by Olivia Miles
He pushed back his chair and stood, allowing himself one last look at the only girl he’d ever dared to love, and then he closed his eyes, on their past, on any chance of a future, and turned to go.
His breath caught as her fingers laced around his wrist. Her voice was so low; he almost believed he’d imagined it.
“Wait,” she said.
Anna’s heart was doing jumping jacks. The napkin in her lap was twisted and squeezed, and for a fleeting moment she wished they were at the pub, so she could shred and rip the paper in her hands instead of anxiously tugging at the square of cloth.
He was watching her over the table, his eyes dark, his mouth a thin, grim line, and everything she’d told herself these past few days, every emotion she’d tried to banish came tumbling back. After everything they’d been through, he still had a way of looking at her that made her knees go weak and her heart start to flutter.
She took a sip of her water, checking herself. This was Mark. Typical Mark. Mark flitted. Mark flirted. Mark ran.
But Mark never came back. Until today. And Mark never said I love you.
“I’m not leaving town,” he said, and she hated the part of her that perked up at this bit of information. So he wasn’t leaving; it didn’t change a thing. She and Mark were not meant to be.
She nodded slowly. “So you’re going to continue running the diner?” Why did she ask, why did she care? This was awkward at best. People surrounded them, a waitress stopped to offer a bread basket. He’d cornered her, damn it, and Rosemary had allowed it!
She knew she shouldn’t have agreed to this, but then Rosemary had to go and guilt trip her about all the help she’d given Jane, and how nice Brian had turned out to be, and a part of Anna—a small, secret part of her—thought that if she just went out tonight, she would be one step closer to getting over Mark for good.
Instead, she was face-to-face with the one man who had stolen her heart, and who unfortunately still had it.
“My mom’s going to come back to Hastings,” Mark volunteered. “I’m still working on my next plan.”
Of course. Typical.
Mark slid a piece of paper across the table. Anna frowned. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Reluctantly, she took the letter, telling herself she should just hand it back, not feed into this a second longer. Curiosity got the better of her, though, and she slid her finger under the seal and removed the single sheet of paper tucked inside. She scanned it quickly, her brow furrowing. “What is this?”
“It’s the lease to the old stationery store. It’s yours.”
Anna’s pulse skipped, and she did a miserable job of hiding her shock. Mark stared at her hopefully from across the table, but Anna just shook her head. It didn’t change a damn thing.
She handed the letter back to him, but he didn’t reach for it. “Take it. Please.”
“No. I want you to have it.”
She set the envelope on the table between them. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do.” She sighed, feeling weary. “Let’s just… be civil, Mark. I can’t bear to live like we have for the past few years.”
“Neither can I.” Mark reached across the table and grabbed her hand, holding it tighter in his grip when she tried to pull away. “I don’t want to walk by you and pretend I don’t see you. I don’t want to act like we never meant anything to each other. Like we still don’t.”
“Mark—”
“Hear me out,” he whispered. “I don’t want to live like we have all these years either. I… don’t want to live another day without you.”
She was aware that she was holding her breath, and she released it now, in a small puff, and snatched her hand back, bringing it to the other, safe in her lap. She blinked quickly, trying to compose herself, trying not to see the sincerity in his eyes. Trying not to believe a word he was saying.
Pushing him away was the only way to protect herself from him, from those painful memories, from the disappointment only he could bring. But oh, she didn’t want to push him away anymore.
“I wasn’t ready back then, Anna. I won’t try to deny it. You were the real deal, the girl I saw an entire future with. And I was scared of how that made me feel. I was scared that I wouldn’t live up to it somehow. That we’d let each other down.” He paused. “Instead, I let you down.”
“How do I know it won’t be the same this time around?”
Mark shrugged. “I know you’re scared. I am, too. You gave me your heart, Anna, and you trusted me with it. And now… I’m giving you mine. I love you, Anna. I always did. Nothing can change that.”
“Nothing could,” she said. No matter what had happened, one thing was constant over time. Her feelings for him had never faded, even when she’d hoped they would.
“I want you to have your dream restaurant, Anna. I want you to have all the dreams I stole from you.”
She glanced down at the envelope. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even have the money for the renovation. I’d never get a loan for it in time.”
“No, but I could,” Mark replied evenly, and Anna darted her eyes to his. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “What do you say, Anna? Do you think it’s too late for our plan?”
A hot tear rolled down her cheek and she didn’t bother brushing it away. “But the location. Your father’s old restaurant. It’s—”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s where I was meant to be, Anna. It just took me a long time to figure that out.”
“I guess we both needed time,” she admitted.
“That,” Mark grinned. “And Rosemary.”
She was smiling, laughing through her tears, and she didn’t care who saw. Let them know, let all of Briar Creek know that there was a reason for their silence, and a reason for it to be finally, permanently, forever broken.
EPILOGUE
Are you sure you’re okay with changing the name?” Mark asked, staring up at the bronze patinaed hanging sign. “You know I’d be happy staying with Fireside Café.”
Anna stopped watering the yellow and blue pansies that burst from the window boxes and came over to wrap an arm around his waist. “We never came up with a name for our restaurant all those years ago. I’d like to think this one was worth waiting for.”
