Chapter 3
THREE
L andyn
There’s a fine line between brave and stupid. I’m pretty sure I sprinted across it.
I stepped out of the conference room yesterday, chest tight, stomach twisting in the same anxious way it used to before finals.
There wasn’t a door to shut in that big open space, but it felt like one had slammed between us anyway — solid and final—locking me out with Ford Winters on the other side, all unreadable silence and razor-sharp control.
God. He looked exactly the same.
No, it’s worse than that. He looked better.
Sharper. Broader. Thick dark hair, perfectly styled, ruggedly handsome with a Roman nose and chiseled jaw that looks like it’s been carved out of stone.
And those eyes… steel gray and unflinching.
Everything about him said he’d built himself into a man who could walk into any room and own it.
He wasn’t just the boy I fell in love with anymore.
He was a man now. One who’d built an empire, and I just walked straight into it .
My phone buzzes in my hand. I don’t have to look to know who it is.
Mom: Checking in. It’s no rush. Want me to feed P lunch?
I exhale, guilt prickling at the back of my neck before I type out a reply.
I hadn’t meant to be away so long. My mom would never say it, but I worry it’s too much for her considering everything that’s been happening with her health.
Until we get answers from doctors, I need to limit how much she’s babysitting and make sure she’s getting lots of rest.
Landyn: Yes, please. There is a sandwich in the fridge for her. I’ll be home soon.
I slide my phone into my bag and check the counter for my second oat milk latte. I’ve spent the day holed in a coffee shop in downtown Deep Cove, doing a deep dive on everything to do with Cove so I’m ready for my first day in the office.
Yesterday’s meeting with Ford replays through my mind.
The Cove headquarters is stunning, with raw cedar, black steel, and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the trees outside like a postcard.
It feels like nature and power fused together to form something unique and beautiful.
Everything about it screams Ford—deliberate, precise, expensive.
It’s everything he said he wanted to accomplish back in college, when we used to sit on the floor of the tiny off-campus apartment he shared with his brothers eating out of boxes of take-out from the Chinese food place down the street as we talked forever about the future. Our future .
And it hurts like hell, because I left. And he built it anyway.
I look up towards the entrance of the coffee shop as a cool, crisp April breeze floats through the door. Deep Cove smells like fir trees and ocean mist, like cedar and soil. It’s cooler here than I remembered for spring or maybe it just feels that way because of the way Ford looked at me yesterday.
God, what were the odds?
I hadn’t known Cove was his. I swear I hadn’t.
The consulting agency listed the client as a private outdoor lifestyle brand looking to expand their marketing team.
The assignment sounded perfect—creative control, big budget, flexible hours.
The kind of job that would keep my daughter in her dance classes and my resume in motion.
I knew there was a chance I could run into Ford if I came back to Deep Cove, but I never dreamed we would be working together.
I didn’t come here looking for a reunion.
I came home because my mom hasn’t been feeling well, and it’s been going on far too long.
She’s brushed it off, the way she always does—she’s just tired, it’s just a cold, nothing to worry about.
She’s dragged her feet on getting checked out, putting off doctor’s appointments like if she ignores it long enough, whatever it is will just go away.
But it’s not going away. If anything, it’s only getting worse.
Over the phone she’s seemed exhausted and forgetful.
She has prolonged dizzy spells, even though she tries to play it down.
When I’ve talked to my dad about it, I can tell that he has become worried too.
I’ve been trying to help, but I can’t do much when I’m living in another province.
So, I finally made the decision to move Poppy and I to Deep Cove so I can be closer to my parents.
It’s a bonus that it will give Poppy a chance to really get to know them too.
But of course, the man I left behind also happens to own the company that just hired me.
Of course, the father of my child is the CEO who just looked at me like I burned his life to ashes and smiled while doing it.
I press my fingertips to my eyes, shaking my head at the universe’s twisted sense of humor.
When my order is called, I walk to the counter, pick up my drink then slide back into the corner booth where I’ve been working all morning.
Brew House is my favorite coffee shop in Deep Cove so far.
It’s usually fairly quiet, tucked behind the bookstore and the florist. As soon as you open the door, you’re hit with the comforting smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso beans.
My fingers shake a little as I peel off the lid and set it aside, steam rising from the freshly brewed latte.
Ford doesn’t know about Poppy. All he knows is that one day I was there and the next I was gone. No explanation. No goodbye. He just never saw me again. Until yesterday, when he looked at me like he hates me. Like I took something from him that he couldn’t name.
I did.
I took everything.
And I’ve had to live with that every single day for the past seven years.
I cradle the coffee cup between my hands, letting the warmth chase away the chill in my bones.
My brain won’t stop spinning. Ford’s voice, sharp and low.
The flicker in his eyes when he saw me. I wasn’t expecting him to look so…
angry. Hurt, maybe. