Chapter 2
Eli
The email from Tapped Amber Confections sat in my inbox like a time bomb, with a subject that punched the air from my lungs.
I stared at it for five minutes, my finger hovering over the delete button, before I clicked it open. Six years of silence, a disastrous reunion on the Honeyfern Inn’s front stoop, and now he wanted coffee?
My throat tightened as I remembered how he’d looked yesterday.
He’d been wearing designer jeans with a ridiculous apron probably borrowed from Maggie.
His hair had been perfectly styled, his face somehow sharper, jawline more defined than when we were twenty-one.
Fuck him for still being the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I read the message twice, desperate to understand the tone.
Eli,
I wanted to apologize for yesterday. There’s a lot we should talk about, and I’d like to catch up if you’re willing. Coffee at The Maple Cafe tomorrow at 11? My treat.
- Luke
Something felt off. The formal tone didn’t match the raw anger in his voice when he’d shoved his delivery against my chest. But maybe he’d calmed down.
Maybe he’d realized, like I had in the hours after he’d driven away, that six years was too long to hold on to old wounds. That some things were worth salvaging.
That didn’t explain the odd delivery. I looked at the sealed box on my desk.
The box was addressed to the Hendersons, but there wasn’t a guest by that name at the inn.
Henry had even checked upcoming bookings, and there was nothing.
And I’d been too much of a chicken to call Tapped Amber to follow up.
Because what if Luke answered?
“You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger with that computer.”
I jumped, slamming the laptop shut like I’d been caught watching porn. My grandfather stood in my office doorway, his white eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Just... checking emails.” Heat crawled up my neck.
Henry’s eyes softened with that knowing look I’d loved and resented since childhood. “Luke Merrick’s return to town has you tied up in knots.”
I’d never been able to hide anything from him.
“He emailed me,” I said. “He wants to meet for coffee.”
“And you’re going to go.” It wasn’t a question.
I opened my mouth to deny it, but what was the point? I’d never been a good liar, especially not to the man who’d raised me.
“It’s a bad idea. We’re not the same people anymore.”
“I’m sure you’ve both changed.” Henry’s voice was gentle. “But that kind of friendship, that connection, doesn’t disappear. Whatever’s between you two is still there. It started eating at you the minute he drove off yesterday. I bet you’d still finish each other’s sentences.”
“Not likely. He’s changed a lot. He’s got a fancy job in Boston and a whole other life.”
“A new job doesn’t change who he is,” Henry said.
I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I’m too old for this shit.”
Henry laughed. “Old? You’re twenty-eight, not eighty.
But with that scowl, you look closer to my age.
” He stood up, waving off my instinctive move to help him.
“Take the dog for a walk. Clear your head. Then have coffee with Luke Merrick and figure out how to put an end to this ridiculous rift between you.”
“I’ve got work to do—”
“It’ll wait.” He cut me off firmly. “This place has stood for over a hundred years. It won’t fall apart if you take a morning off.”
I knew better than to argue when he used that tone. As he left, I reopened my laptop and clicked reply before I could think better of it.
I’ll be there.
I hit send, then closed the laptop before I could think the better of it.
“Come on, Rambo.” I whistled for my dog and grabbed his leash from its hook. “Let’s get some air.”
Henry had named Rambo as a joke, since he was about as far from a muscle-bound 80s action hero as you could get, with the stumpy legs and long, droopy ears of a basset hound, though we were pretty sure he was some sort of mixed breed. His favorite hobby was napping.
“Don’t give me that look. You need the exercise, and I need the company.”
Sighing, Rambo heaved himself to his feet, stretching elaborately before trudging over to me. I clipped the leash to his collar, and he gave a big yawn before bolting for the door, tail wagging, eager now that he’d committed to a walk.
The late November air was crisp, carrying the scent of wood smoke and fallen leaves as Rambo and I walked down the inn’s long driveway toward town.
It was a classic early December day for Vermont; bright and sunny with zero warmth, the maple trees holding onto the last of their crimson leaves, and the distant mountains dusted with early snow.
A day Luke and I would have spent by the lake as teenagers, arguing about nothing and everything until sunset.
“This is stupid. I should just cancel.”
Rambo huffed at me, clearly convinced I was an idiot, and kept walking.
“You don’t understand. It wasn’t a minor falling out. He left. He chose his fancy future over...” Over what? I hadn’t offered him what he wanted.
I could’ve sworn Rambo rolled his eyes as he tugged at the leash, dragging me towards town. I followed him, my thoughts tangled around Luke, the email, and the embarrassing hope that had flared in my chest. I wanted my best friend back.
We turned onto Sugar Street, the cute shopping district. The historic charm of the colonial buildings only made me grumpier. Why had Luke been so desperate to leave this? Maple Crossing was fucking amazing.
I slowed my pace, heart hammering. What was I doing? I wasn’t ready for this. I’d spent six years constructing a life without Luke, learning to function without my other half.
I spotted him through the cafe’s large front window.
He was at the counter, back to the door.
He was easy to pick out as he stood out like a sore thumb next to the shop’s usual customers; tourists and granola-crunchy Vermont hippies.
Luke, on the other hand, was dressed for work in the city, in dark slacks that were tailored to his body and a soft sweater that must have been cashmere.
He probably thought that made his outfit casual.
“Stay here.” I looped Rambo’s leash around the cafe’s bike rack and gave his ears a reassuring scratch. “I’ll be back soon.”
Rambo sighed dramatically and started drinking from the dog bowl next to the bike rack. I took a deep breath and made a futile attempt to smooth my hair. There was no way my battered flannel jacket and work boots could ever match Luke’s city polish, so I gave up and pushed open the door.
The warm, coffee-scented air enveloped me as I stepped inside. Luke was still at the counter, talking to the barista. He folded his arms, and the soft cotton of his henley stretched tight across his chest and shoulders in a way that made my throat go dry.
Six years, and my body still remembered exactly how close we used to stand—close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him, close enough that one small shift would have brought our mouths together.
I watched as he leaned in, accepting a tray of steaming mugs from the barista. My heart skipped a beat as I wondered if he’d ordered for both of us.
For a moment, I believed this could work—that we could restore our old friendship. That the Luke I knew was still in there somewhere, beneath the designer clothes and the perfect hair.
I hated noticing. Hated that I still wanted to believe in him.
As he moved, the muscles of his back shifted under the sweater, and my stomach tightened—a familiar ache I’d spent years pretending wasn’t there. He laughed at something the barista said, as charming as ever.
I used to know the exact shape of those shoulders under my hands, the way his breath caught when I crowded him against a wall when our roughhousing got a little out of hand.
Why hadn’t I realized how attractive I found him? It seemed stupidly obvious now.
I waited for him to notice me, but he didn’t look over. Not once.
Heat prickled at the back of my neck—part embarrassment, part something darker. Was I invisible? I’d spent the whole walk prepping for impact, for the collision of his eyes on mine, but now it was like I didn’t exist at all.
Luke turned toward the door, sunlight slanting through the front windows and highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. My heart was in my throat, a sinking drop like that nightmare moment when you realize you’re falling with nothing underneath you.
I almost called out.
But I bit it back, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. If he wanted to ignore me, fine. I’d survived worse. But why email me?
He bumped the door open with his hip, juggling the tray of drinks, and I watched through the glass as he crossed the street. He didn’t once check to see if I’d shown up like he’d fucking asked.
What the hell was this? A dumb game?
A small part of me hoped there was a reasonable excuse. But I was tired. Tired of being the one who waited, who got left behind.
Tired of missing him.