13. Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Bella
I walked into the coffee shop to meet Olivia and savored the smell of coffee. I ordered a peppermint mocha, my favorite holiday drink. Olivia’s dark ponytail bounced as she waved me over to the booth. My stomach flipped slightly as I slid into the seat across from her, knowing exactly what was coming.
Olivia leaned forward, eyes full of curiosity. “I saw the blog... and that kiss under the wishing tree. Spill it.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at my lips. “It was just a kiss, Liv. A really amazing kiss... but still, just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss? With Devon Montgomery?” Olivia’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Things like that don’t ‘just happen,’ Bella. I want details.”
I sighed, tracing the rim of my mug with my finger. The warmth of the ceramic seeped into my skin, grounding me as I tried to sort through the whirlwind of emotions. “Fine. After the kiss, Devon took me to that new bowling alley. It was awesome. He... he wants a second chance.”
Olivia’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Wow. And how do you feel about that?”
The million-dollar question. “I don’t know,” I admitted finally, meeting Olivia’s gaze. “Part of me is excited about it, but maybe I just got caught up in the moment—the guesthouse history, the ornaments, being trapped together.” I let out a deep breath. “Do you really think it could work this time?”
Olivia reached across the table, squeezing my hand. Her touch was warm and comforting. “You’re not the same people you were back then, Bella. Maybe that’s exactly why it could work now.”
“Do you think we’ve changed that much?” I couldn’t keep the hint of hope from creeping into my voice.
Olivia leaned back, her fingers drumming thoughtfully on the table. “Remember how you used to obsess over having the perfect plan for everything? And now look at you, embracing the chaos of this whole guesthouse adventure.”
My eyes drifted to the café window, watching snowflakes dance on the breeze outside. Olivia had a point. The old Bella would have run screaming from a project as unpredictable as the guesthouse renovation, probably while clutching a color-coded binder of escape plans.
“I guess I’ve changed more than I realized,” I murmured.
“And Devon...” Olivia paused. “He seems different too. More grounded, maybe? Less caught up in the spotlight.”
True. Devon did offer to stay and help with the blog. He never would have put off training for me in the past. Back then, I was pretty sure his workout schedule was tattooed on his biceps.
I sighed, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “I just don’t want to set myself up for heartbreak again?”
“What if you’re not?” Olivia countered gently. “Life’s full of risks, Bella. The question is, is Devon worth taking a risk for?”
As we finished our coffee, I couldn’t shake Olivia’s words. She hugged me tight before heading out. “Don’t let fear stop you from something good,” she whispered. “If you want this, go for it.”
The drive back to the guesthouse gave me time to sort through my thoughts. Who was I kidding? My heart had decided days ago that it wanted to be with Devon. My brain was just being a party pooper.
By the time I pushed open the front door of the guesthouse, I felt lighter. More certain. “Devon?” I called out, shrugging off my coat.
A muffled thud echoed from down the hall, followed by a string of muttered curses that would make a sailor blush. I bit back a laugh. Some things never change.
“In here,” Devon’s deep voice rumbled from the direction of the old storage room.
I found him on his knees, surrounded by a sea of cardboard boxes and forgotten treasures. And was that... yes, definitely a spider web clinging to his hair.
I leaned against the doorframe, taking in the chaos. “What are you doing?”
Devon glanced up, his eyes catching mine before darting away. “Trying to find something. Obviously.”
I was about to make a quip about his organizational skills when he suddenly straightened, holding something aloft.
My eyes widened as I recognized the battered pair of ice skates dangling from his hand. A flood of memories washed over me—lazy winter afternoons spent gliding across the frozen pond, Devon’s hand in mine, cheeks flushed with cold and laughter.
“Oh my gosh,” I breathed. “I haven’t been skating in years. I didn’t even know your parents kept those.”
Devon’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Wanna go?”
Before I could overthink it, I found myself nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go skating.”
The crisp winter air nipped at our cheeks as we made our way to the frozen pond, Maple bounding ahead of us, her tail wagging furiously. A light dusting of snow covered the ice, making it look like something out of a fairytale.
Devon laced his skates with practiced ease, while I fumbled with the laces, my fingers clumsy with cold and nerves. I was beginning to wonder if I might make a fool of myself. It had been a long time.
“Need a hand?” Devon knelt in front of me, his fingers brushing mine as he took over the lacing. The simple gesture sent a shiver through me, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
We stepped onto the ice, the scrape of blades against the frozen surface breaking the stillness. Maple pranced along the shore, barking encouragement. We skated in silence at first, finding our rhythm.
“So,” Devon finally spoke, his voice low. “How was coffee with Olivia?”
I nearly stumbled, caught off guard by the question. “Oh, you know,” I said, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. “The usual. Gossip, life advice, judgment-free zone.”
Devon raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Sounds intense.”
I laughed, the sound carrying across the pond. “You have no idea. It’s like therapy, but with more caffeine and pastries.”
As we rounded the far edge of the pond, my skate caught on a rough patch of ice. I wobbled, arms flailing as I struggled to regain my balance. In an instant, Devon’s hand shot out, gripping my arm firmly. The familiar jolt of electricity at his touch sent my pulse racing.
For a heartbeat, I thought he might pull me closer. His blue eyes locked with mine, intense and unreadable. But then his lips quirked into that infuriating smirk.
