Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Heather
T he worn wooden floorboards creaked under my restless steps, betraying the silence of the old Sullivan house. Michael is coming—Michael, with his polished shoes and piercing eyes that can unravel me with a look. I chew on my lip, trying to tame the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.
“Earth to Heather,” Red's voice breaks through my anxious trance as she waltzes into the room.
“Hey,” I manage, stopping mid-pace to offer a smile.
“Okay, spill. You've got that 'I'm calculating ten different escape routes' look.” Red plops down on the couch, patting the spot beside her.
“Is it that obvious?” I sink down next to her, tucking a stray blonde lock behind my ear. “It's just... Michael's visit feels like a storm cloud looming over Lawson Ridge, and I can't seem to shake off the chill.”
“Michael Harris might think he's a hurricane, but you, my friend, are the whole weather system.” Red bumps her shoulder against mine, her green eyes twinkling. “So what if the man wants to blow back into town? You're not the same woman who left with him.”
“Sometimes I feel like I am,” I confess, the words spilling out in a torrent. “What if seeing him brings it all back? The doubt, the fear…”
“Hey, look at me.” Red's voice softens, but her grip on my hand was firm. “You're Heather freaking Sullivan. You build worlds out of code, create order from chaos. This guy? He's just an annoying pop-up ad. Close and move on.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, surprising me. Leave it to Red to turn my angst into an internet metaphor. “An annoying pop-up ad that I married.”
“Past tense, babe.” She winks. “And speaking of past, let's not forget that you've got Lincoln back in your grasp now. He's like the ultimate antivirus software.”
“Lincoln is amazing,” I agree, warmth seeping into the cold spaces the thought of Michael chilled. “But this is something I have to face myself.”
“Of course,” Red says, squeezing my hand before letting go. “But remember, you've got backup. I'll be here, ready to click 'block sender' on any unwanted emotional spam.”
“Thanks, Red.” I lean into her embrace, grateful for her presence. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Crash and burn, obviously,” she quips, pulling away with a grin. “Now come on, let's get some coffee. You need caffeine, and we need to strategize.”
“Strategy involves caffeine?”
“Every battle plan should involve caffeine. It's the Red way.”
“Then lead on, General Red.” I stand, feeling steadier than before. Maybe I am ready for a little comedy in my romantic drama after all.
We enter Page Turners, grab a coffee and sit down. But not even five minutes later, Lincoln walks in and his gaze immediately is on me. Red follows my eyes.
“Oh, well as much as I’d love to be a third wheel, I’ll pass. Call me later?”
Lincoln takes her seat. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Michael called me. He’s coming into town and wants to talk.”
There is hurt in his eyes. “Of course he does. Maybe he finally realized what he let walk away.”
I toy with the handle of my coffee cup. “It's just—I can't help but worry about what he wants.”
Lincoln's thumb gently brushes over my knuckles—a small gesture, but it grounds me like an anchor. “Whatever his reasons for coming back, they don't change how far you've come. You're not that same person anymore.”
He has so much faith in me. Part of me thought he would be upset with me for agreeing to meet with Michael, and if he is, I can’t tell.
“Listen, Heather,” Lincoln says, the humor in his voice giving way to earnest sincerity. “No matter what happens when Michael walks through that door, I'm here. As a friend or more.”
“Thank you, Lincoln. Really.” I squeeze his hand.
The chime of my phone cuts through.
“Hello?”
“I’m here in Lawson Ridge. Came in a bit earlier than expected,” he says.
“Here? Now?” The words tumble out, and my pulse quickens at the thought of him invading my sanctuary without warning. Especially with Lincoln sitting across from me right now.
“Surprise. I thought maybe we could meet up? Talk things over?”
“There's a coffee shop on Main Street, Page Turners. We can meet there.”
“Perfect. See you in ten minutes?”
Ten minutes to steel myself for the storm.
Lincoln gets up from the table and scoots the chair back in. “If you want to get together after, just shoot me a text. Or if you just want to scream at the top of your lungs, we can do that too.”
