Chapter 13 : The Brightness
The napkin on Table Seven had a phone number on it.
I stared at it while pretending to check my order pad, my brain short-circuiting for a solid three seconds before catching up with reality. Caroline Forbes had written her number in purple ink, complete with a smiley face that somehow managed to be both casual and terrifyingly significant.
In case you need event planning advice — that's what she'd said when she slid it across the table, her voice light but her eyes watching for my reaction.
Three hours earlier, she'd walked into the Grill with Elena and Bonnie, and she'd specifically asked to sit in my section.
"Matt's section," she'd told the hostess. "If that's okay."
The hostess—a college girl who couldn't have cared less—had shrugged and pointed them toward Table Seven. Elena had caught my eye and smiled, the kind of smile that said I know exactly what's happening here.
I'd taken their order with professional detachment, recommended the special sauce when Caroline asked about it, and retreated to the kitchen to process what was unfolding.
This wasn't the show.
In the original timeline, Caroline Forbes had been chasing Tyler's cousin Mark all summer. She'd been desperate for attention from older boys, from anyone who might validate the version of herself she was trying to build. Matt Donovan had been background noise—the ex-boyfriend's ex, the guy who worked at the Grill, pleasant but invisible.
Something had changed.
Maybe it was the way I'd waved at her on the football field. Maybe it was whatever Elena had said about my visit to the Gilbert house. Maybe it was just the accumulated weight of small differences—the new backbone Tyler had noticed, the genuine conversations with Elena, the way I'd been looking at the world with twenty-eight-year-old eyes instead of seventeen-year-old ones.
Whatever the cause, Caroline Forbes was interested.
And I had her phone number.
The shift crawled by. I served tables, refilled drinks, made small talk with regulars who'd become familiar over the past two weeks. Sheriff Forbes came in for her usual loaded burger—extra sauce—and I watched her eat with quiet satisfaction. Another dose of protection, another layer of defense.
At 8:15, there was a lull. The dinner rush had faded, and only a handful of tables were still occupied. I grabbed a pitcher of water and headed toward Table Seven.
Caroline was mid-sentence when I arrived, gesturing with the passion she brought to everything.
"—and then Mrs. Harrison had the nerve to say the Spring Fling decorations were 'adequate.' Adequate! I stayed up until three in the morning making those centerpieces!"
Elena and Bonnie nodded sympathetically. They'd clearly heard this rant before.
"Water refills?" I asked, already pouring.
Caroline's frustration redirected toward me. "Matt. You were there. Tell them—were the centerpieces adequate?"
The memory surfaced from Matt's brain—Caroline Forbes standing on a ladder at 2 AM, adjusting flower arrangements while the rest of the committee had gone home. The centerpieces had been elaborate, color-coordinated, and probably visible from space.
"You organized the entire Spring Fling in three weeks," I said. "Anyone who calls that adequate isn't paying attention."
Caroline's mouth opened. Closed. Her expression shifted through surprise, confusion, and something that looked almost like vulnerability.
"I... thank you."
Elena and Bonnie exchanged glances. The kind of glances that communicated entire conversations in a single look.
"I mean it." I set the pitcher down. "The theme was sophisticated, the decorations were professional-grade, and you managed the whole thing while keeping up with cheerleading and AP classes. Most adults couldn't pull that off."
Caroline stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. Not the performative brightness she usually wore, but something softer. Genuine.
"You actually noticed all that."
"Hard not to."
The moment stretched. Elena was watching with barely concealed delight. Bonnie looked like she was trying not to laugh.
"I should check on my other tables," I said, picking up the pitcher.
"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Caroline's voice was slightly breathless. "Thanks for the water."
I walked away with my heart hammering against my ribs.
What are you doing? The question echoed in my head. This isn't the plan. The plan is vervain protection, not romance.
But protecting Caroline meant more than just preventing Damon from getting his hands on her. It meant giving her something real. Someone who saw her—actually saw her—before the darkness arrived.
And if I was being honest with myself, the seeing wasn't entirely strategic.
The jukebox in the corner switched songs. The opening chords hit me like a physical blow.
Closing Time.
The same song I'd listened to on repeat during my college years, during the late nights when loneliness pressed in and the future seemed like an endless tunnel of cubicles and quarterly reports. My previous life's soundtrack, playing in this fictional town where I was pretending to be a teenager.
The universe had a sense of humor.
I finished my shift on autopilot, processing credit cards and wiping down tables while the song played out. When I brought the check to Table Seven, Caroline had written her number on a napkin.
"In case you need event planning advice," she said.
Her eyes said something else entirely.
I pocketed the napkin casually, like it wasn't burning a hole through my pocket. "Thanks. Same goes for you—if you ever need help with heavy lifting."
"I might take you up on that." She smiled again, that genuine one. "There's a summer festival coming up. Always need volunteers."
"Let me know."
Elena and Bonnie were practically vibrating with contained excitement as they gathered their things. Caroline led the way out, throwing one last glance over her shoulder.
The door closed behind them.
I stood there for a long moment, napkin in my pocket, listening to the last notes of a song from another life.
Eighty-three days until Stefan arrives.
Eighty-three days to build something worth protecting.
After closing, I sat in my truck and pulled out my phone. The napkin sat on the passenger seat, Caroline's handwriting catching the glow from the parking lot lights.
I typed carefully: That advice offer works both ways. Let me know if you ever need help with heavy lifting.
Sent.
Three dots appeared almost immediately. She was typing.
The response came thirty seconds later: Festival setup starts Monday. 3 PM at the square. Wear comfortable shoes — I'm a demanding supervisor.
I smiled at my phone like an idiot.
I'll be there.
Her reply included a smiley face. Just one. But it felt like a promise.
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