by Olivia Miles
“Kristy said you’re going to wear a blue dress for my wedding?”
“No! For her wedding!” Sophie cried, frustration causing her plump little cheeks to grow pink. “When she marries Daddy!”
Jane felt the blood rush from her face, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. Or faint. She slumped into a chair, listening to Grace make cheerful conversation with Sophie in a blatant attempt to smooth over the situation, but her mind was spinning. Adam was getting married—to the woman he had left her for! He had strayed from their marriage, ripped apart their family, and yet he was ready to settle down with a new wife, live the life they should have shared and could have—if he’d loved her.
Tears prickled the back of her eyes, but she blinked quickly, refusing to let them fall in front of Sophie. There would be plenty of time to cry tonight—God knew she wouldn’t get any sleep now, ultrasoft flannel pajama pants or not.
It was so easy for Adam. He’d gotten bored of one wife and quickly found another. He didn’t have to live with an emptiness in his heart, or think of something funny that had happened that day and find there was no one in the bedroom to tell it to—and that it was too late to pick up the phone and call someone. He didn’t have to stand at the playground on a Saturday afternoon and watch other smiling couples push their children on the swings, feeling like his heart was twisting with each breath—because Adam was actually one of those happy couples!
He’d moved on. He’d found someone. He didn’t have to go on dates, try on new people, see if they fit. While she… she was still trying—in vain, it would seem—to make sense of her new life, the life she hadn’t chosen, and to forget the one that had been taken from her.
“Jane?” Grace’s voice was overly bright, her smile bared, her green eyes electric. “Why don’t we have some of that delicious soup?”
“I’ll set the table!” Sophie volunteered. She took three placemats from the basket on the counter and began arranging them on the pedestal table. “Daddy said it’s important for me to help, so I can show a good example.”
What was she talking about? Jane moved slowly to the slow cooker and lifted the lid, feeling her stomach stir from the aroma. She couldn’t eat if she tried. Adam was living the easy life, wasn’t he? No harm done, on he went. No regard for her, or the damage he had caused. No glance back. Must be nice. Must be nice indeed.
“Daddy said I’ll have lots of responsibility when the new baby comes.”
The glass lid fell from Jane’s hand, shattering in the ceramic sink. Grace’s hands were on hers instantly, but she wasn’t cut. Not physically at least.
“What did you just say, Sophie?” she managed, even though she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know anything.
“There’s going to be a baby, Mommy!” Sophie’s eyes danced with excitement. “I get to be a flower girl! And a big sister!”
Jane swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to process everything, waiting for the wounds to seal shut again. She’d told herself she was better off alone, that she preferred it that way. If she didn’t give her heart away, it couldn’t be broken. This was a fresh reminder.
Grace’s hand was still tight on hers. “You sure you don’t want to give dating another try?” she asked half-heartedly, but concern darkened her eyes.
Jane nodded firmly, but the tug in her heart said otherwise.
CHAPTER
2
Henry Birch stood in the middle of the perfectly landscaped town square, his travel-sized umbrella hanging at his side despite the light drizzle that filtered through the golden oak leaves. He roved his eyes over Main Street, up around Cedar Lane, and down Chestnut, past the fat pumpkins squatting at the base of each shop door, and the cornstalks wrapped around every iron lamppost, considering how he might summarize his hometown of Briar Creek.
With its quaint shops and cobblestone streets, it is easy to be lured in by the charm of this small Vermont town, but do plan on limiting your visit to a three-day weekend, lest the locals get too friendly…
He rolled back on his heels, lips thinning, and popped open his umbrella. Just ahead, smack in the center of the square, was the white gazebo, freshly painted last spring, no doubt just like it was every year. Wet leaves stuck to its wide stairs, where he’d sat many a day watching a festival, chatting with friends. Back then, his gaze was always off in the distance, his attention only half present as anxiety churned in his gut, looking for a hint of a problem, an issue he’d have to deal with or hide, until inevitably it presented itself and he’d have to leave. It always ended the same way—his face burning with shame as the curious stares followed him until he was safely out of sight.
