Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Mac woke to the smell of coffee and the low hum of someone moving around her kitchen.
For a second, she forgot Bella, her high school friend, had crashed on her couch for the night.
She lay still, letting the sounds orient her—the clink of a mug against the counter, the soft scrape of chair legs, Bella humming under her breath to something only she could hear.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and unassuming, touching the edges of the room without asking for anything.
Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand.
She glanced at the screen and saw the name—Paula Katz, her agent. Mac silenced the phone and turned it facedown without unlocking it.
Pushing herself upright, she padded down the hall, bare feet cool against the wood floor.
Bella stood at the counter in socks and one of Mac’s oversized hoodies, hair pulled into a loose knot that was already coming undone.
She glanced up as Mac entered, eyes flicking over her with quick, knowing attention.
“Well,” Bella said lightly. “You’re alive.”
Mac reached for a mug. “Barely.”
Bella slid one toward her. “Coffee before questions.”
“Appreciated.” Mac wrapped her hands around the mug and took a long sip, the heat grounding. She leaned back against the counter, gaze drifting toward the window, where the morning looked like any other.
Bella watched her for a beat too long. “You stayed out later than I expected. I thought you were going to make an appearance and then come home.”
“I was, but it ended up being a lot of fun.” Mac lifted a shoulder. “It was a good party.”
“Great! I take it that means you didn’t have to deal with fans grilling you about basketball all night?”
“Well, that is the good thing about weddings—people are mostly focused on the bride and groom.”
“True. So then what did you do?”
Mac smiled faintly. “I ate cake. Drank champagne.”
Bella didn’t push. She never did—not right away. She turned back to the counter, fussing with nothing in particular. “You dance?”
Mac paused, the mug halfway to her mouth. “Once or twice.”
“Huh.” Bella’s mouth curved, subtle and unreadable. “That’s new.”
“Not new,” Mac said. “Just…rare.”
Bella nodded, absorbing that. “With anyone I know?”
Mac hesitated. Just a fraction. “Callum’s brother.”
Bella’s brows lifted. “Connor?”
“That’s the one.”
“Cool. Who else?”
“No one else, just Connor.”
Bella let out a soft sound—not surprise, exactly. Recognition. “Okay.”
Mac took another sip, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s it? Okay?”
“I’m processing,” Bella said. “But go on.”
“There’s not much to go on.” Mac stared into her coffee. “We talked. We danced. It was…easy.”
Bella leaned against the counter across from her. “Easy how?”
Mac considered the question, turning it over. “Like I didn’t have to explain anything. Or prove anything. I wasn’t Mac the Athlete or Mac the Retired Player or Mac Who Left and Came Back.” She exhaled. “I was just…there.”
Bella studied her face. “And how did that feel?”
Mac didn’t answer right away. She watched a bird land on the fence outside, then take off again.
“Unexpected,” she said finally. “In a good way.”
Bella nodded once. No smile. No commentary. “You look different.”
Mac glanced up. “Different how?”
“Looser,” Bella said. “Not lighter. Just…less braced.”
Mac huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t realize I was braced.”
“You’ve been braced since January,” Bella said gently. “You just hide it well.”
Mac looked down at her mug again. “I’m not looking for anything.”
“I know.”
“And it was just one night.”
“I know that, too.”
Mac met her eyes. “Do you?”
Bella smiled then, but it was small, affectionate. “I know you.”
“I don’t want to turn it into something it isn’t,” Mac said. “I’ve had enough of that.”
“You always do this,” Bella said quietly.
“Do what?”
“You downplay it before anyone else can.” Bella tipped her head. “Like if you make it smaller first, no one else has to.”
Mac frowned. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“I’ve always been better at handling my own stuff,” Mac said. “Play team sports long enough, you learn not to be the one who needs something.”
Bella didn’t argue. “You call it independence.”
“And what do you call it?” Mac asked.
Bella held her gaze. “I think sometimes you’re just trying to make sure you’re never the one asking for more.”
