coffee, and Lorna greeted each one by name. Izzy liked that about her—how she carried warmth the way other people carried authority. You couldn’t fake that.
By the time the last plate left the pass-through window, the dining room was full of soft chatter and the clatter of silverware. Lorna leaned on the counter, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’ve got a good touch,” she said, nodding at the perfectly browned pancakes stacked under the heat lamps. “I haven’t seen someone move that naturally in a kitchen in years.”
Izzy’s cheeks warmed. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I missed this.”
“You’ll remember quick. It’s muscle memory,” Lorna said, turning off the stove. “Grab yourself some coffee, sit with me a minute before we tackle the mess.”
Izzy poured two mugs and joined her at the little table in the corner. The lake glittered through the window, still partly iced over but breaking apart in thin sheets that drifted toward shore. The sound of dripping water from the eaves was steady and soothing. For the first time since she’d run, the world didn’t feel like it was chasing her.
Lorna took a sip of her coffee, studying Izzy over the rim of her mug. “You know,” she said, “if you want it, the job’s yours.”
Izzy blinked. “Really?”
“You’ve got the hands and the heart for it. I can see that in five minutes.” Lorna’s smile deepened the fine lines around her eyes. “And frankly, I’m tired of cooking for people who think toast is a food group.”
Izzy laughed—really laughed—and the sound startled her. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say yes,” Lorna said. “That’ll do.”
Izzy’s fingers tightened around the mug. “I’ve been trying to start over,” she said softly. “I thought maybe this place could be it.”
“Then start,” Lorna replied. “No one comes up here unless they’re running from something or running toward something. Either way, the air’s clean enough to breathe again.”
The television droned quietly in the background, a local news anchor talking about fishing permits and road construction. Neither of them paid it much attention. Izzy felt herself unclench another inch. She watched a gull swoop low over the lake and thought how easy it looked, moving forward without ever looking back.
Lorna broke the silence first. “So what’s your story, sweetheart? You got people waiting somewhere?”
Izzy hesitated. “Not anymore,” she said. “Just…a few old ghosts.”
Lorna nodded, accepting that answer without pressing. “Well,” she said, “ghosts don’t eat breakfast, and guests do. You’ll fit right in.”
Izzy smiled again, grateful for the mercy of a conversation that didn’t demand explanations. The morning seemed to stretch open, bright and ordinary. She thought about Beck—where he might be on the lake trail right now, maybe already planning a tour—and she let the thought warm her instead of scare her.
Outside, a snowmelt wind rattled the porch signs and carried the scent of pine through the open window. The day felt alive with promise. Izzy thought, Maybe this is how new beginnings actually happen—not in grand gestures, but in small, steady breaths.
She stood to clear the mugs. “I’ll start on the dishes.”
Lorna waved her off. “Finish your coffee first. You’ve earned five quiet minutes.”
Izzy laughed again, easing back into the chair. The old clock above the counter ticked steadily; the news shifted to another story, the sound just a hum beneath their easy conversation.
She didn’t know yet that those five minutes of peace would be the last she’d have for a long time.
The kitchen was spotless again, the last plate dried and stacked neatly on the shelf. Izzy and Lorna sat in the dining room with cups of fresh coffee, watching the sun spread across the lake. The TV still murmured in the background — something about local events, a fishing derby, the early spring melt. It was just noise. Comforting, meaningless noise.
Lorna leaned back in her chair, smiling.
“Well,” she said, “if you’re sure you don’t mind the early mornings, I’d like to make it official. You’ve got the job if you want it.”
Izzy’s breath caught. “Really?”
“Really. I’ll talk to Ben about getting you a room upstairs for a bit until you find your own place. It’s quiet, steady work. You’ll like it here.”
Izzy exhaled slowly. The words steady work felt unreal. “Thank you, Lorna. I mean it. I… I didn’t think anyone would take a chance on me again.”
Lorna’s eyes softened. “Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to prove. A woman who can cook like you, she’s already earned her keep.”
Izzy smiled faintly, tracing the rim of her mug with a trembling finger. For a second, she let herself believe this was it — the start of her real life again. No more secrets. No more fear. Just morning coffee and lake air and honest work.
Then the voice from the TV cut through the stillness.
