The Winter Berry House

by Caroline Flynn

  ‘You going to close that door sometime soon? You’re letting the cold in.’

  Branch turned at the sound of the question, from the older man seated at the booth closest to the entrance. He let the heavy door swing shut behind him. ‘Sorry about that,’ he muttered with a curt nod. It was the only moment of reprieve Kait got from the intensity of his gaze.

  ‘I … didn’t know you worked here still.’ There was an apology in his tone she hadn’t asked for. Approaching her slowly, as though fearful he might spook her, Branch pulled his hat from his head, letting his wild waves spring free as he raked a hand through his hair. Yeah, he was definitely wearing it longer these days. ‘If I had known …’

  He wouldn’t have come there at all? He would have shown up before now, hoping to catch even a quick glimpse of her? Kait wasn’t sure she wanted him to finish that sentence.

  ‘I heard you were in town.’ She was proud of herself for the lack of emotion her voice conveyed. It wasn’t a greeting, but it wasn’t a blatant dismissal, either. Just a neutral comment. Which was the complete opposite of the battle going on inside her. Kait wanted to step away from him but was also yearning to throw her arms around him and hug him tight. She wanted to scream at him and call him every name she could think of, while longing to whisper her gratitude for coming back to her after all this time. For being there, in front of her, allowing her to drink him in and remember all the promises and dreams that had once been the foundation of who they were.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘Want coffee?’ She didn’t wait for him to answer, suddenly desperate to do something, anything that didn’t include standing there staring at the man who, in her eyes, was the definition of conflict and heartbreak.

  ‘We will,’ the man sitting closest to the front door hollered, confirming what she already expected – people were hanging on every word between her and Branch, eavesdropping, and they weren’t afraid to admit it. Kait offered him a polite smile from across the room, then left Branch standing by the front counter to refill their coffee mugs and check if they needed anything more.

  Branch was perched on one of the stools when she returned to her station behind it, leaning on his elbows, jacket unzipped. His hat sat on the counter beside him. ‘Coffee sounds good.’

  Pouring him one, she slid it toward him, along with a sugar dispenser.

  ‘Milk instead of cream, right?’ The second the words left her lips, she regretted them, hating their familiarity. They had thought they were so cool back then, drinking copious amounts of coffee, pretending to be adults. Kait had loved knowing the way her boyfriend preferred his coffee, like it was one of the little things that proved how close they were, how much she adored him.

  Now, the knowledge was etched into her mind. She wished she could forget his coffee preference. Wished she could forget a lot of things.

  ‘Right,’ Branch confirmed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. ‘How’ve you been, Kaitie?’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to lash out at him. No one’s called me Kaitie in a long time, Branch. I’m Kait now, all grown up and not nearly as naive as you remember. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, too caught up in how the sound of that nickname made her heart beat faster. All she wanted to do was forget the way he made her feel and everything that went along with those feelings. It was really hard to do when he was her past personified, traipsing into the present and carrying with him the same soft eyes and alluring manner she had fallen for so long ago.

  ‘I’ve been good.’ It was the most she could commit to. The full truth would open a wound she wasn’t prepared to contend with. ‘You?’ Civility. She could give him that much without breaking the pact she’d made with her teenage self to never forgive him for what he did.

  Staring down at the cup in his hands, Branch shrugged. ‘I’m all right,’ he replied. ‘Sorting through Grandma Addie’s place. Or pretending to, so far.’

  He might have meant it as an attempted joke, but there was no mistaking the deep grief in his eyes at the mention of his beloved grandmother. Kait’s resolve to be merely civil went out the window.

  ‘I’m sorry about your grandma.’ She meant it, knowing full well how much the woman had meant to him. Grandma Addie had been just as much his mother as his grandmother, and she had never shied away from loving him like her own. ‘Must be almost a year now since she passed.’

  ‘A year tomorrow,’ Branch corrected, raising his gaze to meet hers. ‘And more than ten years since I’ve laid eyes on you. You look good.’