Bella reached across and nudged Mac’s wrist with her fingers. “You know that, right?”
They stood in companionable quiet for a moment, the kitchen settling around them.
Mac’s phone buzzed again, on the counter this time.
She glanced at it. Didn’t pick it up.
Bella noticed. Said nothing.
Mac took another sip of coffee, the warmth steady, familiar.
She’d enjoyed the evening. Much more than she’d expected.
Cake, champagne and Connor.
Mac smiled. She couldn’t have asked for more.
Unless…maybe a kiss.
Her lips tingled at the thought.
Yes, a kiss would have been a perfect ending to an amazing night.
Connor glanced around the living room where the Brody and Chapin families had gathered for one last wedding celebration.
Coffee cups dotted every surface. A plate of pastries sat half empty on the sideboard. Someone had opened a window, and late-morning air drifted in, carrying the faint scent of pine and lake water. Laughter rose and fell in easy waves.
That evening, Callum and Brynn would leave for their honeymoon.
Parker would stay behind with his grandparents. He’d already claimed Callum and Connor’s childhood bedroom upstairs—the same one Connor was using now.
The room had long ago shifted into a guest space, but even so, sleeping there carried a quiet message: This visit has an end date. It always had. And now, with everything else in motion, it was time to start thinking about what came next.
Brynn’s laugh cut through the room, bright and unguarded, and pulled Connor back to the moment.
Morning light streamed through the tall windows, catching on the polished hardwood floors and warming the stone fireplace.
Its Boston Blend round tile, with wide grout joints, was elegant in its restraint.
The space felt both expansive and grounded, shaped by the careful details Brynn’s father had designed—the sweeping staircase, the starburst newel post, the wide crown moldings that gave the house its quiet authority.
Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw his mother step up beside him.
She let out a contented sigh. “Those two were made for each other.”
He followed her gaze to where Callum stood with Brynn, his hand resting easily at her back as they talked with her parents.
He nodded. “They really are.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Prim slipped her arm through his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love having both my boys home. I missed you.”
“Careful,” he said lightly. “You know what happens when Callum and I team up.”
She smiled, but there was something knowing in her expression. “Things are different now.”
The words landed harder than he’d expected.
Yes, things were different. Callum had a wife now. A son. A rhythm that looked a lot like stability, even if it included outfitting work and adrenaline-fueled weekends. For Callum, that balance fit.
Connor, on the other hand, had followed a more traditional path. And somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling like enough.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Prim said, tilting her head.
He looked at her—really looked. Primrose Bloom Delaney Brody hadn’t changed much. Her strawberry-blond hair hadn’t surrendered to gray, and her hazel eyes still held the same steady warmth he’d leaned on his entire life.
“Even if I hadn’t already decided to come back for the summer,” Connor said, “I wouldn’t have missed Callum’s wedding for anything.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “I just thought Nicolette might be here, too. She’s such a lovely woman.”
Of course his mother would describe her that way.
Connor nodded once. “She is.”
But lovely hadn’t been enough. And neither, it seemed, had he.
He hadn’t shared the real reasons they’d ended things.
The slow wearing down, the constant sense of trying to keep track of a moving target.
He’d done everything he could to make it work.
Adjusted. Compromised. Tried harder. And still, it had never quite been right.
Not because of who Nicolette was, but because no version of him ever seemed to fully fit beside her.
“I saw you dancing with Mac last night.”
The shift caught him off guard. He turned, surprised by the spark of curiosity in his mother’s eyes. “You know Mac?”
Prim smiled. “Your father and I followed her career from the moment she left for college. She was always so fun to watch play—fierce and fast. Such a presence on the court.”
“She really was,” Connor said. She still was—just not only on a basketball court.
“I almost didn’t recognize her last night,” Prim added. “She looked lovely.”
“She did,” he agreed without hesitation. “And she’s easy to talk to. Smart. Funny.”
“Will you be seeing her again?”
He smiled, slow and unguarded.
“Good Hope’s a small town,” he said. “I think we both know the answer to that.”