Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Connor
I barely taste the coffee as I gulp it down, my mind replaying the scene at The Coffee Loft like a movie stuck on repeat. Sarah's face when she saw me. The hurt in her eyes that she tried to hide. The way she practically ran to avoid talking to me.
It was just a kiss, right? No big deal.
Her words echo in my head, each syllable a precise cut. I've spent the last two days hiding out at the lodge, throwing myself into work, trying to make sense of what happened on her porch. Of what I felt when I kissed her. Instead of talking to her like a rational adult, I disappeared. And now...
"You look like a man who could use something stronger than coffee."
I look up to find my mother standing in the doorway of the lodge kitchen, her keen eyes missing nothing as she takes in my disheveled appearance. It's nearly midnight, the kitchen long since closed after dinner service, but insomnia drove me down here in search of caffeine and solitude.
"I'm fine," I say automatically.
"Mmm." She doesn't contradict me outright, just moves to the industrial coffee maker and pours herself a cup. "That's why you're sitting alone in a dark kitchen looking like you've lost your best friend."
"I couldn't sleep."
The soft click of heels on the hallway tile interrupts whatever my mother was about to say. Lauren Abbott appears in the doorway, a stack of folders in her arms, looking surprised to find anyone in the kitchen this late.
"Oh—sorry, I didn't realize anyone was still up." She hesitates, clearly unsure whether to enter or retreat.
"Don't mind us," my mother says, waving her in. "Connor's having a crisis of the heart, and I'm dispensing motherly wisdom. Nothing we can't pause for a moment."
"Mom," I groan, mortified.
Lauren's lips twitch with a suppressed smile. "I just needed to leave these budget reports for tomorrow's meeting. I was working late and figured I'd drop them off now rather than coming in early."
"At midnight?" I ask.
She shrugs, setting the folders on the counter. "Some of us deal with insomnia by working. Evidently others prefer brooding in dark kitchens."
Despite everything, I find myself almost smiling at her directness. It's easy to see why she and Liam once worked as a couple—and why they eventually didn't. Both too stubborn for their own good.
"Lauren's been a huge help with the quarterly finances," my mother says, conveniently ignoring my discomfort. "Already found three accounting discrepancies Liam's been missing for months."
"I'm sure he was thrilled about that," I mutter.
"Actually, he was quite professional about it," Lauren says, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. "Whatever else you might think of your brother, he cares about this lodge more than his pride."
An awkward silence follows, and Lauren shifts slightly. "Anyway, I should go. It's late."
"Nonsense," my mother says. "You've been working for hours. At least have some coffee before you drive home."
Before Lauren can protest, Mom is already pouring her a cup. I watch with amusement as my mother efficiently maneuvers another person into doing exactly what she wants. Some things never change.
"Just for a minute," Lauren concedes, accepting the mug.
"So," Mom says casually, once the three of us are settled at the kitchen island. "You kissed her."
I nearly drop my coffee, the mug clattering against the countertop. "What—who told you that?"
She smiles, that knowing maternal smile that used to make me and my brothers confess to all manner of childhood misdeeds. "Small town, Connor. And you just confirmed it."
Lauren's eyebrows shoot up, and she looks like she's wondering if she can politely escape whatever family drama she's just been dragged into.
I groan, setting my mug down before I actually spill it. "Who was it? Kathryn? Nolan?"
"Does it matter? The point is," she takes a deliberate sip, "you kissed Sarah Miller. And then, from what I gather, you promptly disappeared for two days."
Lauren winces slightly. "And on that note, I think I'll?—"
"Stay right where you are," my mother says firmly. "You're part of this lodge's family now, even if you and Liam couldn't make it work. Besides, Connor could use a female perspective that isn't his mother's."
Put like that, it sounds even worse than it felt. "I needed to think."
"Ah, thinking." My mother nods sagely. "Always a good excuse for avoiding feelings."
Lauren's expression shifts to something I can't quite read—recognition, maybe, or resignation. She stares into her coffee, suddenly very interested in its contents.
"I wasn't avoiding—" I stop, the lie too transparent even for me. "It's complicated."
"Is it?" Mom raises an eyebrow. "You have feelings for her. She clearly has feelings for you. You finally acted on those feelings. What's complicated about that?"
