Chapter 3
Cole
Present Day
Thanksgiving was two days away. A dull gray sky hung over Brookhaven, the kind that made snow feel close.
The town square already had wreaths on the streetlights, each with a red bow in the middle, and the public works crew had wrapped garland around the gazebo railing where the elementary school kids would sing Christmas carols at the annual tree lighting.
On that night, the entire community would pack the square for hot cocoa, music, crafts, and festivities, making our small New England town look like it belonged in a holiday movie.
I had moved back to my hometown a few weeks after I’d found out about Whitney and Oliver.
I’d spent that first weekend at my parents’ place, then finished the job in Boston while staying at a cheap motel near the site.
By the time the divorce was finalized six months later, I knew big-city life wasn’t for me anymore.
Instead, I started working full-time with my dad at his handyman business.
It wasn’t the same as running electrical jobs in Boston.
The hours weren’t brutal and the deadlines weren’t unmanageable.
Jobs were smaller and shifted from one task to the next, but they were more fulfilling.
I was helping the people I’d grown up knowing instead of wiring another high-rise for some company that would never remember my name.
Parking my truck in front of the hardware store in the town’s square, I went inside to grab a new latch for Mrs. Perkins’s pantry door before meeting my father at her home.
He’d gone ahead while I had finished pulling old trim in my living room and cutting fresh pieces to install later.
I wasn’t a carpenter by any means, but being in the trades as an electrician meant I was comfortable with tools.
The work came easier than I expected, and I’d been helping my father with jobs for as long as I could remember.
As I slid out of the cab, sawdust fell from my jacket, so I brushed it off before heading toward the door.
The bell gave its familiar jingle as I stepped inside, and I instantly saw Murphy behind the counter, where he was ringing up a pack of extension cords for Mrs. Katz.
She and her sister leased the side-by-side storefronts on the square, Cinnamon & Crumb, the bakery, and Maple & Mug, the coffee shop.
With the landlord’s approval, they reopened an interior wall between the suites so customers could move between the two businesses without going outside.
“Afternoon, Cole,” Murphy greeted. “Your dad already headed over to Mrs. Perkins’s? He told me you’d be by for the latch.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “I’m here to pick it up.”
Mrs. Katz peered over. “Would you do me a favor and tell her I’ll be by in the morning with her pumpkin pie? She won’t stop calling to make sure I saved one for her Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am, of course,” I responded.
“Thank you, sweetie. And make sure you stop by tomorrow morning. I’ll have a pumpkin spice scone waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there.” I paid for the latch, gave Murphy a quick nod, and stepped back out into the cold. Mrs. Perkins’s house was just a few blocks’ drive from the square. It had the same tidy porch I remembered, and the maple trees in her yard were already bare for the season.
After parking my truck behind my dad’s van, I climbed out, making sure to grab the latch and my tools.
Before I even climbed the porch steps, I saw his boots on the stoop, and a few seconds later, the front door screen creaked open.
He held the door as I came up the steps and motioned toward the kitchen.
“Did you get the latch?” he asked.
“Yes, I did.” I showed him that it was in my hand while I toed off my boots.
“We’ll swap the latch and tighten that porch rail while we’re here. It wobbles.”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
“There he is.” Mrs. Perkins waved from the kitchen doorway. “I have cookies. Help yourself before the family arrives tomorrow. My sister’s bringing her five, plus spouses and a couple of grandkids. Two of them have bottomless appetites, and the others barely nibble. There’s no middle ground.”
“Will do, once we fix everything up nice for you.” I smiled.
My father lifted the old pantry latch. The metal had bent just enough to miss the catch, and when he let go, the door eased open again. “We’ll swap the latch and reset the striker plate,” he told her. “You won’t need to barricade it with a chair after today.”
Dad crouched at the door while I set the latch and hardware on the counter.
“Hand me the drill,” he instructed.
I passed it over, then held the door steady while he installed the latch and adjusted the striker plate.
“Try it,” he instructed me.
I let the door swing shut and pressed the handle. The latch caught with a clean click.
Mrs. Perkins tested it herself, tugging on the handle twice, then once more for good measure. “Finally. I won’t miss tripping over that chair.”