“In national news this morning…”
Izzy barely heard the first few words. Her mind drifted, still wrapped in the quiet warmth of Lorna’s kindness. But then — “…billionaire philanthropist Richard Dane made a public statement earlier today…”
Her body went still.
The mug clinked softly against the table as her grip loosened.
Lorna frowned. “You all right, hon?”
Izzy didn’t answer. She turned toward the TV.
There he was.
Richard Dane. Perfect suit, pressed handkerchief, his silver hair combed immaculately back. Behind him, the flashing lights of reporters and microphones crowded together. His expression — heartbreak. The kind of heartbreak that looks rehearsed but real enough to fool anyone.
Her stomach dropped.
The anchor continued, voice even and polished:
“Mr. Dane has issued an emotional plea for the safe return of his fiancée, Isabelle Dane, who disappeared from their private estate several weeks ago. Dane says Isabelle may be experiencing severe prenatal distress and confusion following the loss of his first wife and son several years ago.”
The screen shifted — to a photo of Izzy.
Her photo.
Smiling, head tilted, flour dusting her cheek. Someone had taken it at the lodge kitchen months ago, when she’d still believed kindness could fix him.
Lorna blinked. “My God…” she whispered. “That’s—”
Izzy’s chest constricted. “Turn it off,” she said quietly. “Please, Lorna, turn it off—”
But Lorna didn’t move. Her gaze was fixed on the screen, where Dick now spoke directly to the camera.
His voice was low, gentle — the same voice that used to make Izzy feel safe before it turned into something darker.
“She’s not herself,” he said, eyes glistening just enough to catch the light. “She’s… frightened. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Isabelle, if you see this — please, darling, come home. You’re not in trouble. You’re loved. You’re safe. Just come home.”
Her blood turned to ice.
Every word dripped with sincerity. He looked like the perfect grieving man, the loving partner desperate to protect the woman he adored. His eyes even softened when he said her name — Isabelle — with that practiced tenderness that once melted her.
Lorna turned to her, slow disbelief dawning. “That’s you.”
Izzy swallowed hard. “It’s not what it looks like. He’s lying.”
“He said you’re confused,” Lorna said quietly. “That you ran off because of… pregnancy nerves. That you thought people were after you.”
Izzy shook her head, panic rising like bile. “He’s dangerous, Lorna. Please — he’s not who he says he is. You can’t believe him.”
Lorna’s expression flickered, torn between compassion and fear. “Honey… I don’t know what to think. You’ve been jumpy since you got here. You don’t have any ID, and you didn’t want to fill out the forms…”
“I was protecting myself!” Izzy’s voice cracked. “He’ll kill me, Lorna, do you understand? He’s killed before—”
Lorna stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am. But I can’t get in the middle of this.”
“Please,” Izzy whispered. “Please don’t—”
Lorna’s gaze darted to the window, to the street outside. Her voice dropped low. “If that man’s looking for you, it’s not safe for anyone here. Maybe it’s best you go for now, until it’s… sorted.”
Izzy wanted to scream, but the words tangled in her throat. Dick’s voice still played softly from the television, wrapping around her like smoke:
“Isabelle, if you see this, I’ll come for you. I’ll bring you home myself.”
Lorna reached for the remote and finally clicked the TV off. The silence that followed was heavier than the sound had been.
“I’ll… I’ll pack my things,” Izzy murmured, numb.
Lorna nodded, not unkindly but distant now, protective of her own. “I think that’s best.”
As Izzy walked toward the back door, the world around her felt muted, unreal. Her footsteps echoed in the empty hall. The smell of coffee and maple syrup clung to her clothes — the last trace of something ordinary slipping away.
She pushed through the door and stepped outside. The cold air hit her like a slap.
Across the lake, the sunlight had faded behind a line of gray clouds. A breeze rippled the water, breaking the reflection of the sky into shattered glass.
Inside, through the dining room window, the TV flickered again as Lorna turned it back on — just in time for Dick’s tearful promise to replay on loop.
“I’ll find you, Isabelle. I’ll bring you home.”
Izzy started walking — nowhere in particular, just away.
And as the wind caught her hair and the world seemed to tilt around her, she knew one thing for certain.
No matter how far she ran, Richard Dane would never stop looking.