"Everything." I stand, too restless to remain seated. "Sarah and I have known each other forever. She's part of this town, part of my life here. If I mess this up?—"
"If?" My mother's voice is gentle but pointed. "Connor, I saw her face when she left The Coffee Loft tonight. I think we're already in 'when' territory."
Guilt twists in my stomach. "You were there?"
"Having tea with Mrs. Henderson by the window. You were too busy staring at Sarah to notice anyone else." She sets her mug down. "That girl has been in love with you for years, you know."
"No, she hasn't," I say automatically, though the words ring hollow even to my own ears. The photograph. The way she always remembered how I took my coffee. The look in her eyes right before I kissed her.
"Connor." Just my name, but the way she says it—quiet, expectant—makes me stop pacing.
"What if I can't be what she needs?" The question slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way I rarely allow myself to be. "What if I let her down?"
Lauren, who has been silent during this exchange, finally speaks up. "For what it's worth," she says quietly, "not trying at all hurts far more than trying and failing." Her eyes meet mine briefly before shifting to Evie, then back to her coffee. "At least with the latter, you know you did everything you could."
The weight behind her words isn't lost on me. Whatever happened between her and Liam clearly left its mark.
"That's what this is really about, isn't it?" My mother's eyes soften. "You're not afraid of feeling something for Sarah. You're afraid of feeling something real. Something that matters enough to hurt if it goes wrong."
I sink back onto my stool, the fight going out of me. "It would hurt her more if I tried and failed."
"And what about if you don't try at all? How's that working out?" She gestures in the general direction of town. "Did she look unhurt to you tonight?"
The memory of Sarah's face—the careful mask of indifference that couldn't quite hide the pain beneath—makes me wince.
Lauren quietly stands, gathering her purse. "I should go. Thank you for the coffee, Evie."
My mother nods in acknowledgment, but her focus remains on me. "You've spent your whole life being the dependable one," she continues once Lauren has slipped out. "The one who puts everyone else first. The one who fixes things. But some things you can't fix by thinking or planning or analyzing. Some things you just have to feel."
"What if feeling isn't enough?"
"What if it's everything?" She reaches across the counter to place her hand over mine. "You're afraid of feeling something real," she repeats. "But it's too late for that, isn't it?"
I clench my jaw, unable to deny the truth of her words. It is too late. Too late to pretend I don't care about Sarah Miller. Too late to go back to the way things were before the storm, before the cabin, before I saw that photograph and realized how she's always seen me.
Too late to protect either of us from the risk of something real.
"I messed up," I admit finally.
"Yes, you did." My mother's bluntness is oddly comforting. No platitudes, no sugarcoating. Just truth. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
"I tried talking to her tonight. She wouldn't listen."
"Can you blame her? You disappeared for two days after kissing her, Connor. If a man did that to me, I'd make him grovel before I gave him the time of day."
Despite everything, a small laugh escapes me. "Are you suggesting I grovel?"
"I'm suggesting you figure out what you want and then fight for it." She squeezes my hand once before letting go. "If Sarah Miller matters to you—really matters—then you need to show her. Not with words. With actions."
She slides off her stool, taking her mug to the sink. "And maybe start by not disappearing when things get real."
I watch her rinse her cup, her movements efficient and sure as they've always been. My mother, who raised four boys after my father died, who kept the lodge running, who never once let any of us see her break even when I know she must have.
"Mom," I say as she heads for the door. "How did you know? With Dad. That it was real."
She pauses, a soft smile touching her lips. "When I realized I was more afraid of not being with him than I was of all the ways it could go wrong." She gives me a knowing look. "Get some sleep, Connor. You look terrible. And Sarah deserves you at your best when you go to win her back."
After she leaves, I sit in the quiet kitchen, her words settling into my bones like truth. I've spent two days hiding out, overthinking a kiss that felt more right than anything has in years, analyzing feelings instead of just letting myself have them.
And in the process, I've hurt the one person I wanted most to protect.
The realization sits heavy in my chest, undeniable now that I've faced it. I can't fix this with careful planning or strategic thinking. I can't approach Sarah Miller like a problem to solve or a trail to navigate.
This is going to require something I'm far less practiced at. Vulnerability.
* * *
Morning comes too quickly after a mostly sleepless night. I drag myself out to the lodge's garden at dawn, a space I usually avoid because it's more Rowan's domain than mine. But the kitchen gardens behind the lodge are the only place I know to find what I need.