  There it was. The fact that a decade spanned between them had been pushed out into the open, no longer the elephant in the room. Kait’s cheeks flamed crimson, knowing she would never have mentioned it on her own. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, her throat suddenly thick.

  He held her stare, a battle of wills. ‘Don’t what?’ He lowered his voice to match hers. No one else in the diner seemed to be paying them any mind, but the question was meant for her ears only.

  ‘Don’t come in here and make me want to forgive you.’

  ‘Kaitie, if you haven’t by now, nothing I can say is going to change that.’ His jaw clenched slightly. ‘Doesn’t make it any less good to see you, though.’

  Damn you, she screamed silently. For still being you. Something was breaking inside her again, caused by the same man who had broken her once before. She could feel it. The difference this time was that Kait was pretty sure it was the armor she’d constructed around herself that was being fractured by him this time, not her heart. It was such a contradiction, the way he was able to calm her down and ease her mind with his simple kindness and affection, yet be capable of shattering her heart so irrevocably.

  Well, that was just fine. Let Branch Sterling walk in here and throw his polite words and kind mannerisms around. Being civil to each other might put cracks in her defensive armor, but Kait was sure he could never do more damage than that. Not now. It had been more than ten years, and there was no reason they couldn’t handle this like adults. He might still be easy on the eyes and hold the same allure, but that was just pure and simple physical attraction combined with a healthy dose of nostalgia.

  He was a man, and only a man. Not the love of her life, not the man who’d broken her heart, and not the man she had truly thought she would never see again. Just Branch, nothing more.

  She would believe it if she repeated it enough times.

  ‘It’s good to see you, too.’ See, that was a very acceptable grown-up retort.

  In the midst of taking a drink from his mug, Branch’s eyes seemed to change as he stared at her over the rim of it. When he set it down, an unmistakable grin played on his lips and he let out a soft chuckle, fidgeting with the handle of the mug.

  ‘Something funny?’ The sight of his genuine smile was causing her stomach to flutter.

  ‘It pained you to admit that.’ Branch’s smile stayed put, but he downed the last mouthful of coffee and tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter.

  Okay, she obviously didn’t have much of a poker face, either. ‘Maybe I didn’t actually mean it,’ Kait replied defiantly, her chin jutting out in hopes of keeping up the pretense.

  Leaning in, Branch’s dark eyes were alight with amusement. ‘You did, and so did I.’

  Why couldn’t she pull her gaze away from him? Why did she feel like she had just been caught red-handed stealing from the proverbial cookie jar? And why in the world were the corners of her mouth tugging upward to match his?

  Because he knew her, inside and out. She knew he knew her. She could pretend all she wanted if it made her feel better, but facts were facts. Branch knew her better than anyone else.

  ‘Is it okay if I come here and see you again?’ Another whisper from his lips, another question meant only for her.

  Transfixed, Kait couldn’t help herself. She nodded. ‘How long are you here in town, Branch?’

  ‘Till the end of the month,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  She
watched him reach for his hat and walk out of the diner, zipping his jacket up as he went. The bell above the door rang loud and shrill as he disappeared out into the snowy streets, but Kait didn’t feel the icy chill that wafted into the room from the opened door.

  Branch was back, for the entire month of December. All she had to do was survive it. Two days down, twenty-nine to go.

  Chapter 4

  Branch

  Branch didn’t believe in fate. How could he? He was a man who lost his parents as a kid, lost the woman he loved as a teenager, and lost the grandparents who had been his only remaining family in his late twenties.

  If fate was real, it was cruel. For him, it was easier to disbelieve.

  But when he strolled into that diner to get a cup of coffee to go, hat pulled down low and jacket collar tugged up to conceal his identity as much as he could, he would have believed in leprechauns that rode unicorns, or that pirates buried treasure in the harbor that ran parallel to Port Landon’s downtown. He would have believed in anything, because there was no way he could come face to face with those pretty emerald eyes and not believe in something bigger than himself.