He tightened his grip on the plastic umbrella handle and turned back to Main Street, trying to ignore the acid that burned his stomach. There was no sense wasting time on memory lane.
He crossed the street and headed deeper into town, scanning for a quiet place to work on his latest assignment. Most of the shops had turned over since he’d moved away more than six years ago, reminding him that even in Briar Creek, things did grow and change. He frowned as he caught his reflection in the window of a new restaurant called Rosemary and Thyme. The travel writer in him forced to admit it looked half decent, at least from the outside, with its tall paned windows and a hint of thick velvet curtains and dark wood. He scanned the menu behind a glass case, impressed, and then glanced away before he invited trouble. That was just the problem with Briar Creek: If you stood still long enough, you were bound to run into someone who knew you way back when, someone who would want to know how you’d been and what you’d been up to—Didn’t you get married?—someone wanting to offer condolences, who would lower their tone when they mentioned why…
Well, he didn’t need their damn pity any more than he needed their inquisitions. He dodged through the rain, ducking under awnings, falling back on the few places he knew. Quickly deciding his options were Hastings, the local diner, or an armchair at Main Street Books, he decided on the latter. Hastings would no doubt be filled with locals wanting to chat, and he wasn’t here to catch up.
The door to the bookstore jingled when he pushed it open, and he set his umbrella in the overflowing stand, wiping his feet on the coir mat before walking over to a display table to peruse the new releases. The smell of coffee and sweet cinnamon pulled at his attention, and he glanced to the right, grinning as he ventured into the adjacent café. His sister had mentioned that the Madison girls had recently spruced up the place, but this was a complete renovation. A bakery counter lined the far wall, filled with scones, pastries, and muffins, and clusters of farm tables filled the space near the large paned window. Despite the addition being new, the floorboards were wide and stained a rich mahogany to match those of the bookstore, and instead of modern track lighting, wrought iron chandeliers and sconces lit the room they called the Annex.
It was just the kind of local gem he liked to highlight in his articles. If he was writing an article on Briar Creek, that was. And he wasn’t. Most definitely not.
Henry grinned as he dropped his bag from his shoulder with a thud. This was officially home for the next few weeks he was stuck in this damn town.
A few people he mercifully didn’t recognize sipped cappuccinos and read books or chatted in low voices. Henry walked to the counter, glancing around for someone who worked there, and waited with growing impatience. The last thing he needed was to be standing around when someone came in and recognized him. Then he’d be forced through the usual song and dance, the one he’d already been through just about every time he dared to leave the Main Street Bed and Breakfast, when all he wanted to do was get in and out and on with his day. Alone.
He gritted his teeth and looked around the café. He was just about to step into the bookstore itself when a flush-faced and frazzled-looking woman came through a back door, tying an apron at her waist. The color in her cheeks rose when she met his steady gaze, and after a beat, she gave a genuine smile, but it did little to m
ask the trepidation in her eyes.
“Henry! This is a surprise!”
He felt his grin widen as he scanned her shocked expression. With her flushed face and bright smile, Jane Madison looked just as beautiful as she had on her wedding day. He remembered the day clearly; couldn’t forget it if he tried. And oh, had he.
“Jane! Wow… Jane!” He shook himself back to the present, pushing back the thumping of his chest, and he took in that smile. He reached out awkwardly to embrace her, but the counter was wide, and the opening was a few feet down. After they shared a laugh, he stuck out his hand, holding hers in both of his. “It’s so good to see you! You working here now?”
She nodded, then glanced down at her hand—he hadn’t let it go yet, and he still didn’t want to. He felt his grin turn rueful as he loosened his grip and shoved his hands into his pockets, but Jane just blinked and bit her lip, watching him expectantly. Of all the people in Briar Creek, she was one he was at least glad to see. She’d married his best friend, after all.
