Chapter 15
Susan stood in her cottage kitchen, staring at Paul’s text on her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes.
I’m okay. Michelle passed away this morning. I’ll explain everything when I get back. I’m sorry for worrying you.
Michelle. His ex-wife, Susan assumed, although Paul had never mentioned her name. And now she was dead, and Paul had been with her when it happened, and Susan had no idea what any of it meant.
She set down her phone and picked up her coffee cup, wrapping both hands around it for warmth even though the cottage wasn’t cold. Outside her window, the sky was full of gray November clouds that promised more snow.
Since he’d been gone, Paul’s texts had been brief. After reading them, she’d swung between worry and hurt, and a creeping sense that she’d made a terrible mistake kissing him.
Maybe Paul wasn’t ready for what they’d started to build.
Maybe she’d misread everything.
Susan’s phone buzzed with a text from Isabel: Coffee this morning? I have fresh muffins.
Susan almost said she couldn’t make it. She wasn’t fit company for anyone right now. But sitting alone in her cottage obsessing over Paul’s silence wasn’t helping either.
I’ll be there in 20 minutes, Susan typed back.
She changed out of her pajamas, ran a brush through her hair without really looking in the mirror, and drove to Isabel’s house on autopilot. The familiar route gave her time to think, which was both a blessing and a curse.
Susan gripped the steering wheel. She had no right to feel hurt by Paul’s absence. They’d shared one kiss. One vulnerable conversation. One promise to try to build something together. That didn’t give her the right to demand explanations about his past or his family emergencies.
But underneath the rational thoughts, hurt pulsed like a bruise.
He’d disappeared without any real explanation right after they’d said they wanted to be more than friends. He’d sent brief, distant texts that told her nothing meaningful. And now his ex-wife was dead, and Susan still didn’t know when Paul was coming back.
Isabel opened the door before Susan could knock, her expression immediately shifting to concern. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” Susan said dryly, but she managed a small smile. “Can I come in anyway?”
“Of course.” Isabel pulled her into a quick hug. “Frank is at Tommy’s school for career day, so it’s just us. The muffins are this way.”
Susan followed her friend into the kitchen. The muffins sat cooling on a rack alongside a pot of fresh coffee. The warm kitchen, the smell of baking, and Isabel’s quiet presence made something in Susan’s chest loosen.
“Okay,” Isabel said, pouring coffee for both of them and settling into her chair. “Tell me what’s wrong. And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I’ve known you since we were at summer camp together. I can tell when you’re spiraling.”
Susan wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. “Paul’s been gone for three days. He said it was a family emergency. And now Michelle, his ex-wife, has died. That’s all I know.”
Isabel’s eyebrows rose. “His ex-wife?”
“I didn’t even know her name until he sent me a text saying she’d passed away.
” Susan heard the hurt in her own voice and hated it.
“And I know I don’t have the right to feel abandoned.
We’re not... we haven’t... it was just one kiss.
Just one conversation about trying to build something together.
But Isabel, I thought we were past the point of him shutting me out completely. ”
“Have you tried calling him?”
Susan shook her head. “He said he’d explain everything when he got back. I don’t want to push. What if I’m overreacting? What if he needs space to grieve and I’m being clingy and demanding?”
“Or,” Isabel said gently, “what if he’s drowning and doesn’t know how to ask for help? What if he’s shutting you out not because he doesn’t care, but because he doesn’t know how to let you in?”
Susan thought about this, turning it over in her mind. “You think I should reach out?”
“I think you should do what you feel comfortable doing.” Isabel broke a muffin in half, steam rising from the center. “What do your instincts tell you?”
Susan closed her eyes, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions. Fear that she’d misread everything. Hurt that Paul had disappeared. Worry about what he was going through. And underneath it all—
“I want to see him,” Susan admitted. “I want to know he’s okay. I want to understand what’s happening instead of just sitting here imagining worst-case scenarios.”
“Then go see him,” Isabel said simply.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I’m intruding?”
“Then he’ll tell you, and you’ll respect that.” Isabel leaned forward. “But remember what happened in Georgia. You spent thirty years convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone. And then you moved here and started tearing those walls down. Don’t rebuild them now just because you’re scared.”
The truth of it stung. Susan had been scared from the moment Paul had kissed her. Scared that she wasn’t enough, that she’d misunderstood what he wanted, that she’d finally opened her heart only to have it broken.
And fear had always been easier to manage when she kept people at arm’s length.
“What if going to see him pushes him away?” Susan asked quietly.
“What if not going makes him think you don’t care?” Isabel countered. “Susan, you can’t control how Paul responds. You can only control your own choices.”
Susan thought about what Lynda had said at the Emily’s boutique. I almost let fear steal my last shot at happiness. Her friends had bravely risked their hearts despite every reason not to.
Maybe it was Susan’s turn.
“I’m going to the restaurant,” Susan said, standing abruptly before she could second-guess herself. “If he’s not there, at least Harry might know when he’s coming back.”
