Chapter 1
The bell on the wall phone rang, shrill in the morning quiet. Dylan answered it, half listening to Mrs. Morrison confirming the four o’clock pickup time for the Barracuda. Her voice was so excited, so full of anticipation for the surprise she was giving her husband.
“He’s going to cry,” Mrs. Morrison confided. “He sold that car to pay for our daughter’s college. Broke his heart, but he never complained. He deserves to have it back.”
After Dylan hung up, she stood looking at the Barracuda. A car that had been sold for love, restored for love, given back in love. The kind of story that made her chest ache with want for something she’d never had. Something she’d stopped believing she could have.
At exactly seven fifteen, Aidan O’Hara’s truck pulled into the parking lot.
Dylan didn’t need to look up to know it was him.
She knew the sound of that engine like she knew her own heartbeat—a 1967 F-100 he’d restored himself, painted deep blue like the lake in summer.
She knew he’d park in the same spot he always did, three spaces from the door.
Knew he’d check his phone before getting out, probably deleting messages from women he’d disappointed by not calling back.
Five years of this routine. Five years of pretending she didn’t time her coffee breaks to coincide with his.
Five years of casually asking Ralph about Aidan’s weekend plans, then making sure she had somewhere else to be when he mentioned dinner reservations at Lakeside Lodge or drinks at the new wine bar that catered to the resort crowd.
Aidan never lacked for company. He was a social creature by nature, the complete opposite of her.
Which is why her attraction to him would only ever be a fantasy.
The door opened, and October air swept in, carrying the scent of cedar and mountain air.
Aidan moved through the world like he owned it, and maybe he did.
The O’Haras were Laurel Valley, their name on half the businesses downtown.
They belonged here in a way Dylan never would, their roots so deep they’d become part of the mountain itself.
“Morning, Dylan,” he called out, and she had to look up, had to meet those green eyes that made her forget every perfectly logical reason she should take the Seattle job.
“Morning.” She kept her voice neutral, professional, safe.
He started toward her bay, that easy stride that ate up ground without seeming to hurry.
Five years, and her pulse still did that stupid skip when he smiled at her like they shared a secret.
Five years of being quietly, hopelessly in love with a man who went through women like restoration projects—he gave them intense focus until they were fixed, then it was on to the next challenge.
“The Barracuda looks incredible,” he said, stopping at a safe distance but still close enough that she could smell his soap—something piney and clean that made her think of mountain mornings. “Morrison’s going to lose it.”
“That’s the idea.” Dylan forced herself to focus on the engine, adjusting something that didn’t need adjusting.
“Hey, did you get my text about the book club Thursday?” He leaned against the workbench in that way that made his shoulders look broader. “Sophie keeps asking if you’re coming. She said you promised and it’s time you do something besides spend all your time at the shop.”
She had promised, three weeks ago in a moment of weakness when Sophie had been particularly persistent and Dylan had been particularly tired of saying no to everything that might make her feel like she belonged here.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” she said.