And some things are, she thought, looking up to give Mark a slow kiss before picking up her watering can. She drained the contents into the rest of the flower beds while Mark straightened the sidewalk tables lining the extending storefront down Main Street. A crisp white awning lent them shade, and a sunflower was tucked into a vase on each table.
Weeks of hurried construction and long nights of menu planning had all led to this day. In a matter of minutes, all their friends and family and hopefully dozens of locals would come through the forest green painted doors, hungry and curious, eager to see Briar Creek’s newest establishment.
Anna pushed through the door now, her heart swelling with pride at what she saw. The wall separating the old stationery store had been scaled down to waist height, and polished walnut-stained tables stretched along a wall of paned windows, draped in burnt orange velvet curtains hanging from black iron rods. The bakery counter had been rebuilt, and the smell of fresh breads and cakes drifted over the lobby area, where casual chairs and tables still nestled around the fireplace; no doubt the morning traffic would be heavy tomorrow.
Kara stood at the hostess stand, her rich brown hair bouncing at her shoulders, studying the list of specials. It had been Mark’s idea to include at least one item from their ill-fated contest entry, and Anna had agreed. They might not have won the grand prize, but they’d ended up with so much more.
Mark came through the kitchen door, calling her name, and Anna hurried to the back. It was nearly time.
“How does it feel to be back here?” she asked as she tied the apron around her waist, noticing the way Mark seemed lost in thought, his eyes trained on the workstations, prepped and ready.
“It feels right,�
� he said firmly. He offered her a smile. “It feels like it was meant to be.”
He came forward and set his hand on her hip, bringing her in for a kiss that was quickly interrupted by one of the new waitstaff, who cleared his throat in embarrassment.
“Remember,” Anna teased. “When we’re in the kitchen, it’s professional. Not personal.”
Mark grinned suggestively. “I’m already counting the hours until we close.”
Anna smiled, but a ripple of butterflies took hold when she glanced at the clock—three minutes to go—and quickly counted out the baskets of French bread, even though she’d already done that twice. They’d planned for this, prepared this. Not just for hours or days. For years. It was time to enjoy it.
Squaring her shoulders, she passed through the kitchen door, where Mark was waiting near the gleaming windows.
“Look.” He gestured to the line forming on the sidewalk.
A flutter of nerves zipped through Anna’s stomach, and she reached for Mark’s hand, wanting to savor this moment for just a second longer, before they dared to share it.
Mark slanted her a glance, arching an eyebrow on a grin. “Ready?”
Her breath caught on that smile—the same as he’d given her all those years ago, when he’d quickened his pace to meet up with her after class. The leaves were rustling then, turning brown and floating from branches, crunching under their feet. The air was crisp with the chill of autumn, and life felt full of so many wonderful possibilities. His deep brown eyes danced with suggestion, and now, just as she had then, she couldn’t help but fall, long and hard, and permanently.
She nodded once. “Ready.”
Mark turned the lock on the door and stepped back, waiting with her as the crowd hesitantly pushed forward, their wide eyes sweeping the room, their mouths lifted in wonder.
“Welcome!” Anna said at the same time as Mark. They glanced at each other, laughing at their mutual excitement, and turned back to their guests. “Welcome to Rosemary and Thyme.”
When she needs help with her struggling dance studio on Main Street, the only person single mom Jane Madison can turn to is Henry Birch—the best friend of her cheating ex-husband…
See the next page for a preview of
Hope Springs on Main Street.
CHAPTER
1
I have something to tell you, Mommy.” The words were whispered, almost shyly. “I’m in love.”
The light ahead turned yellow, and Jane Madison hit the brakes a little harder than she’d intended. Looking up, she caught her five-year-old daughter’s reflection in the rear view mirror and tried not to show her amusement. “Oh really? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie replied simply. “But we’re in love.”
“I see.” Was it already starting? Trading in dolls for boys? Jane glanced into the mirror once more, noticing the multiple strands of pink princess jewelry roped around her neck and the clip-on plastic earrings that had been part of a set from her birthday last month. She was still her sweet little girl, albeit a slightly boy crazy one. They watched too many cartoon movies where the prince swept the peasant girl off her feet, whisking her away to the castle where they would live happily ever after…
Jane hated to rob her child of such a beautiful fantasy, but it might be time to introduce a new message, one where the girl goes to college, finds a career, and doesn’t pin her entire life on one man. A man who could just leave her in the end.
Jane waited for the light to switch and then eased down the winding roads, slick from three days of rain. The leaves had started to turn, and the strong winds from the past week had blown many in her path, dotting the pavement with bursts of orange and gold. It was a gray day, a dreary day some might say, but not for Jane. It was the perfect night to curl up with a bowl of homemade soup and catch up with her daughter. Though Sophie had been at her father’s house for only one night in the last week, the house had been too quiet, the evening without purpose, and Jane had spent all of last night counting the hours until the house was again filled with endless chatter and peals of laughter.
“So tell me, Sophie. How do you know you’re in love?”
