‘For an hour or so, that’s it. Mom is with the boys. They’re already asleep, and I haven’t made it to midnight in years, but I figured I’d make an appearance.’
Another shock followed when Branch thought he saw the flicker of a smile tug at her lips. ‘Well, I’m glad you could come for a bit,’ he replied, staring into his cup. What did you say to someone you knew hated your guts the way she did? ‘Look, Janna, I—’
She held up a hand. ‘Don’t.’ Her gaze narrowed, and he braced himself for the onslaught of angry words. Instead, when Janna spoke, she sounded just as surprised as he felt. ‘I was wrong,’ she said. ‘Took me a long time to realize it, but I was wrong about you. Kait told me … what happened, I mean. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Branch. For what you and Kait have been through, and for thinking the worst of you.’
Never in a million years would he have expected a formal apology from Kait’s older sister. Words failed him. It took a few attempts to get sound to emit from his throat. ‘I’m sorry, too.’ And he was. For what happened between him and Kait, but also for the raw hand Janna had been dealt. ‘I’ve made mistakes, but I’m hopeful things are going to start to work out now.’ He held her gaze. ‘For everyone.’
No sound came from her mouth, but Janna’s eyes evoked an understanding that resonated deep within him. ‘If there’s one thing Kait’s taught me, it’s not to believe in mistakes.’ There was that hint of a smile again. ‘And if you ask me, it looks like your mistakes got you here,’ she said, gesturing toward the dance floor where Kait laughed and swayed to the music with her friends, ‘Which is right where you belong.’
This time, Branch’s shock went beyond mere surprise and straight into a state of speechlessness. He didn’t hear it straight from her lips, but he felt what she said in a manner that was clearer than any sentence could have been – she was laying down her weapons. A truce. A ceasefire.
‘Thank you,’ was all he could choke out beyond the lump that had formed at the base of his throat.
His stunned silence was enough to pull a real, honest laugh from Janna’s mouth. She reached out a hand and patted his arm. ‘Don’t thank me. Just do right by her; that’s all I ask.’ She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, then released him. ‘Happy birthday, Branch.’
She left him standing there, mouth partway open and thoughts reeling from what might have been the most heartfelt words he had ever heard come from Janna Davenport’s mouth.
Kait’s shoes still dangling from his fingers, Branch made his way to the table with Christopher and Cohen. Surprisingly, conversation came easily between them. He never would have expected he had much in common with a graphic designer and a veterinarian, but then again, he knew now that for the past eleven years, he hadn’t expected much. Just like he hadn’t expected the outcome of his return to Port Landon, and yet, here he was, dressed to the nines, with Janna’s apology still ringing in his ears and Kait’s shoes tucked under his chair and—
‘Oompf!’ And Kait sitting on his knee, evidently. Allison and Paige followed suit, Paige taking up the chair beside Cohen, and Allison falling into Christopher’s lap dramatically.
‘I should have taken these treacherous heels off before breaking out my signature moves on the dance floor,’ she shouted above the incessant thump of the bass. Paige just quirked an eyebrow in Kait’s direction.
Branch got the feeling Allison’s love of dancing wasn’t discussed, just enjoyed and appreciated.
‘I need a refill on my drink,’ Cohen announced, tipping his cup to peer inside. ‘Anybody else?’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Christopher said. ‘Even if I have to carry my lovely wife with me to do it.’
‘Oh, how romantic!’ Allison swooned.
Paige rolled her eyes, but her amusement was evident. Allison’s theatrics were a common theme in their outings, Branch figured. From the little Kait had told him and the bit he’d witnessed, he thought the woman was kind of fun.
‘You want anything, Kait?’ Paige pointed a thumb over her shoulder toward the refreshment table.
‘I’m good, but thanks.’ She turned her head just enough to allow her whisper to be heard by Branch alone. ‘I’ve got everything I want right here.’