  Kait Davenport was even more breathtaking than he remembered, something he didn’t think was possible. Seeing her standing there in that pale purple uniform, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail with flyaway strands at her temples, it was like he had taken a step back in time. She could have easily passed for her eighteen-year-old self, he was sure of it. The only thing different was what he saw in her eyes. A hardness mixed with weary resignation. Like she couldn’t trust anyone around her, and she was tired of having to keep her guard up. Or tired of people proving her distrust right all the time.

  He had been the first one to cause that haunted expression. Now, unexpectedly, Branch felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Desire. Not just in the seductive sense, though there was a need pulsing inside him to be closer to Kait, as close as he could be. One glimpse was enough to make him want her in every way imaginable, to make him remind her of what they once had. Who they’d once been.

  But the desire that overwhelmed him most was the need to soften that hardness in her eyes. He might have been the cause of it once, but Branch wanted to be the one to melt it away.

  When he left Port Landon more than ten years ago, there had been no chance of that happening. Kait hated him, right along with a large percentage of the rest of the town. But as surprised as he was to lay eyes on her in that diner, nothing could have prepared him for what flashed in her gaze when he asked if he could see her again.

  A chance.

  It was only for a second, and barely visible, but Branch saw the flash of desire that broke through her hard façade. It was the desire to let go of the pain and heartache and unhappiness that had remained in Port Landon with her when Branch hadn’t. He wasn’t naive enough to believe it meant she still loved him after all the years and all the turmoil that had passed by, but it was a chance. A miniscule sliver, maybe, but a chance, nonetheless. He would take it.

  Seeing Kait seemed to light a fire in him, somehow. Not just one that burned in his chest and reminded him of who she had once been to him – and who he’d been to her – but also a fire that encouraged him to do something. Make a plan. Get things sorted. Grandma Addie wouldn’t want him sitting alone in this big old house ruminating over days gone by and holding on to all the tangible things that didn’t matter in the greater scheme of things. She had been a woman who had loved love. She knew the value of loving someone and being loved, and she made no bones about telling him, even as a kid, that the stuff we accumulated over the course of our lives meant nothing in comparison to the relationships we made. That was where we truly prospered, she said, not in the collection of money and things, but in the accumulation of memories and experiences with those we loved and cherished.

  It turned out he had been listening to all those late-night lectures she’d given, after all.

  First things first. After his impromptu trip to the diner to seek out coffee, Branch hit up the grocery store and restocked the fridge. He was going to be around for the next month, so he needed to start acting like it. Food, cleaning products, and a copy of this week’s Port Landon Ledger. He needed some updated information on this town, even if the town wasn’t as willing to glean updated information on him. Planning to read through the paper that night, he tossed it near Grandpa Duke’s armchair. The man had been gone four years, but it would always be his chair to Branch.

  His burst of renewed energy came to a crashing halt when he bravely swung the attic ladder down from the ceiling and slid the latches into place to secure it. One look at the piles of boxes and totes amongst the mysterious piles covered in dusty sheets and Branch wished he’d never popped his head into the attic in the first place. Cobwebs hung in long, thick linear patterns, and dust floated through the air in a speckled pattern where the sun’s rays struggled to shine through the grime-coated window at the other end of the room.

  ‘It’s just stuff, right, Grandma?’ he muttered, scanning the mess. ‘A whole lot of stuff.’ He could almost hear her throaty chuckle and see the deep crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes as they squinted, glinting with amusement at his reaction to the mountains of boxes.

  Not for the first time, he wished she was there. He wished anyone was there. Knowing he had help to sort through this would certainly ease the burden a bit. And the loneliness.

  Maybe it was better to start off smaller, take on the task of sorting through his grandfather’s magazine racks downstairs instead. He could tackle this hoard of antiques and mementos another day.