“I work here part time. I teach ballet at the studio, too,” she added quickly.
How could he forget the long legs, the dance bag she toted around when she’d dated Adam… the scholarship to that academy she’d given up when he proposed? Henry let his eyes pass over her face, wondering if that was regret he sensed in her expression. Her hazel eyes were wide, and rimmed with long, black lashes. She’d filled out a bit since he’d last seen her—no longer so gangly. The soft curves suited her, he decided at once, lingering on her hips. He swallowed hard.
“You keep busy,” he remarked.
“That I do. So… what brings you to town?” Her eyes darkened as she held his stare.
“Ivy,” he said, referring to his sister.
Jane’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Ah. Well, what can I get for you? Coffee?”
“Black,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “The biggest size you’ve got. I have some work to catch up on.”
“Travel writing, right?” She slid the mug to him, holding up her hand in refusal when he held out a five-dollar bill. Her smile was shy, hesitant almost, and she looked away every time they made eye contact.
Guilt rested heavily on his shoulders. He’d been away too long. But then, what part of coming back was ever supposed to feel easy?
“I insist.” He grinned, dropping the money into the tip jar.
Her lashes fluttered as she sighed. “Well, then at least take a muffin. Wild blueberry, freshly baked this morning.” From a basket she took an enormous, crumble-topped muffin. Blueberries the size of nickels burst from the moist cake, and Henry’s stomach rumbled at the sweet scent. “They’ll sell out quickly,” she pressed, grinning.
“Did you make these yourself?” he asked, accepting the plate.
“God, no.” Jane laughed and the pink in her cheeks grew higher. “My sister Anna makes them. She runs a restaurant and café in town—Rosemary and Thyme? You may have passed it.”
“The nice-looking place on the corner of Second.” Henry nodded, impressed.
“She and Mark Hastings opened it this summer. It was a café called Fireside before that, but when they joined forces, she expanded.”
“Mark Hastings!” Henry grinned. He hadn’t thought of the Hastings guys in years. “My sister and I don’t chat as much as I would like, but I feel like Ivy mentioned something about Luke and Grace getting back together.” He shook his head. “I must be more out of touch than I thought. I didn’t even know they’d broken up.”
Jane’s eyes widened at this. “Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know, then. You’ve stayed away too long.”
He locked her gaze, ignoring the truth in her statement. “Why don’t you fill me in, then? We could have a coffee, catch up a bit.” He motioned to the empty table near the window. Work could wait. “What do you say?”
She seemed to stiffen. “Oh. I have to watch the counter.”
He glanced around the room. Everyone was engrossed in a book or a conversation, or huddled over a laptop, deep in concentration. A quick scan beyond some bookshelves to the front door revealed it empty.
“If a customer comes in, I’ll understand. I have an article to finish, so I’ll be here for a while.”
She gave him a long look, and he soaked in the pleasure of looking into her pretty face, without excuse. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
He arched a brow. “Should I?” But even as he said it, he knew he should. He should go to the corner, open his laptop, and get on with his life. His work kept him busy, kept his mind from running down paths it should resist. From lingering on people like Jane Madison and everything she represented, everything she’d once meant.
She hesitated. “Coffee it is, then. I could use another cup, honestly.”
Smiling easier now, she reached for another mug, and that was when he saw it. The engagement ring he’d personally helped Adam select at a jeweler in the neighboring town of Forest Ridge was missing, as was the plain silver wedding band he’d held in his breast pocket at their wedding, retrieving it on cue, watching as his best friend slid it onto her slender finger. She’d been smiling then, her eyes glistening with tears behind the soft sheen of her veil, and he remembered thinking Adam was the luckiest guy in the world.
Now, her fingers were bare, and it suddenly clicked. That sorry bastard had lost the best thing that had ever come into his life. And now here he was, reminding Jane of a time in her life she probably just wanted to forget.
He of all people could relate to that.
