Chapter 3
DREW
“Speed Demon Drew!” Coach Greyson wraps his arms around me and rocks me in place. It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve seen him, but he was always my favorite coach. “What are you doing home?”
Mmm. I’m hating this question already, even if it’s the first time I’ve heard it. “You know what I’m doing home, but thanks for pretending.”
“Any time.” He gives me another squeeze before he releases me. “You okay?”
I shrug. Not really, but it could be worse. “I’m here.”
“And extremely high,” Gabe supplies as he gets up from the couch. “She ate your half of the pizza.”
I laugh and nod. “I did. I totally did.”
Greyson grins wider at me, and his dark blue eyes light up. Mid-thirties look good on him, even though he’s still got the same haircut from ten years ago.
Just a little length and tousled perfectly, and I want to run my fingers through the light brown locks as desperately as I did back then. “I’ll grab leftovers. Unless you ate those, too?”
I shake my head, getting a goofy smile that only comes when I’ve smoked too much.
Gabe looks delighted even as he frowns.
Damn, I want to run through his blond length as well, to see if it’s as soft as it looks. Why do they have such gorgeous, effortless hair?
“She might now that you told her about them.”
My attention is pulled back to their conversation, and I grin.
My cheeks hurt, but I love the two of them together.
It’s funny how quiet Gabe is until his brother’s around. They’re always jabbing, making fun of, or having fun with each other.
“I think I have something that might save my leftovers. I brought home some fresh ice cream from Lucielle’s.” The knowing look he gives me has me nearly hopping in place. I haven’t had Lucielle’s ice cream in so long.
We always went for custom pints after a big win. “Blue Raspberry Cotton Candy?”
He reaches into his bag and brandishes the pint for me with mirth glittering in his eyes. I snatch it and hop into the kitchen to grab a spoon.
Both brothers follow. Gabe hovers like a broody storm and Greyson shuffles other items away before sliding a pint to his brother.
My first spoonful of ice cream brings me back a decade, and I close my eyes to savor the pure innocence of it. And open my eyes to both brothers sharing a knowing look.
I narrow my eyes at them both but shove another spoonful into my mouth.
Gabe breaks open his own pint and leans over the counter like keeping himself upright takes too much effort. Greyson is the opposite, standing straight and holding his pint.
“So what are you doing back here?” I ask Greyson, and his smile dims only a little. Always too positive. Putting on a happy face.
“Kim and I are getting divorced, and my baby brother has been kind enough to let me move back in until I figure my life out.” They share another look, and I’m once again reminded of how long I’ve been gone.
How long it’s been since I’d been in touch. That I left and didn’t look back, and that didn’t mean people’s lives stopped just because I wasn’t a part of them anymore.
Then, it dawns on me. “Wait. Where are Phil and Tracie?”
Looking around, so much of the place was the same, but so many of the little touches of Tracie seem to be missing.
Homemade, floral curtains replaced with deep browns and slates.
Her Lil’ Bit Salty sign and other cow and chicken themed accoutrement gone from around the top of the cabinets and above the stove.
The lingering smell of cigar smoke is also absent.
“Florida,” Gabe answers me.
His mom always talked about retiring to Florida, about getting away from the snow and into some sun. “I bet Tracie’s happy about that, but Phil’s miserable.”
He hates the sun. And outdoors. And people.
It’s where Gabe gets his grump, whereas Greyson’s perpetually positive personality comes from Tracie without a doubt.
“Oh, he lives to make Mom happy. I wouldn’t worry about him too much.” He stuffs his honeycomb ice cream in his mouth like he knows they’re happy together. Because it’s a basic truth. Those two have been undeniably in love since I was a child.
“And you got the house?” I ask Gabe, who’s staring into his peanut butter cookie pint.
“Bought them out a couple of years ago.”
It must be how they were able to afford the move. No one in Pinebrook is making big bucks, except for maybe the Lancasters.
“He updated the appliances and finished the basement. You’d like it.” Greyson points behind me, and I spin to the new, gleaming six-burner glass stove and double oven.
“Mom would be so envious of that piece of equipment.”
Gabe finally offers me a small smile. “She is.”
A grin blooms across my face again, my cheeks hurting as I laugh. “Because I bet she helped you pick it out, didn’t she?”
Mom’s good like that. The crinkle around his eyes tells me that I’ve guessed right.
I devour my pint of ice cream as the two of them bicker back and forth.
They look alike but so different: Gabe blonde, covered in tattoos, and a bad boy persona.
Greyson darker, scruffier, but the good old boy next door. They have the same mannerisms, like how they both stab out the center of their pint and scrape their way outward.
Yet, they behave so differently.
Quiet and reserved verses outgoing and charming.
Not that Gabe isn’t charming in his own way.
When he lets you see it.
They’ve both played such pivotal parts in my life growing up.
Big brothers.
Big…hot…brothers.
Men.
A flash of attraction to them deepens the teenage crush I had on them. And that shifts something in my core.
Do they even notice that I’m not a kid anymore? Not a teen? A fully formed adult?
Do they even care?
I scrape the bottom of my pint and shift between my feet, unable to let go of that thought.