“He pushed me on the swings at recess today,” Sophie explained. “That’s called true love.”
If only it were that simple, Jane mused, finding herself frowning at the innocence of her daughter’s conviction. She pulled onto their street, waved at the neighbors she’d come to know in the six years she’d lived on the block, and felt the same sense of calm she always did when her house came into view. The orange and white berry wreath she and Sophie had picked out last weekend hung from the hunter green front door, secured by a twine ribbon, and the colorful red, purple, and orange mums they’d sprinkled throughout the landscaping were downright cheerful, there was no denying that. But just as she began to perk up at how nice the fall decorations looked, she felt the familiar dull heaviness settle over her chest—it was still happening, nine months after her husband had moved out.
“Well, he sounds like a very special young man,” Jane said with a grin, and then stopped as she considered something. The new music teacher at Briar Creek Elementary was pretty cute, and Sophie had developed a fierce crush on her seventeen-year-old camp counselor over the summer. “Is he… as tall as you?”
Sophie nodded eagerly as Jane released her from the booster seat and grabbed her sparkly unicorn backpack. “Although, actually.” Sophie froze and put a finger to her mouth. “He might be just a little bit shorter.”
Jane laughed. “Come on,” she said, pulling the overnight bag from the trunk. “I made you some chocolate chip cookies last night. Your favorite!”
“Oh, yummy! Kristy made me some, too.”
Jane flinched, but said nothing. She took her time opening the door, trying not to think of the woman her husband had left her for as she turned the lock and flicked on the light. The soup she’d left simmering in the slow cooker all afternoon filled the house with warmth and spices, but it did little to touch the emptiness that lingered in her heart.
Sophie made a mad dash for the kitchen, ignoring Jane’s cries to take off her rain boots first. Jane sighed as she hung her coat on the hook in the mudroom. She could already hear Sophie peeling the foil off the plate of cookies. Next she’d be telling her how much better Kristy’s cookies were. It wasn’t enough for the woman to steal her husband. Now she was trying to win over her daughter’s affections, too.
Sophie looked up as Jane entered the kitchen. “These are a lot better than Kristy’s cookies. Hers are all burned around the edges, and they stick to the inside of your mouth. She uses applesauce instead of butter. Aunt Anna made a face when I told her that.”
Jane turned to her daughter with interest, a slow smile creeping over her face. “You don’t say,” she murmured as she pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge, her spirits all at once lifted. She knew she was Sophie’s mother and that nothing could break or sever that bond, but it hurt her more than she could bear to know another woman was tucking Sophie into bed these days.
“I told her I liked them but when she wasn’t looking, I fed my cookie to the cat. You’re not mad, are you, Mommy?”
Joyful might be a better word. Jane pressed her lips firmly shut as she handed the glass of milk to her daughter. “You did the polite thing, Sophie, but as for feeding the cat, it’s probably better to stuff the cookie in your pocket next time. Chocolate isn’t good for animals. You don’t want to make the poor thing sick. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and unpack your bag while I finish getting dinner ready?”
“Can we have a pajama party tonight?” Sophie asked excitedly as she hopped off the counter stool.
Jane glanced at the clock to see it was only ten past five. On the days she didn’t work, the party sometimes started as early as four. “That sounds like a great idea.” She sighed at the mere thought of removing the ballet tights that clung to her waist under the yoga pants she wore, leaving an unflattering imprint on
her skin. Fall session had started today after a three-week break since summer boot camp—in less than a month she had forgotten how confining and itchy a leotard could be.
She patted her hips. Maybe she should be baking her cookies with applesauce, too.
Taking her daughter’s hand, they raced up the stairs, quickly changing into their comfy cozies, as Sophie called them. While Sophie busied herself with a coloring book at the art table in her bedroom, Jane started a load of laundry, humming under her breath, until the doorbell rang and everything stopped.
Her heart began to pound. Who the heck would drop by at this hour? But right, it wasn’t even five thirty. And she was robed in pink and purple plaid pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and—God help her—no bra. Hot faced with shame, Jane ran through her mental list of possible visitors. A Girl Scout selling cookies perhaps? Or a door-to-door salesman? She could claim she was under the weather; that would explain her choice of late afternoon attire, though not Sophie’s nightgown… She bit on her nail. The worst scenario would be her ex-husband—actually, no, the worst would his girlfriend—dropping off something that Sophie had forgotten. The bell rang again, and Jane began frantically rifling through the laundry basket, looking for something that wasn’t stained or wrinkled or didn’t smell, anything that was more appropriate than what she was wearing. The bell rang a third time. Jane stepped away from the laundry pile. She was a mess either way, but at least this way she was clean.
Anxiety tightened its grip as she rounded the corner, and she chastised herself for not holding out for at least another hour—six was a far more acceptable time for pajamas, sort of… She edged to the door, holding her breath, and then sighed in relief when she saw her oldest sister through the glass panel.
“Grace! Come on in!” She smiled, ignoring the way Grace’s expression folded in confusion as she swept her eyes down to Jane’s feet, cozily covered in oversized bunny slippers. Jane felt the heat in her cheeks rise. She’d forgotten about those.
