Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Savvy
Morning attacked with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, sunlight streaming through curtains I’d forgotten to close. My head throbbed in time with my pulse. Each beat was a reminder that wine was not, in fact, a solution to my Henry Kingston problem.
Fragments of yesterday filtered through the hangover haze. Crying in The Paper Crane’s bathroom. Gloria’s special reserve wine. Almost falling down the stairs and?—
No.
My eyes snapped open, then immediately slammed shut against the brutal morning light. That part had to be a dream—his powerful arms catching me, his voice saying my name like a prayer and a curse wrapped into one word.
Henry Kingston had not carried me into my home after Maddy and Ivy left. That was my drunk brain creating the worst possible scenario to torture me with. Next, my imagination would try to convince me I’d told him he smelled the same, or worse, that I’d? —
“Oh god.” I pressed my face into my pillow, memories flooding back with mortifying clarity. I had told him he smelled the same. And then I’d said ... no, I couldn’t even finish the thought without wanting to die of embarrassment.
Pushing myself up on shaky arms, I winced at the throb in my knee. Looking down, I found a perfectly applied bandage with a tiny smiley face drawn in the corner. My stomach dropped.
Only one person had ever done that—a ridiculous habit he’d started the summer I kept scraping my knees helping Dad repair boats at the marina. “A happy bandage heals faster,” he’d say, adding his signature smile with a black Sharpie.
No. No, no, no .
Two aspirin and a glass of water waited on my nightstand, and something crinkled underneath—a note written in that familiar, precise handwriting that still appeared in my dreams.
Common Grounds. 9 a.m.
I forced myself upright, fumbling for the aspirin. After swallowing the pills with a sip of water, I dragged myself to the bathroom. As the shower heated, I brushed my teeth, then stepped under the spray for a quick rinse. The moment I stepped out, my phone buzzed.
Maddy
You alive? You didn’t text.
Ivy
Did you make it to bed okay? We probably shouldn’t have left you alone.
Me
I’m fine. Just hungover .
I stared at my reflection in the steamy mirror, debating whether to tell them about Henry’s appearance. They’d dropped everything to rescue me at The Paper Crane yesterday. They’d been there for the original heartbreak, holding, supporting, and loving me. If anyone would understand how quickly my walls had crumbled, it would be them.
But telling them meant admitting that one touch had turned me back into that girl who believed in forever. That girl they’d worked so hard to help me bury.
I took another look at the smiley face on my bandage. They deserved to know.
Me
Something happened after you left last night.
Maddy
What do you mean?
Taking a deep breath, I typed the words that would change everything.
Me
Henry showed up.
Ivy
WHAT?
Maddy
Henry KINGSTON?
Me
No, Henry the VIII. YES, HENRY KINGSTON!
Ivy
Details. Now.
Maddy
Why didn’t you call us?
The story spilled out in a series of texts—how I’d almost fallen, how he’d caught me, carried me into my home. With each message, I waited for their judgment, their anger at my weakness.
Ivy
Maybe this is your chance.
Me
My chance for what? More humiliation?
Maddy
Your chance for closure. Real closure is not the kind you give other people.
Me
I don’t need closure. I need professional distance.
Ivy
Honey, you were never getting professional distance from Henry Kingston.
Maddy
Maybe it’s time to take your own advice. Clean breaks, remember?
Me
This feels more like reopening an old wound.
Ivy
Or maybe healing it properly this time.
I stared at his note again, the precise strokes of his handwriting as familiar as my own. Common Grounds. A place that had seen so many beginnings and endings, including ours.
Me
He left a note. Wants to meet at 9.
Maddy
Are you going?
Me
Of course not. I have clients.
Ivy
Is that true, or are you hiding?
Me
Since when have you questioned my schedule?
Maddy
Since you had an emotional breakdown about him yesterday.
Me
I’m not going.
But I was pulling on my most comfortable jeans and a blazer because, apparently, years of meticulously built walls meant nothing in the face of Henry Kingston’s desire to talk.