“Good.” Isabel stood and pulled Susan into another hug. “Whatever happens, you’re being brave. That matters even if it doesn’t work out the way you hope it will.”
On the drive to the Lakeside Grill, Susan’s mind spun through possible scenarios.
Paul could be there and grateful to see her, or he’d be there and distant.
Or he wouldn’t be there at all, and Harry would tell her Paul wasn’t coming back for a few more days.
Whatever happened, she just hoped Paul was okay.
By the time Susan pulled into the parking lot, her hands were shaking.
The ‘Closed’ sign hung in the window, which was odd for eleven o’clock on a Friday morning. But the back door was unlocked, which meant someone was inside.
Susan knocked and pushed it open. “Hello?”
“In here!” Harry’s voice called from the kitchen.
Paul’s sous chef was elbow-deep in prep work. There were vegetables spread across every available surface and pots bubbling on the stove.
He looked up, and his expression immediately shifted to concern. “Is everything okay, Susan?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Susan said, looking around the empty kitchen. “Is Paul here?”
Harry’s face grew somber. “He texted me half an hour ago. He’ll be here in another hour or two.”
Susan’s heart clenched. At least Paul was okay. “Is Jenny working today?”
“She’s collecting the bread from the bakery. They had an oven malfunction this morning.” Harry hurried across to the stove. “We don’t have too many reservations for lunch, but Garth called in sick and Amelia is running late.”
Susan looked around the kitchen. Harry was doing a great job, but she could tell he was stressed. Without second-guessing herself, she took an apron off the hook on the wall and tied it around her waist. “Tell me what you need me to do,” she said to Harry. “I can stay for as long as you need me.”
The relief on his face made up for the knot of anxiety in Susan’s chest.
“We’ll be okay once Jenny and Amelia arrive,” Harry told her. “Can you finish prepping the vegetables for the lunch special? And then maybe start the stock reduction?”
“Consider it done.” Susan washed her hands and moved to the prep station, grateful to have something to do to help Paul and his staff.
Susan diced onions with practiced precision, the repetitive motion centering her thoughts. This was what she knew. This was where she could be useful.
“He’s really torn up about his ex-wife,” Harry said quietly, not looking up from the carrots he was slicing. “When he called to tell me what happened, he could barely get the words out.”
Susan’s hands stilled on the cutting board. “What did Paul say?”
“Just that his ex-wife died unexpectedly.” Harry paused, then added carefully, “He also mentioned that he’d tried to call you a few times but couldn’t find the right words.”
The tightness in Susan’s throat eased slightly. He hadn’t forgotten about her or decided their friendship meant nothing. She understood not being able to express how you were feeling better than she wanted to admit.
“Thank you for telling me,” Susan said softly.
The back door opened and Jenny bustled in with bags of fresh bread, followed by Amelia apologizing profusely for being late. Now that everyone was here, the kitchen sprang to life, and Susan fell into the dance of lunch prep.
She was reducing the stock, adjusting the seasoning with a careful hand, when she heard the back door open again. Susan didn’t turn around, but she felt the shift in the kitchen’s energy. Harry’s shoulders relaxed, and Jenny glanced toward the entrance with relief.
“Chef,” Harry said. “Welcome back.”
Susan’s heart hammered. Slowly, she turned from the stove.
Paul stood in the doorway. He looked exhausted. Shadows darkened the skin under his eyes, his face was drawn, and stubble darkened his jaw. But when his eyes found hers across the kitchen, relief flickered in their depths. And gratitude. And perhaps something deeper that Susan didn’t dare name.
“Susan,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re here.”
“Harry needed help,” she said simply, though her hands trembled as she set down her spoon. “I hope that’s okay.”
Paul crossed the kitchen. Before Susan could say anything else, he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel his heart pounding. He buried his face in her hair, and she felt him take a shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry I left like that. I didn’t know how to—I couldn’t—”
“It’s okay,” Susan said, her arms coming up to hold him just as tightly. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
They stood there in the middle of the kitchen while the lunch prep continued around them. Harry caught Susan’s eye over Paul’s shoulder and gave her a small, approving nod before turning back to his work. Jenny smiled softly and started plating the bread.
Paul finally pulled back just enough to look at her face, his hands still on her shoulders. “We need to talk,” he said. “There are things I need to tell you. Things I should have explained before.”
“I know,” Susan said. “But first, let me help you get through lunch service. Then we can talk about everything else.”
Paul’s expression softened, and he cupped her cheek with one hand. “How did I get this lucky?”
Susan covered his hand with hers. “We can figure that out later. Right now, your stock needs attention.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Paul’s tired face. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I can be bossy, too,” Susan whispered, and she was rewarded with a small but genuine smile.
Paul pressed a kiss to her forehead—brief and tender—before releasing her and moving to wash his hands. As he tied on his apron and surveyed the kitchen, Susan watched the chef in him emerge, organizing and directing with quiet competence despite his obvious grief and exhaustion.
Isabel had been right. Choosing courage meant showing up even when you were scared. It meant staying even when walking away felt easier. It meant trusting that whatever came next, they would face it together.