CHAPTER
3
Why was she being so defensive? There was no reason to be. Henry Birch was a nice guy. Ivy’s brother. Decent guy. Honest guy. Sometimes a little too honest, if she dared say so, but still an all-around good guy. So what if he once was Adam’s closest friend and best man in her wedding? That was years ago. He hadn’t even really kept in touch…
But something told her that her trepidation had something to do with more than the fact that Henry and Adam were as close as brothers growing up—it was that Henry looked… different. Better. Downright… handsome.
“I’m sorry about you and Adam,” Henry said as soon as she sat down at the table. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, his sky-blue eyes locking hers. Had she never noticed those eyes?
She held his stare for a moment, dismissing the flutter that zipped through her stomach, and waved off his concern with a simple shrug. “It’s been almost a year.”
She experienced a little jolt at the realization. A year… already? It was an alarming thought. Nine months had somehow passed since that terrible Christmas week when she’d finally voiced her suspicions about the affair. Nine months was all it had taken for Adam to start over, to put everything they’d shared permanently in his past, while she was still living in the home they had chosen together, raising their only daughter, stuck in the remnants of their life together. It was so unfair. So terribly unfair. It should have been her moving on first—her finding triumph in the wake of his betrayal, her finding happiness again…
Across the table, Henry was watching her carefully, one brow lifted in question, his lips pulled into a frown. Oh, there was that flutter again! Jane took a quick sip of her coffee to steady herself. What was wrong with her? So he was a good-looking guy. He’d always been a good-looking guy. He’d always been nice—quiet and sensitive. But he was also Adam’s best friend. And besides, he was just visiting Ivy, so really, there was no point in any of this. He was a good-looking man and that was the sum of it. And clearly her sisters were right: She needed to get out more. But oh, the thought of it…
“I’m fine,” she assured Henry, forcing a smile. And she was. She was just wonderful, crawling into an empty bed every night, knowing the only men who ever hugged her anymore were her sisters’ significant others, a fact that was, she knew, painfully pathetic. And she was perfectly happy eating cheese right from the block while standing in her kitchen on the nights her
daughter wasn’t with her. Why dirty a dish? She could think of nothing more depressing than cooking dinner for just herself, and oh, wasn’t it a thrill to take that Snickers from the freezer, tear open the wrapper, grab a glass of wine, and know that no one could stop her? So really, there was nothing for any of them to worry about. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old single mother whose cheating husband had impregnated his mistress. Worse things had happened, surely. “I’m just fine,” she said again.
She took another sip from her mug, glancing at him over the rim. From the pinch between his brow, he didn’t look convinced. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, the burning question that made her heart speed up and her palms sweat: Have you talked to him? But she forced herself to refrain. She didn’t want to know the details, didn’t want to hear about the wedding or the baby, if they knew the gender, any of it. It made it all too real. Made the life she’d valued feel too replaceable. Disposable, really.
She glanced down and blinked into her mug. Don’t cry.
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I have firsthand experience in failed marriages.” Henry took a sip of his coffee and set it down on the saucer, his smile grim.
Jane frowned. “I’m sorry. I should have sent a card.”
Henry arched an eyebrow, but his mouth twitched playfully. “A card?”
Jane shifted in her seat, feeling uneasy under the weight of that stare. “That’s right.”
He leaned into his elbows on the table, his thick brows furrowing, but there was a gleam in his sharp blue eyes that only two people who’d been through a hellish experience could share. “Did people send you cards when you and Adam got divorced?”
“Well, no…” Instead they’d sent casseroles. Desserts. Fudge brownies and cobblers. And she hated cobbler. It seemed every woman over the age of fifty had a desire to plump her up or set her up with their nephew, and every woman under thirty-five could only gape, no doubt concerned that a wandering eye was somehow contagious. Don’t worry, she wanted to call out, just because it happened to me doesn’t mean it will happen to you! And it didn’t. They were the lucky ones. But then, they hadn’t stupidly married their high school sweetheart at the ripe age of nineteen, either.