The October morning hit me like a slap as I stepped outside, the crisp autumn air doing nothing to clear my head. River Bend was awake and bustling. Mrs. Patterson was power walking past with her tiny dog, Mr. Dixon was arranging the same never-sold antiques in The Weathered Barn’s display, and Mom was organizing the weekly “Staff Picks” in the front of River Bend Books.
I tried to slip past the store without being seen, but Mom’s radar for emotional distress was legendary.
“Savannah Rose Honeysucker,” she called from the door. Her voice had that edge that meant she was fully aware of the mess I’d gotten myself into. “Going somewhere?”
“A client meeting.” The lie was heavy on my tongue.
She emerged with her reading glasses perched on her head. “In baggy jeans?”
I looked down at my outfit. “I’m trying a fresh approach?”
“Mm-hmm.” She studied my face with that mom-intensity that made me feel about five years old. “Would this approach have anything to do with why Henry Kingston’s car was parked in the alley behind the bookstore last night?”
My heart stopped. “You saw him?”
“Honey, everyone saw him. It’s River Bend. Mrs. Patterson’s updated her neighborhood watch group chat twice.”
Perfect. Just perfect.
“It’s not—” I started, then stopped because I had no idea what it wasn’t. “I have to go.”
“Savvy.” She caught my arm as I tried to escape. “Whatever you’re running toward—or from—remember something.”
“That Henry Kingston broke my heart and turned me into someone who breaks hearts professionally?”
“No, that you’re braver now than you were then.” She squeezed my arm. “And courage isn’t just about putting up defenses. Sometimes, it’s about knowing which ones to take down.”
“Mom— ”
“Go,” she said. “But maybe stop by Timeless Treats first. Karen’s got your blueberry muffin waiting.”
“How did?—”
“Mrs. Patterson’s group chat is very thorough. Henry was seen buying two coffees ten minutes ago at Common Grounds.”
Of course, he was. Because Henry Kingston did nothing halfway—not breaking hearts, not disappearing from my life, and not whatever this was.
The path to Common Grounds hadn’t changed in five years. It’s the same worn dirt track, the same gnarly oak roots trying to trip unwary hikers, the same glimpses of the Hudson through autumn leaves. But everything else was different. The girl who used to run up this path, eager to meet Henry for sunrise coffee at our favorite coffee shop, was gone. In her place was someone tougher, someone who’d learned that forever was just another pretty lie people told themselves.
I heard him before I saw him—the soft hum he likely didn’t even realize he was making. My feet stopped moving of their own accord, my heart pounding against my ribs. There he was, seated in our old spot atop the hilltop café, two coffee cups beside him, gazing out over the Hudson River as if the past had never happened.
The morning sunlight caught his profile, highlighting the changes time had carved into him. His jaw was sharper, a premature touch of silver threading through his dark hair at the temples. The boy who’d promised me forever had grown into a man who looked every inch the Kingston heir—except for how his fingers drummed against his coffee cup, a nervous tell I remembered too well.
“You came.” Five years of unspoken words echoed in his voice .
My fingers curled into fists. “You can’t leave notes and expect me to show up.”
He fixed his gaze on the river, his jawline sharp in the morning light. “But you did.”
The space between us hummed with everything left unsaid—endings we never wanted and beginnings we never had. "You ambushed me."
“Seems fitting.” Now he turned, and the morning light caught his handsome face—dark hair tousled just right, piercing blue eyes that held a familiar intensity, and the perfect amount of scruff that made my inner thighs tingle. “Since you did the same to me yesterday at Rise and Grind.”
“That wasn’t—” I crossed my arms. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“I know.” He held out one of the coffee cups. “Peace offering?”
The rich scent of perfectly-made coffee drifted between us, another memory he’d weaponized without trying.
“Peace isn’t my business model anymore.”
“No.” Something stirred in his eyes. “Breaking hearts is more your style now.”
“Does that seem familiar?” The words came out sharper than I intended. “You wrote the manual.”
He winced. Actually winced. “I deserve that.”
“You deserve a lot of things.” I took the coffee. “Most which involve bodily harm.”
“I remember.” He patted the seat beside him. “You always did have creative ideas about revenge.”