He couldn’t hide the goofy grin her comment evoked. He was so engrossed in watching her watching him that he didn’t even see the other couples leave the table.
‘You sure about that?’
Her gaze danced with so many emotions, but hesitation wasn’t one of them. ‘I mean every word of it.’
‘I know exactly how you feel, then.’ Confessing it only solidified it for Branch. He didn’t think it was humanly possible to love someone as irrevocably as he did Kait. Then again, he had been wrong to think he could never love her more than he did when they were eighteen. At thirty, his adoration had only intensified, proving that time wasn’t some cruel entity that forced love to fade, but instead let it smolder away until it was a blaze that could never burn out.
‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘You and me. Now.’
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But I wouldn’t change this for the world. None of it. I might not have believed it before, but I’m a firm believer now – everything happens for a reason. You just happen to be my reason,’ he said. ‘For everything.’ He never thought he would say it, but maybe Janna was right. He needed to have a firmer belief in fate than he did in mistakes.
‘I know exactly how you feel, then,’ she mimicked. ‘You’re my everything, Branch.’
‘I want to give you something, Kaitie.’ It sounded more rushed than he meant it to, but if he didn’t say it now, he would lose his nerve. It might not be the right moment, but there was never going to be a moment that was as perfect as Kait deserved.
He shifted in his chair, his arm snaked around her waist to hold her in place as he dug his wallet from the back pocket of his dress pants.
‘You want to give me money?’ Kait joked, unable to look away. Her voice sounded jovial, but her eyes were sharp and curious.
Her choice of words struck Branch funny. ‘You know, in a way, yes, I guess I do,’ he laughed. He fumbled with his wallet, unable to get his hands to work properly. ‘More than a decade ago, I spent every last penny I had on something for you. Life might have gotten in the way for a while, preventing me from giving it to you, but it’s been pressed inside one of the pockets of my wallet all this time, just waiting to be handed over to its rightful owner.’
He found what he was looking for, managing to hide it in his clenched hand before opening the wallet pocket wide to show her the round indent worn into the leather. Kait’s eyes resembled that circular impression.
He opened his hand, revealing the simple gold band with the miniscule diamond. Scratched and dulled by time, it looked even worse for wear than Branch remembered, but he continued. ‘At the time, it was all I had to offer you. It might not look like much, but this promise ring stands for so much, probably even more now than it did back then.’ His throat grew thick, and he paused to clear it, overcome by the parallel between the battered ring and their scarred hearts. ‘It’s been through a lot, but so have we.’
Through the pounding of his pulse in his ears, Branch could hear hoots and hollers as the folks around them began to count down from ten.
‘Someday, when you’re ready, I will get you a nicer ring, Kaitie. A bigger one, a fancier one like you deserve.’ He held the ring out. ‘But this ring means something a little different. It’s withstood the same things we have, and it’ll still be here ten years from now, twenty years, sixty years. Just like we will be. You don’t have to wear it, but it’s yours. It’s always been yours. And I want you to have it so that when you are ready, you can slip that promise ring on your finger and know that we might be battered and bruised, but we’re still us. There’s nothing stronger than my love for you.’
Kait, through happy tears, took the ring gingerly from his fingers. She stared at it, wiping away the waterfall of tears she couldn�
�t seem to control. ‘There’s nothing I want more,’ she choked out, ‘than you, and this ring.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Branch cracked a joke, anything to keep his own tears from breaking free.
An eruption of applause and cheering surrounded them, and the huge netting of balloons hidden by the light strings on the ceiling was let loose, colorful pops of color bouncing and floating everywhere. The clock struck midnight as Kait slipped the ring on her finger.
‘No, Branch,’ she cried, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him as though they were the only two people in the world. ‘That’s a promise.’
Swept away by Branch and Kait’s whirlwind romance? Don’t miss The Forget-Me-Not Bakery, another unputdownable Port Landon novel from Caroline Flynn. Available now!