My knowledge of flowers is limited at best. I can identify most of the wildflowers on our trails, but only because guests sometimes ask about them. The careful cultivation of blooms has always been Rowan's specialty. Still, even I can recognize the vibrant lavender and deep purple blooms that Sarah always keeps in window boxes outside her bakery.
I kneel beside a patch of what I hope are the right flowers, pulling gardening shears from my back pocket. A peace offering feels juvenile, but showing up empty-handed feels worse.
"Interesting," a voice says from behind me. "I don't recall adding 'flower thief' to your job description."
I turn to find Declan standing over me, arms folded across his chef's jacket, an amused glint in his eyes despite the early hour.
"I'm not stealing," I mutter, turning back to the flowers. "Just borrowing."
"From Rowan's meticulously planned garden? Bold move." He crouches beside me, eyeing my targets. "Those aren't even in bloom yet. You want the ones on the south side."
I sigh, setting down the shears. "How did you even know I was out here?"
"Mom mentioned you might be making some questionable decisions this morning." He grins, not bothering to hide his enjoyment of my discomfort. "Something about Sarah Miller."
Of course she did. In the Callahan family, privacy is a theoretical concept at best.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Clearly." Declan gestures to the gardening shears. "That's why you're committing horticultural crimes at six in the morning."
Before I can respond, another voice joins in. "So it's true." Rowan strolls toward us, work gloves already on his hands despite the early hour. "Connor's finally figured out what the rest of us have known for years."
I stand, brushing dirt from my knees. "You two ganging up on me now?"
"Absolutely," Declan says cheerfully. "It's not often we get to see the great Connor Callahan, master of mountains and emotional repression, reduced to groveling."
"I saw Liam heading to the office at dawn," Rowan adds quietly. "Apparently Lauren's been there all night working on some budget crisis. He looked about as miserable as you do."
"Two Callahan men tripping over themselves with women in one week," Declan shakes his head in mock dismay. "Mom must be beside herself."
"Leave Liam out of this," I say, feeling a strange sense of kinship with my oldest brother for once. "Whatever's going on with him and Lauren is their business."
"Just like whatever's going on with you and Sarah is yours?" Declan counters. "Funny how nobody told the town gossips that."
Rowan, ever the quieter of my brothers, simply kneels to examine the flowers I was about to butcher. "These won't work," he says matter-of-factly. "Come on."
Without waiting for a response, he starts walking toward the greenhouse at the far end of the garden. After a moment's hesitation, I follow, Declan falling into step beside me.
"You know you're being an idiot, right?" Declan says, his tone somewhere between teasing and serious. "Two days of radio silence after kissing her? Even I know that's not how it works."
"I needed time to think."
"Because that's exactly what you need—more time to overthink instead of actually feeling something," he retorts with an eye roll.
"It's not that simple."
"It never is," Declan agrees, his tone softening slightly. "But it's worth it."
Inside the greenhouse, Rowan is already selecting flowers with careful precision. Not just the purple blooms I was aiming for, but others I can't name, creating a small, thoughtful arrangement.
"These are better," he says, handing me a cluster of lavender and something with delicate white flowers. "Sarah prefers the spring varieties. The ones you were looking at won't bloom for another few weeks."
I stare at him. "How do you know what Sarah prefers?"
Rowan shrugs. "She comes by for cuttings sometimes. For her window boxes."
"And you two talk about flowers?"
"Not everyone communicates exclusively in grunts and weather forecasts, Connor." Declan picks up a spray bottle, misting the arrangement in my hands. "Some of us actually have conversations with women."
"I talk to Sarah," I protest.
"About what? Coffee orders and trail conditions?" Declan shakes his head. "When's the last time you asked about her photography?"
The question hits uncomfortably close to home. "How do you know about her photography?"
"Because Declan asked," Rowan says simply. He rummages through a drawer and produces twine, carefully wrapping it around the stems. "She showed us some of her work. She's talented."
Another realization I've come to too late. "I'm screwing this up, aren't I?"
"Impressively so," Declan confirms. "But at least you're trying to fix it. Though I'm not sure flowers are going to cut it after the disappearing act you pulled."
Rowan finishes tying off the arrangement and hands it back to me. "It's a start."