Chapter 17
S adie
Sadie’s fingers traced the lapel of Kreston’s suit jacket, still draped over her armchair where she’d left it last night after fleeing the party. The fabric held his scent—pine and wood smoke, uniquely him. A tear splashed onto the dark material.
“Knock it off,” she muttered to herself, shoving another sweater into her suitcase. “Stop crying over a man you barely know. Stop crying over a life you can’t have,” she chastised herself.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
I do know him.
She knew his careful competence and hidden vulnerability. Knew how he checked on Ten Second Tess five times a day without making her feel monitored. Loved how his eyes crinkled when he laughed at Lucky’s lame jokes.
And she knew she’d fallen in love with him.
“Sadie, are you all right in there?” Aloha lightly knocked on her door. “Don’t be sad. Kreston likes you. Want some coffee? Or tea?”
Even Aloha knew.
Am I that transparent?
“Thanks, Aloha, I’m fine,” she lied through the closed door. “I’m just—I’m just getting ready for breakfast.” She’d miss Aloha’s bursts of enthusiasm .
Lucky wouldn’t be back for hours. She should return Kreston’s jacket and try to explain why she ran from him last night. But the thought of facing him made her chest tight. What could she say?
Sorry I fled after the best kiss of my life, but I’m terrified of getting hurt again? Sorry I’m falling for you, but I have a career in Seattle, and you’re married to this town?
Her phone buzzed—another message from her assistant about upcoming PR campaigns. She glanced down at the plethora of texts erupting from her phone. Polar Creek’s spotty cell service must be working today. During the snowstorm, the service was down. She’d actually enjoyed not having to reach for her phone every two seconds while she’d been here.
“I’ll deal with this when I get back to Seattle,” she muttered, shoving the phone into her purse. She retrieved it again, curious whether Kreston might have texted.
She glanced through the texts. None from the mayor of Polar Creek. Then she realized he probably didn’t have her number.
Grabbing the jacket, she headed downstairs. Kreston’s office was empty, his usual precision evident in the neat stacks of papers. A photo on his desk caught her eye: the whole town gathered in front of the hotel, everyone beaming. A family portrait.
The post office was similarly deserted, with only a cheerful note on the door: “Making postal deliveries!” in his precise handwriting. She hung his jacket on the doorknob. This ultimate gesture cracked her heart wide open.
The Crooked Spoon beckoned with warmth and the smell of cinnamon rolls.
Jessie looked up from wiping tables. “Sit,” she commanded. “Coffee first, then we’ll talk about why you’re wearing your resting runaway face.”
They settled into a corner booth and Jesse poured them each a mug of coffee. Sadie stared into the steaming cup, wishing it held the answers to her confused state of mind. She lifted her gaze to Jessie’s.
“Why does he do it?” she finally asked. “Be everything to everyone? It’s like Polar Creek can’t function without him.”
“It’s more like he can’t imagine life without Polar Creek,” explained Jessie. “He needs to feel needed. After Wall Street, after Sarah left him, he wanted to go somewhere he could rebuild himself and succeed—where he had better control of his destiny.”
“Sarah?”
“His fiancée in Manhattan. When everything crashed, she crashed right along with his bank account. He came here looking for redemption and found family and stability.”
“So, he’s entrenched here on this hamster wheel of responsibility?” It was a bitter reality for Sadie, but then what did she expect?
“He chose this life.” Jessie studied her. “Question is, what are you choosing?”
“I have a life in Seattle. A career. Responsibilities.”
“Sounds familiar.” Jessie’s smile was gentle. “You know what I see? Two people afraid of taking chances and failing without even trying. That’s the saddest thing. You’ll never know what might have been.”
“Life is a never-ending universe of choices, though, isn’t it? Every second, every minute, must be decided. We rarely have the luxury to obsess over what might have been with every single decision.” She shook her head dismally. “I already lost one man I loved. Don’t want a repeat performance.”
Jessie let out a long sigh. “If it’s any consolation, Kreston also lost the person he intended to marry. It appears the two of you are on a level playing field, locked in an even score. Kreston isn’t the kind who’d be unfaithful. It’s just not in his wheelhouse.” Jessie sipped her coffee. “Give this some thought, okay? That’s all I’m saying.”
Sadie blew out a long stream of air, watching the morning regulars trickle in.
Aloha waltzed to their table and got right to the point. “Mayor Kreston really, really, really likes you, Miss Sadie. Please don’t go.” She enveloped Sadie in a hug that smelled like coconut and coffee.
Aloha stepped back. “Everyone likes you and will be sad if you leave.”
“Thanks, Aloha.” Sadie fought tears as her careful defenses cracked.
Polar Creek had everything she now craved—community, friendships, belonging. And she was running from it because...why? Because long-distance relationships were hard? Because staying meant risking her heart completely? Or because staying meant admitting her perfect life in Seattle wasn’t what she wanted after all?
That thought had niggled her even before she left home.
As Sadie watched the town through the frosted window, waking up to get on with the business of Christmas Eve, she noted how easily everyone moved in each other’s orbits, like a Venn diagram. The weight of her decision to leave grew heavier.
This was Kreston’s world. His responsibility. His redemption. What right did she have to complicate it?
“Lucky radioed. He has a Polar Creek couple he has to pick up in McGrath,” explained Jessie. “He’ll be back in a few hours. Still want the flight to Talkeetna?”
Sadie slowly nodded, not trusting her voice. Caring about people sometimes meant that the best thing you could do was to step back and let them go.
Even if every step felt like walking on broken glass.