And Then There Was You (Larkspur Love Stories #2)

Prologue

Abby

The buzzing of my phone unceremoniously yanks me out of my book and back into reality.

“Aaron, the inn only has one bed, this had better be important,” I huff.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Just wanted to let you know I’m on my way home, I should be there in twenty.”

“Are you–”

“Yes, I’m bringing home diner fries, you fiend.”

A smile spreads across my face as I picture him shaking his head affectionately.

To be known is to be loved.

“Love of my life. What would I do without you?” I sigh dramatically.

“Pick up your own fries.”

“Well thank goodness I have you then, we both know I’m not doing that.”

“I love you,” he chuckles again. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you back,” I say before hanging up, tossing my phone to the end of the couch, and picking up my book again. I settle further into the cushions, losing myself in both the story and daydreams about salt and grease.

***

I am once again unceremoniously yanked from fiction back to reality with a knock on the door.

My husband, bringer of treats, but loser of keys.

Groaning, I heave myself off the couch, the stiffness in my limbs telling me that I’ve been sitting for much longer than I realized.

“I don’t understand how you remember your car key but not your house key,” I yell, trotting through the entryway to the front door. “Why don’t you just keep them on the same key ring?”

But when I open the door, it’s not my husband. Instead of a sheepish, charming face offering me a to-go bag to distract me from forgotten keys, our best friend Jack is standing there, his familiar stoic expression even grimmer than usual.

“Jack Robbit!” I cry in surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Stepping aside, I motion for Jack to come in, which he does hesitantly. Half-dressed in his fire uniform, his boots clomp loudly on the hardwood of our old cottage-style home.

No pushback on his nickname? This can't be good.

“Are you okay? Aaron should be home any minute,” I mutter, checking my watch, a sinking feeling that something is wrong opening a chasm in my chest.

Like a freeze frame, everything seems to stop when I see the time. Aaron called me over an hour ago.

He should be here by now.

“Abby,” Jack says softly. “Let’s sit down. We need to talk.”