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Acknowledgements
First, thank you to Erica Christensen. You know exactly why this book is dedicated to you. Thank you to Belinda Toor—your guidance and patience does not go unnoticed. To the Metamorphosis Literary Agency, HQ Digital, and HarperCollins teams, thank you for all your hard work on my stories’ behalf. I said it before but I’ll say it again—working with you all is a dream come true. To Dennis, thank you for your unwavering love and support. To Mom and Dad, there are no words to show my gratitude for all you’ve done and continue to do for me. And to Jazz, you’re the best writing partner I could ever hope for.
Thank you to the readers, the bloggers, and the unabashed bookworms I’ve come to know on this incredible journey. You’re phenomenal, every one of you.
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Forget-Me-Not Bakery …
Prologue
Cohen
Eight Years Ago …
There are days that change everything. Change our lives. Change us.
Cohen Beckett didn’t understand the razor-sharp truth of that statement. Until now. Now that he stood at the edge of the room, surrounded by all the people he knew and just as many that he didn’t, aching with the painful loneliness of a man stranded on foreign ground without a soul in sight. Now that he was left behind, to carry on living a life he didn’t know how to live alone. Now that his family of three, content and constant and perfect, was only a family of two.
Cohen didn’t remember who he was before Stacey. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon up recollections of his time before he’d met her by chance at university, all wide-eyed and beautiful and ready to take on the world. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet those days, in the beginning, as he careened over the edge and fell madly in love with her, were etched in his brain with a sharp vividness that made them seem like only yesterday. He prayed that haunting vividness would never dull.
Before that, though? Nothing. The realization left him cold, and scared of what it truly meant. The thought niggled at him that he hadn’t yet begun to live, to do and be anything worth remembering, until he’d met the woman he would call his wife. And if that was the case, he wasn’t just scared. He was petrified. Because he would never be that man again, the one he saw reflecting back at him in Stacey’s pretty emerald eyes.
Stomach in knots, shoulders tight with the facade of strength he fought to wear nobly, Cohen ached for another glimpse of his beloved wife’s stare in his direction. The smile on her face that forced her long-lashed eyelids to squint with the sheer authenticity of it in the gold-rimmed picture frame beside her matching casket, the smile that seemed to follow him from across the room no matter where he stood, was a poor substitute for the beauty now housed in that closed box. No picture could do Stacey Beckett’s smile justice. No memory, regardless of its clarity, would ever do her justice.
He’d found his one. The one who was his best friend and his lover and his rock. It pained him to think about whether he’d managed to be those things for her, adequately and fully. His chest constricted as he hoped with every fiber of his being that he had been. It hurt even more to realize that his love for her hadn’t been enough to save her, hadn’t been enough to protect her in the first place. The rational part of Cohen’s brain understood that he could never have prevented the fluke accident that stole Stacey from him and their young son, but there were moments during the darkness of the seven nights that had followed her death when his rational mind didn’t stand a chance against the grieving, guilt-stricken part that took over and threatened to drown him in his own numb disbelief.
‘Dr Cohen?’
In the distance, as though through a thick veil of cotton but more accurately of dazed distraction, a voice filtered through to him. Cohen turned, and Sonya Ritter stood near him, her back turned to protect him from any oncoming folks intent on bestowing their condolences. Judging by the added lines that marred her forehead and the slight narrowed angle of her eyelids, she had said his name a few times without gleaning a response. Sonya knew nothing of impatience with him, though. As Port Landon’s designated mother hen and knower of all that went on within the town’s limits, the short elderly woman had taken her role more seriously when the tragedy of Stacey’s passing befell their little town and rocked their community to the core. The woman was a fixture in their tiny town, and a friend to all despite her overzealous nature and overbearing personality. But she’d been a godsend to Cohen in the past week. He didn’t know how he would have gotten through any of this without her. Didn’t know how Bryce would have gotten through it.