“Don’t.” I stayed standing, the coffee burning hot against my palms. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend we’re still those people. Where you act like you didn’t ... vanish. ”
“Savvy—”
“No.” My fingers tightened around the coffee cup. “You can’t just ‘Savvy’ me with that voice. Not after years of silence. Not after I had to find out about your engagement in a client meeting.”
“Almost engagement.” He set his coffee down. “Though you ended that pretty thoroughly.”
“I was doing my job.”
“And what is that?”
“Delivering the truth.” I took a sip to stop myself from saying more, then nearly choked. Perfect. He remembered exactly how I liked it. “Why are you here, Henry?”
“Because I owe you an explanation.”
“You owed me an explanation five years ago.” Another sip of coffee, another stab of memory. How many mornings had we spent here, planning futures that never happened? “Now, you owe me professional courtesy. You can contact me through my business if you want to speak to me. The Breakup Broker. Caroline has the number.”
“That’s ... that’s really what you’re doing now?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Breaking up with people for money?”
“As opposed to what? Calling it quits through total silence and ghosting? At least I give people closure.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” he asked, subtly leaning forward to close the distance between us, his fingers lightly tapping the table. “That you’re providing a service? That it’s better your way?”
“It is better,” I replied, my voice shaking and betraying the lie. “Clean breaks. No messy endings. No waiting for texts that never come or explanations that never arrive.”
“Savvy…”
“Don’t.” I stepped back, creating space between us. “ You have no right to psychoanalyze my career choices. Not when you’re the reason they exist.”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture so familiar it hurt. “God, Savvy, I know. That’s why I’m here. To explain?—”
“I don’t want your explanation.” But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. “I want nothing from you except distance. Just stay in your world, and I’ll stay in mine.”
“That’s not possible anymore.”
“Why? Because you found out what I do for a living? Because your girlfriend hired me to dump you?” I forced a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll refund her fee as a professional courtesy. It didn’t go down the way it should have.”
“No, because my grandfather asked to see you.”
“Your grandfather?” I blinked, sure I’d misheard. “Why would James want to see me?”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “Because he’s dying.”
The words hung between us, heavy with a history I’d tried so hard to forget. James Morrison was the only person in Henry’s family who saw me.
“I’m sorry.” The words were hollow, inadequate. “I had no idea he was sick.”
“He doesn’t want people to know.” Henry looked down at his coffee cup. “He wants to go out on his own terms, like always.”
“Sounds like James.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “But I still don’t understand. Why me? Why now?”
“Please, Savvy.” His voice carried an urgency I’d never heard before. “He doesn’t have much time left. And this ... this is important to him. He’s at Madison Center.”
I watched the sun glinting off the Hudson, remembering all the times James had defended me to his son, how he’d slipped me books he thought I’d enjoy, complete with handwritten notes about why each story reminded him of me.
“Fine.” I set my coffee down, needing my hands free to maintain my composure. “I’ll see James. But that’s it. One visit, one conversation, and then we return to our separate worlds.”
Relief flashed across his face, followed by something harder to read. “Thank you. I’ll pick you up at five.”
“I’m not doing it for you.” I gathered my coffee and bag, every movement measured and controlled. “I’m doing it for the only Kingston who ever thought I belonged in your world. Don’t bother picking me up. I’ll take the train.”
I walked away. Behind me, the river flowed like it had for five years without Henry Kingston. The same way it would keep flowing long after this moment.
My phone buzzed as I reached the bottom of the path.
Maddy
Well?
Me
His grandfather wants to see me.
Ivy
James? The only good one in the family?
Me
The same.
Maddy
Are you going?
I stared at the question for a long moment, remembering James’s kind eyes and quiet wisdom.
Me
Yes. But not for Henry.
Ivy
Remember—you’re not that girl anymore.
Maddy
No. You’re the woman who built a career out of other people’s endings. Don’t let him make you forget that.
I caught my reflection in a store window. They were right—I wasn’t that starry-eyed college girl anymore. So why did one coffee with Henry Kingston make me feel like she was beneath the surface, waiting to believe in forever again?
But as I headed home to change, I couldn’t remove the memory of his voice saying my name.
Damn Henry Kingston and his perfect coffee memory. And damn that stupid smiley face still grinning up at me from my bandage.