Dad tucked the impact back into the tool bag. “That’ll hold. We’ll tighten the porch handrail too,” he added, already heading for the door. “The bracket screws are loose.”
When Mrs. Perkins’s attention shifted back to me, she had a huge grin on her face, and I knew what was coming. Since they knew I was single, the older ladies in town simply couldn’t help but play matchmaker.
“How’s your place?” she asked.
“It’s coming along. Working on the living room now.” The house I’d bought a few months ago needed work, but it was something I could afford, and I didn’t have to continue living in my childhood bedroom.
“You’re fixing it yourself because you come from stubborn people.”
“Because I come from handy people.” I grinned.
“That too.” She leaned a hip against the counter. “Is your mother still hosting on Thursday?”
“She is.” I headed out to help my father on the porch, hoping I was wrong about why Mrs. Perkins was making small talk with me.
My sister, Lauren, still lived in Brookhaven with her husband, Mark, and their daughter, Eliza.
Lauren taught second grade at the same elementary school we’d both trudged through as kids.
Eliza was seven, full of questions, and already ran circles around everyone with her opinions.
On Thanksgiving, Lauren usually stayed in the kitchen with Mom while Dad, Mark, and I watched football.
My turn to help came later, when something heavy needed moving or the fire needed more wood.
My father had already put his boots back on by the time I stepped onto the porch. I did the same and then moved toward him.
He tested the bracket and gave the rail a shake. “Hold it steady while I put new screws in.”
I braced the post while he ran the screws in with the impact then gave the rail a shake. He looked satisfied that it was secure.
Mrs. Perkins leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over her stomach. “My granddaughter Paige is coming in tomorrow on the noon bus from Boston. You should take her to Maple & Mug. Grab a cup of coffee.”
“Mrs. Perkins—” I started, and she lifted a palm.
“Bonnie, please. And no. Don’t argue. The bus station is only six blocks from Maple & Mug. I’m not asking you to fall in love. I’m asking you to be neighborly, drive my granddaughter up the street, buy her a coffee, and debate whether the maple pumpkin latte is better than the cinnamon mocha.”
“You don’t give up easily, do you?” I grinned.
“Not when it comes to my granddaughter. She needs a good-looking man to chat with over coffee.”
My father looked over at me. “You can spare twenty minutes, Cole.”
I exhaled. “I can spare twenty minutes.”
Bonnie gave a satisfied nod. “She’s bright and kind, and she puts up with my stories. My daughter, Hannah, worries because Paige moved to the city and works too much. Talk about that if you run out of topics.”
“Duly noted.”
Dad cleared his throat. “All right. We’re all done here.”
“I’ll write the check,” Bonnie said and headed inside. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with her checkbook and the plate of cookies. She handed me the plate while she scribbled fast, tore the check free, and pressed it into my father’s hand.
My dad and I both snagged a cookie and then I handed the plate back.
“We’ll see you after the holiday,” Dad stated around a mouthful of snickerdoodle.
“You will,” she replied, following us down the steps. She gave the rail a shake and looked pleased.
“Oh,” I remembered, swallowing my bite. “Mrs. Katz says she’ll drop off your pumpkin pie in the morning.”
Bonnie’s face brightened. “Good. Now I can stop calling her.”
We loaded the tools, said our friendly goodbyes, and Dad cranked the engine of his van while I climbed into my truck. He waved before pulling away, and I watched his taillights disappear around the corner.
Instead of heading home, I grabbed a bite at Cornerstone Diner and then headed to Brookhaven Tap, or what we all called The Tap.
The place had been around forever. Neon beer signs glowed through the front windows, spilling light onto the sidewalk.
Inside, the pool tables were uneven, the floorboards creaked, and every Tuesday was karaoke night.
Walking in, I spotted a few regulars hunched over the counter, and a group of women crowded around the karaoke binder to pick songs.
“Cole,” Ryan Dalton called from a corner booth.
He was a year behind me in school, and we had grown up side by side: same bus, summers at the lake, pickup games in the park, shop class, then football in the fall.
Somewhere in there he became my closest friend, and when I moved back to town, we picked up right where we left off.
He worked with his dad at Dalton Auto Body, and most nights he was at The Tap.
I shrugged out of my coat and then slid into the booth across from him, giving him a fist bump in greeting. “You buying?”