Bryce. His son. The last remaining thread to Stacey that he could touch and hold. Only two years old and left without the beautiful mother he adored. Cohen didn’t know how to quantify the torturous pain he was battling, but he was sure it was multiplied a thousand times over with the added weight of the grief he harbored on his young son’s behalf.
‘Sorry, Sonya. What were you saying?’ He shook his head, desperate to hold himself together. Not for Sonya; she could handle whatever emotional turmoil Cohen – or anyone else, for that matter – tossed at her. The woman was strong and sturdy as an oak tree despite her age. It wasn’t her he worried about.
The toddler in her arms was another story. The little boy he now lived solely for. Not because anything or anyone had ever come before him in his father’s eyes, but because he was all he had left.
Sonya looked uncertain of Cohen’s current emotional stability. She wasn’t the only one. But she thankfully kept her sentiments to herself. Cohen didn’t know if he could stand to hear Are you okay? or How are you holding up? one more time. People meant well, but it didn’t make having to form an answer any easier.
‘The director says he’s about ready to start the service,’ she informed him. ‘I figured you would want Bryce with you?’
Bless the woman’s heart. She was giving him an out, phrasing it as a question and allowing him the chance to admit he couldn’t handle sitting in the front row of his wife’s funeral, with his son in his arms asking why Mommy’s picture was on display but she was nowhere to be found. It was going to be hard. Damn hard. There would be tears eventually, though the icy numbness that spread through him like a biting frost hadn’t allowed those tears to fall yet, and there would be moments when Cohen wouldn’t know how he was going to get through them.
Today was one of those days. One of those moments. That changed everything. Changed him.
But he couldn’t allow this to swallow him up. He couldn’t let it, as easy as it would be. Bryce needed him now. More than ever. And Cohen needed Bryce just as urgently. He held his hands out, his fingers twitching with the instinctive urgency to feel the solid form of his son against him.
‘I wouldn’t want him anywhere else.’ He hugged the boy tight to his chest as Sonya gave Cohen’s jacket lapel a gentle pull to straighten it, then she pressed her lips together and headed back toward the rows of chairs, leaving him with only h
is thoughts and his son to keep him steady. He had more faith in his two-year-old than his own frazzled mind to level him out.
‘You all right, buddy?’ Cohen pressed his thumb into Bryce’s palm, squeezing his fingers gently. The boy’s eyelashes fluttered before his eyes fixed firmly on his father.
Stacey’s eyes.
‘I want Mommy.’ Bryce played with the edge of Cohen’s pocket, flipping the fabric up and down, his gaze flitting from it to Cohen’s face then back again. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for his daddy to fix this.
Cohen felt desolate, helpless. But, despite his throat constricting, thick with all the things he couldn’t find the strength to say and all the things he couldn’t change, Cohen leaned forward and kissed Bryce’s forehead, his soft skin warm against his lips.
‘I know, my boy. Me too.’ He shifted his son in his arms, needing him to focus his waning attention on him, needing him to understand the sincerity of the words he fought to say out loud. ‘But we’re going to be okay, me and you.’ He pressed his forehead to his son’s, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, desperate for his son to believe him more than he believed himself. ‘We’ll get through this,’ he choked out. ‘Together.’
Cohen just wished he knew how.
Chapter 1
Paige
Present Day …
Paige Henley had heard a lot of things about Port Landon. Mostly from her cousin, Allison, a long-time resident, and mostly that the tiny town was largely made up of people with big hearts and even bigger mouths. It ran on gossip and small-town gumption, and not always necessarily in that order. Of course, that was just gossip, too, when she really thought about it.
But she knew one thing for sure. When the folks of Port Landon talked about The Cakery’s grand opening later on that evening, huddled back into their cozy homes with their own personal choice of sugar fix, their recollection of just how well the new bakery’s grand opening had gone would be anything but exaggerated hearsay. It would be the truth.
The Winter Berry House Page 24