Because I’ve always had a thing for guys older than me.
It’s been the bane of my love life.
Guys my age bore me.
Mom always said I was too mature for boys. She was right.
I glance up at Gabe, and he shoots me an “Are you okay” look. I nod and rinse off my spoon. “I think it’s time to go face the music. Dad’s not too happy with me right now, and I’ve been summoned to the bakery first thing in the morning.”
“And the munchies are fading into sleepiness.”
I flash Gabe another smile.
A grateful one that appreciates how he never asks me questions I don’t want to be asked.
Because although all of that is true, it’s not the reason I’m escaping.
Ducking out, I slink back into my room and wallow.
Fortunately, Gabe is right.
Sleepiness takes over, and my wallowing quickly turns to dreams of running, of people pointing and whispering about me, of the specter of my ex’s wife chasing after me for answers.
I keep trying to find a way to explain, but no one listens to me.
It makes my sleep restless, so in the morning, my head is stuffed full of cotton and my heart is heavy as I tie myself in an apron and ride in with my mom to open the bakery.
Dad’s already there and already covered in flour from the bread.
His assistant gives me the side eye as I hang up my coat and head to the front to clean and prepare the espresso machine, brew the iced tea, and fill the chests with ice.
I take the trays from Mom, glaze pastry tops, and sprinkle garnishes where I’m allowed, before putting out the finished products.
It’s the one thing Dad compliments me on. My displays.
At least I can do something right.
But then…we open.
The first burst of bustling ladies and shop owners to grab their to-go orders before they start their long days strolls in to smile and make small talk with me.
They don’t hide their looks or the soft words exchanged when my back is turned though.
I see them. I hear them. I feel them all.
It doesn’t stop with them.
I bet the bakery is having its busiest morning in a long time because there’s a parade of people who come in, and most of them are here for the gossip.
To see the poor girl who is in the middle of the second scandal of her life. This one bigger than the last.
I don’t have the same excuses to hide behind last time. I’m an adult now.
As one woman whispers, I should know better.
I wish I could say she is wrong, but also it’s none of her fucking business.
Ignoring it works for the busier part of the morning, but I’m glad when I get to take a break and eat a slice of my dad’s handmade cinnamon-apple babka and a few of my mom’s fresh brown butter madeleines.
Another positive to coming home.
I can’t get food like this in the city. Not without paying an arm and a leg for it. And it’s never as good, either.
Mom comes and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “Remember, once they’ve all had their look, this will peter out. It’s better to get it all over at once than having to drag it out.”
I sigh. “I know, Mom.”
“You doing okay?” She pets my cheek, pushing my hair from my face with affection. I soak it in even though it makes me feel like I’m seven again.
“I’m fine.”
“Mmm. Fine is not a good answer, honey.”
I shrug. “It’s the one I’ve got right now. I’m not the worst I’ve ever been, so there’s that.”
I might be close, but hanging out with the Kincaid brothers last night really helped.
Mom looks me over, her eyes a warm brown soft with love.
I reach up and squeeze her hand before she slips away to Dad barking orders.
I roll my eyes and finish my tea before I get the nerve to go back out front to my audience.
I like doing a good job, but I don’t like being the center of attention. I never have.
People come in and judge me, and the weight of shouldering it all is getting pretty heavy. And pretty old. Fast.
Then this middle-aged lady makes a point of talking too loud in my line, looking daggers at me. “I’m not sure how someone who looks like her can so thoroughly wreck a home, but here we are.”
Fire burns deep and erupts hot, I turn mid-order and storm out.
I don’t need to take this.
Fuck getting it over with all at once. The people in this town can bite me.
I’m not some performing monkey.
Grabbing my coat, I don’t even fumble when Dad’s voice booms across the bakery. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I shove open the back door and slip an arm into my coat. He can yell all he wants. I am not doing this.
“Andy, let her go.” Mom’s voice floats after me before the door snips shut in my wake.
I don’t stomp away, but I do need to slow down before I slip and break something.
So, I suck in a deep breath and take in Pinebrook during the holidays.
Growing up in a small town had its perks. The holidays were one of them.
Garland winds around light poles and twinkling lights line roofs, half buried under the fresh inch of snow from yesterday.
The sun isn’t hot enough to melt it, so the town is reminiscent of a Hallmark movie.
The diner has its window painted in fall vibes that will be scraped down in the next week for a winterscape.
Evergreen pines line the sidewalk, waiting for their decorations, and the town square is a work in progress.
Patrick, the big turkey decoration that always holds the prime place in the center of it all is missing, and the frame for the Christmas tree is going up with muted clangs of a hammer.
The small market is set up, a few seasonal booths lining the square, selling sweets and walking food, trinkets and candles.
It was my favorite haunt in the winter.
Gabe used to take me every year to the early morning activities for kids when my parents worked in the bakery.
My hesitation has me in the middle of the sidewalk, when I turn to make the full loop, I run right into someone.
Of course. Why would I not bowl someone over today?
But strong hands grip my elbows and steady me.
I look up into the bright green eyes of the town mogul: Adam Lancaster.
Well, if this isn’t dandy.