  Then, he saw it.

  ‘No way.’ Being careful where he stepped in case of weakened floorboards or unseen hazards, Branch crawled up into the attic and made his way across the dimly lit room. The obstacle course of piles and sheet-covered furniture left him panting in the stale air by the time he reached it, but as he ran his palm over the metal backboard of the basketball net, a different sense of nostalgia hit him like a lethal ocean wave.

  Port Landon was home, he reminded himself, his fingers tangling in the frayed net. Even if it isn’t now, it was. Once. He had a life here, then. Family. Friends. All of which he had essentially hidden from each time he swooped into town under the shadowed veil of night-time and left just as quickly as he showed up. But there had been more to his childhood and teenage years than the fateful debacle that turned his name into a curse word amongst the community.

  Branch wiped a hefty coat of dust from the basketball net and awkwardly managed to get it down the attic stairs without breaking it or his neck. Suddenly, he knew exactly where to start when it came to getting things sorted.

  Branch had to keep reminding himself that more than a decade had passed. Somehow, Port Landon looked exactly the same as he remembered. The postcard-like beauty surrounded him everywhere he turned. The tiny town was cloaked under a thick blanket of snow, with Christmas lights and decorations accenting every wrought iron streetlamp or porch railing. The sight was picturesque and festive, reminding him that he was just as much a part of it as the town was a part of him.

  It might have felt different to him, but it looked like the same small town he grew up in and reeled him in the way only a hometown could do.

  Perhaps that meant it was him who had changed instead, viewing it with warier, pessimistic eyes.

  As he pulled up in front of it, Branch took in the brick bungalow with slight trepidation. He had spent many evenings and weekends in this yard. He’d probably logged just as many hours and weeks and years at the Forresters’ house as he had at his grandparents’ if he added them up. The house matched his memory of it. The Christmas lights were even strung across the eaves and down the columns on either side of the front step the same way they had been decorated when he was a kid.

  It’s me that’s different, he reminded himself. And it was him that had chosen not to contact his friends after he left. He hoped Jason’s parents still owned the hou
se, and that they would be forgiving enough to at least tell him where Jason lived now. Whether Jason was in town or not, Branch had left his grandparents’ house five minutes ago vowing to make contact with one of his old friends. If it had to be via phone, he would call, but Branch was determined to try to track him down.

  The driveway was newly plowed, and a blue Dodge Ram sat in the driveway. Branch was half expecting to see Jason’s mom’s old silver Corolla sitting beside it, but, of course, that car was probably in a scrapyard somewhere by now.

  Snow covered the lawn, and the windowsills had inches of ice packed into the corners. A shovel was propped up beside the front door, at the ready. Holding his breath, Branch grabbed the brass door knocker and slapped it down a few times, the sound loud and obnoxious in the chilly silence of the residential street.

  The door opened quickly enough that Branch wondered if the man who opened it had been standing on the other side, waiting for him.

  The wide eyes that greeted him confirmed that wasn’t the case.

  ‘Sterling, is that you?’

  Jason Forrester was no longer the lanky teenager waiting to grow into his gangly limbs and deep voice. The man could have been a linebacker with those broad shoulders and his thick, muscular build. His close-cropped black hair and dark eyes revealed his identity, though. From the nose up, Branch would have recognized his childhood friend anywhere.

  ‘I could ask you the same thing, Jay.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be.’ The hug he wrapped Branch in was strong and sincere. Whatever reservations Branch had about coming here, they were laid to rest in an instant. ‘Come on in. It’s too cold to be standing out there.’

  The interior of the house came as a shock to him. As Branch shuffled out of his coat and boots at the entryway, he took in the neutral colors on the walls and the leather couch and loveseat in the living room. From his vantage point, he could see through to the kitchen, now lined with modern white cupboards and a small pub-style table and chairs. It was a stark contrast to the melamine and aluminum he remembered. So, some things did change in Port Landon, then.