“I bought last week,” he shot back, grinning. “Your turn.”
I raised up two fingers to Maggie behind the bar and she gave me a head nod, telling me she knew what I wanted.
Ryan leaned back and nudged his head toward the stage in the corner where a guy was dragging a country song through the mud. “You’re up next.”
“Not happening.”
“Why not? You just got off work. Have a beer, relax, then sing one.”
“I’ve got no interest in singing tonight.”
“Loosen up. It’s Thanksgiving week. Everyone’s in a good mood.”
I shook my head. “Pass.”
The beers landed on the table, and we clinked bottles. Ryan kept running his mouth, judging every song like he was on a panel.
“You really won’t get up there?” he pushed again.
“Nope.”
“Not even a Christmas song?”
“Especially not a Christmas song.”
The women at the next table started whispering, watching me the same way they did every karaoke night as they waited for me to sing. Then one of them called my name, saying I needed to get up there, and within seconds the chant spread through the room.
After a long sip of beer, I decided to give in and got up, scribbled my name on the sign-up sheet, picked a song, and sat back down.
When the karaoke jockey, Kyle, called me, I stood and walked to the stage. The screen lit up with “Hallelujah.” I didn’t pick that one often, but tonight a song about love and the wreckage it leaves behind felt right.
It had been sixteen months since I’d caught Whitney cheating, and I hadn’t let anyone close since, though not for lack of chances.
Women in town had tried, some harder than others, but I couldn’t bring myself to go there.
Trusting someone again felt impossible. Even casual dating felt wrong, like I’d be lying to them and myself.
And in a town as small as Brookhaven, there was no such thing as a one-night stand.
Everyone would know by morning, and I wasn’t looking for that kind of attention.
As I sang the first verse, it brought up memories I hadn’t asked for. The part about someone not caring for music always landed. Over time, Whitney had stopped wanting to hear me sing. She’d smile when we were out with friends to karaoke or whatever, but she stopped asking me to sing to her.
By the time I reached the middle of the song, the entire bar was watching. I kept going, because even with the memories, the song was still beautiful, and I liked singing it.
When the song ended, the silence held long enough for me to notice before the applause erupted.
I walked back to the table, and Ryan grinned. “You’re still the only one who can pull off that song.”
I sat and took a drink. “It’s just karaoke.”
“Funny, it didn’t look that way from here. Half the women in this place were staring holes through you.” He tipped his bottle toward me. “So, which one are you taking home tonight?”
“None of them.”
“Oh, come on. You can have your pick.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think that would go over well with Mrs. Perkins.”
“What? Why?” He lifted a brow.
“She’s playing matchmaker again. She wants me to take her granddaughter out for coffee tomorrow. How bad would that look?”
He balked slightly. “Paige? Haven’t seen her since she graduated two years after me. She’s back in town?”
“She’ll be on the noon bus tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “You could do worse.”
“I’m not doing it at all,” I returned.
“Sure,” Ryan said, his grin widening. “That’s what you always say.”
He was right. Even if I wasn’t interested in Paige Perkins, I would still take her out, so I didn’t upset Bonnie and cause the whole town to react.
An hour later, I slid from the booth. “I’m calling it.”
“You sure? Night’s still young.”
“Early day tomorrow, and I need to get my beauty sleep for my “date”.” I chuckled, putting date in air quotes.
He barked a laugh. “You’ll need more than sleep, my friend.”
“Good thing it’s not a date.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He lifted his beer in a lazy salute.
I shook my head, pulled on my jacket, and tossed some cash onto the table before heading for the door.
Sliding into my truck, I cranked the engine and the heat, then drove out to my house on the edge of town.
When I pulled up, my headlights caught on the stack of firewood I’d left by the porch from a dead tree I’d chopped up.
I grabbed a few logs, headed inside, and fed them into the woodstove to warm the place that had sat cold all day.
Needing to wash off the grime that coated my body, I turned the shower hot, stripped down, and stepped under the spray.
Tomorrow’s list started running through my head.
Dad had said I could spare twenty minutes for coffee with Paige.
Ryan called it a date. Either way, I hadn’t been out with a new woman in close to nine years, back when I first started dating Whitney.