6. Cole
cole
. . .
I'm not the kind of man who freezes in place, but seeing Mabel Maxwell across the room after thirteen years does exactly that to me.
She's laughing at something her date is saying, her head tilted back just enough to show the elegant line of her throat, and suddenly, I'm seventeen again, watching her from across the high school cafeteria.
"Cole? You okay?" Ellie nudges me with her elbow, her bridesmaid dress rustling. My cousin has always been too perceptive for her own good.
"Fine," I lie, downing half my whiskey in one swallow. The burn is welcome—anything to distract from the knife twisting in my gut at the sight of Mabel with another man.
"That's Mabel, isn't it?" Ellie whispers. "The one who broke your heart before college?"
I don't answer, which is answer enough. Ellie pats my arm sympathetically before being whisked away by a mutual friend for photos.
The rehearsal dinner for Cilla and Rowan’s wedding is exactly the kind of event I'd usually navigate with easy confidence.
Hell, I built the venue with my own hands— the lakeside pavilion that's become Cedar Bay's most sought-after wedding location.
But tonight, I'm a stranger in my own creation, awkwardly clutching my whiskey while stealing glances at the woman I've never been able to forget.
Her date's hand rests casually on the small of her back. It shouldn't bother me. It's been thirteen years. We've both lived our entire lives apart from each other.
But it does bother me. It bothers me like a splinter under my skin.
"You look like you're plotting a murder," Fox says, appearing at my side with a fresh drink for me. "Is it Aiden or Mabel you're planning to kill?"
"Is that his name? I'm not plotting anything," I mutter, accepting the whiskey. "Just surprised to see her, is all."
Fox snorts. "Right. And I'm just mildly interested in Prue Griffin."
I manage to smile at that. My friend's obsession with Cilla’s big sister is the town's worst-kept secret.
"Go talk to her," Fox says, nodding toward Mabel. "Before you burn a hole through Aiden with your eyes."
"I can't just?—"
"Sure you can. Watch and learn." He smirks and saunters off toward Prue, who's trying to look invisible by the dessert table.
I drain my second whiskey and set the glass down—Fox's right. I'm Cole Bennett. I run a successful construction company. I've built or renovated a quarter of the homes in this town with my own two hands. I can damn well say hello to an old girlfriend.
As I make my way across the room, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Or that's just the whiskey talking. Mabel sees me coming, and I catch the slight widening of her eyes, the momentary freeze in her posture before she composes herself.
"Cole," she says when I reach them, my name like honey on her lips. "It's been a long time."
"Too long," I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. I extend my hand to Aiden. "Cole Bennett."
"Aiden Whitley," he replies, shaking my hand firmly. "I've heard a lot about you."
"All lies, I'm sure," I joke, though my heart hammers in my chest.
Mabel laughs, and the sound hits me like a physical blow. "Aiden and I work together at the firm. He's my colleague and good friend."
Friend. The word echoes in my head, soothing the jealousy that's been churning in my gut.
"Aiden was kind enough to be my plus-one since I didn't want to face my hometown alone," she adds, and our eyes lock.
There it is—that same electric current that used to run between us when we were teenagers. Thirteen years, law school, my construction company, different cities, different lives—and still, when Mabel Maxwell looks at me, the world narrows to just us.
"I’m going to head for the bar," Aiden says, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Nice meeting you, Cole."
And then he's gone, leaving me alone with the woman who has haunted my dreams since the summer after high school graduation.
"You look good, Cole," Mabel says softly. "Cedar Bay agrees with you."
"And Portland clearly agrees with you," I reply, taking in her confident posture. "Hotshot attorney now, huh?"
"Something like that." She smiles, a hint of the old Mabel shining through her polished exterior. "And you're building half the town, from what I hear."
"Someone has to," I say with a shrug, and her laugh warms me more than the whiskey ever could.
We stand there, suspended in a moment that feels both fragile and heavy with history. The pavilion bustles around us, but we might as well be alone on the dock where we shared our first kiss.
"So," I say, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is. "Just friends with Aiden?"
Mabel raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you want to ask me after thirteen years?"
"No," I admit, the whiskey making me braver than I should be. "I want to ask why you disappeared. Why don’t you never come home?"
Her eyes darken, and she glances down at her champagne flute. "It's complicated, Cole."
"It always is with you," I say, not unkindly. The string lights overhead cast a golden glow on Mabel's face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheekbones that my fingers remember tracing on lazy summer afternoons.
"You built this place?" she asks, clearly changing the subject as she gestures around the pavilion. "It's beautiful."
"Thanks. It took about eight months. Nearly drove Rowan crazy with the delays, but We had to get it just right.."
She laughs, and I find myself leaning closer, drawn by the familiar sound. "Some things never change. You always did get lost in the details."
"And you always did avoid difficult conversations," I counter, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Her smile falters. "I deserved that."
"No, I'm sorry," I say quickly. "Tonight's about Rowan and Cilla. Not... whatever this is."
Mabel takes a step closer, close enough that I catch the scent of her perfume—different from what she wore as a teenager, more sophisticated, but underneath it, something familiar that makes my heart stutter.
"And what is this, Cole?" she asks, her voice barely audible above the party.
Before I can answer, Ellie appears at my side, slightly breathless. "Cole, sorry to interrupt, but Fox says there's an issue with the lighting on the back deck. Something about a circuit breaker?"
I close my eyes briefly, torn between responsibility and the conversation I've waited thirteen years to have. "I'll be right there."
Ellie nods and disappears back into the crowd. When I look back at Mabel, her expression is unreadable.
"Duty calls," she says.
"Always does." I hesitate, then add, "Save me a dance at the reception tomorrow?"
Something flickers in her eyes—hope, maybe, or regret. "I'd like that."
As I turn to leave, her hand catches my wrist, her touch sending electricity up my arm. "Cole," she says, "for what it's worth, you look great."
The confession hangs between us, and I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms, but Ellie is waiting, and thirteen years of questions can't be answered in a stolen moment at a rehearsal dinner.
"And you look beautiful, Mabel," I say simply, and the smile that breaks across her face is worth every second of heartache.
I walk away, feeling her eyes on my back, knowing that tomorrow everything could change. Again. For better or worse, Mabel Maxwell is back in my life, and I'm not letting her disappear a second time without answers.
The circuit breaker turns out to be a five-minute fix—loose wire that Fox could have handled himself if he wasn't busy making moon eyes at Prue.
But I'm grateful for the distraction, for the chance to get my hands dirty with something tangible instead of drowning in the mess of emotions Mabel's stirred up.
When I return to the party, she's gone.
"She left a few minutes ago," Ellie says, reading my expression as I scan the room. "Said something about an early morning and needing to prepare for the wedding."
I nod like it doesn't matter like I wasn't counting on stealing another few minutes with her. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of congratulations for Rowan, small talk with relatives, and way too much whiskey.
By the time I get home to my house on the hill overlooking the lake, my head is spinning, and my chest feels too tight. I stand on my back deck, staring down at the pavilion where tomorrow Rowan will marry the love of his life, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm standing at a crossroads.
Thirteen years ago, Mabel left for college and never looked back. Never called. Never wrote. She just vanished from my life like we hadn't spent two years planning our future together. I'd waited that whole first semester for some explanation, some sign that what we'd had meant something to her.
It never came.
Now she's back, looking at me like no time has passed, asking what this is between us. Hell, if I know. All I know is that seeing her tonight felt like coming up for air after drowning.
My phone buzzes with a text from Rowan: Thanks for everything, man. Tomorrow's going to be perfect.
I smile despite myself. At least one of us is getting his happy ending.