“You’re rusty, Bells,” he teased, his voice low and warm.
I straightened, willing the butterflies in my stomach to settle. “Speak for yourself,” I shot back, lifting my chin. “I’m just getting started.”
His eyebrows rose in challenge. “Oh really?”
“Really,” I affirmed, pushing off and willing my legs to cooperate. And by some miracle, they did.
We fell into an easy rhythm, gliding in wide circles around the pond, holding hands. We skated for nearly an hour, barely talking but somehow saying volumes.
“I need a break,” I admitted between breaths. We made our way to a nearby bench. Maple trotted over, curling up contentedly at our feet. I leaned back, catching my breath and taking in the view of the guesthouse. There were so many memories within those walls, both sweet and bittersweet.
“What are you thinking about?” Devon’s voice was soft, curious.
I hesitated, unsure how to articulate the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling inside me. “Just... everything,” I finally said. “This place. Us. The future.”
I snuck a glance at Devon. His eyes had darkened slightly, but his expression remained unreadable like he was deep in thought.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d meant by “the future,” but I could feel something shifting inside me.
Just as Devon suggested we head back inside, a familiar voice rang out across the yard.
“Oh, I just had to stop by!” Mrs. Hawthorne practically bounded towards us, her arms overflowing with what looked like old photographs and papers.
Devon shot me a look that was equal parts amusement and resignation. I bit back a grin, knowing we were in for quite the history lesson.
“I found more pictures of the guesthouse from when it first opened,” Mrs. Hawthorne announced, brandishing the stack of photos like a prized trophy. “And a few more stories to go with them, of course.”
“Of course,” Devon mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. I elbowed him gently, trying not to laugh.
“Well, we can’t let you freeze out here,” I said, gesturing towards the house. “Why don’t you come in for some hot cocoa?”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be lovely, dear. Though I wouldn’t want to intrude on your... skating date.”
I felt my cheeks heat up. “We were just–”
“No intrusion at all,” Devon said smoothly, surprising me. He placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the house.
Once inside, I made hot cocoa while Devon and Mrs. Hawthorne settled in the living room. As I stirred the steaming mugs, I could hear Mrs. Hawthorne’s animated voice drifting from the other room.
“My grandfather was friends with your great-grandfather. He built this house and proposed to your great-grandmother right here in this very living room.”
I walked in just in time to see Devon’s eyebrows shoot up. “I... didn’t know that,” he said, looking slightly overwhelmed by the onslaught of information. “I guess I never really cared to know about the history of the house. My mom... well, she used to try to tell me stories, but I was too busy.”
As I handed out the mugs of cocoa, Mrs. Hawthorne began spreading the photographs on the coffee table. I found myself drawn in by the images of the guesthouse in its heyday. Elegant couples in vintage attire posed on the front porch, families gathered around a Christmas tree in the room we sat in now.
“You know,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, her tone turning serious, “This guesthouse was always about bringing people together. People found love here. They found new beginnings.”
As Mrs. Hawthorne’s voice faded into the background, my mind began to race with possibilities. The guesthouse, once a symbol of what Devon and I had lost, suddenly seemed to pulse with potential.
“Maybe... it could be that again,” I murmured, almost to myself. My fingers traced the edge of a faded photograph, picturing the rooms filled with laughter and love once more.
Devon’s head snapped up, his eyes widening. I felt a flush creep up my neck.
“Not that it’s my decision, of course,” I backpedaled, waving a hand like I could swat the words away. “But... it has potential.”
I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but then it disappeared. A ghost of a smile played on Devon’s lips. “Potential, huh?”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes darted between us. “Well, I always say, where there’s potential, there’s a possibility. And where there’s a possibility...” She trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging like a baited hook.
After cocoa, cookies, and several stories that ranged from heartwarming to mildly scandalous, Mrs. Hawthorne finally gathered her photos and made her way to the door. “Now, don’t you two be strangers,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve got plenty more stories where these came from!”
A hush fell over the room as the door clicked shut behind her. Devon and I stood in the entryway, staring at each other like we’d forgotten how to speak.
For a moment, I let myself imagine a future here. A future with Devon. The thought both excited and terrified me.
“You think this place could come back to life?” Devon’s quiet voice broke through my reverie.
I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. “Yeah,” I finally said, meeting his gaze. “I do. I think it could be something special again.”
Devon stepped closer, his eyes intense as they searched mine. “So, is that like a metaphor for us? Did you decide to give us a second chance?”
My heart raced as I took a deep breath. “I... I think I have,” I admitted softly. “But Devon, we can’t just pick up where we left off. We’re different people now. We need to take things slow and get to know each other again.”
Devon nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. “I agree.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat. “Okay. So... where do we start?”
“How about we start with this,” Devon murmured, his voice low and husky.
He stepped closer, gently caressing my cheek, sending a warm shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes, savoring the tenderness of his touch as Devon’s lips met mine in a soft, lingering kiss.
It was different from our impulsive kiss beneath the wishing tree. It was deliberate, unhurried, and filled with promise. My hands found their way to Devon’s chest, and I felt the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my fingertips.
As the kiss deepened, I felt myself melting into him. Could it be true? After all this time, was Serenity Falls where I was meant to be all along?