When he walks away, my heart drops. Lincoln has always been the man I wanted, but somehow things got twisted. He had big dreams and no time for commitment. And now, here he is, wanting to start something and I’m agreeing to meet my ex-husband. What the hell is wrong with me?
Every time the bell above the door sings I hold my breath. Not ready to face him. No matter what, we are not getting back together. He treated me like shit and I deserve far better.
When it sings this time, it’s him.
“Michael.” I stand, as I take in his flawless suit and the air of confidence he wears like a second skin.
“Heather,” he smiles, reaching out to touch my arm in a familiar gesture I am not ready to welcome. “You look great.”
“Thanks. You look... the same.”
“Hopefully, that's a good thing,” he chuckles, sliding into the chair opposite me. “So, how have you been, Heather? Lawson Ridge treating you well?”
“It's been good to be home. It's peaceful here. Simple.”
“Simple can be nice,” Michael concedes, though I catch the flicker of something else in his gaze—disdain, perhaps, or impatience. “But surely you miss the excitement of the city? The buzz of being in the thick of it all?”
“Excitement isn't everything.” The memories of our life together—a whirlwind of galas and business dinners—flashing before my eyes. “Sometimes, you need to step back and appreciate the quiet moments.”
“Of course. That's always been your way, hasn't it? Finding contentment in the stillness.”
This is no longer a conversation between a former husband and wife but a dance around the ghosts of our past.
“I saw Lincoln on the way. He said he was just in here talking to you. What a small world. Both of you back at the same time. I've heard he does well for himself. An anesthesiologist, isn't it?”
“Yes, at a children's hospital. He's very dedicated.”
“Commendable. Though I suppose that means he's quite busy. Possibly too busy to offer you the... attention you deserve.”
“None of your fucking business.”
He concedes with a theatrical tilt of his head. “Still, I can't help but wonder if this rural renaissance might be a phase. You were always meant for bigger things. It's a shame to see potential wasted on... simplicity.”
“Maybe what you call simplicity,” I say, my fingers tightening around the mug, “I call happiness.”
“Is that right?” His gaze drifts over my shoulder, out the window. “Happiness. Well, if you're happy, then that's all that matters, isn't it?”
“I appreciate that we can sit here and have a civil conversation. But let's not dance around the topic. You know why you're here, and it's not to critique my life choices.”
He leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Straight to the point. I admire that, Heather. So, tell me, what am I here for?”
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze like an anchor trying to pull me down to unfathomable depths. “You're here because you needed closure, but that doesn't mean you get to come back into my life and stir things up. I've moved on, Michael.”
Michael's smirk fades, replaced by a calculating stare. “Lincoln Montgomery,” he muses, rolling the name around his tongue as if tasting a fine wine. “The hometown hero. Must be a nice change of pace from our life in the city.”
“Change can be good,” I retort, leaning forward, my resolve hardening with every word. “Lincoln isn't just a 'change of pace,' Michael. He's someone who understands me, who sees me for who I am, not some trophy wife to parade around at corporate events.”
“Understands you?” Michael's voice drips with condescension. “Or is it more accurate to say he doesn't challenge you? That he lets you hide away here in your comfort zone?”
“Being with Lincoln isn't about hiding,” I shoot back, anger simmering beneath my composure. “It's about being part of something real, something honest. It's about falling in love, Michael. Something our marriage lacked in the end.”
“Love,” he echoes. “Well, if that's what you believe... Fine. If you're truly content with mediocrity, then who am I to argue?”
“Goodbye, Michael,” I say, signaling the end of the conversation, the end of his hold on me.
“Goodbye, Heather.”
As he walks away, I remain seated, letting out a long, slow breath. The encounter has left a sour taste in my mouth, and a whirlwind of questions swirling in my mind. What did this mean for Lincoln and me? How will we move forward, knowing Michael was still lurking in the shadows of our lives?
The answers aren't clear, but one thing is certain: I stood my ground, and I will do it again—for Lincoln, for Lawson Ridge, but most importantly, for myself.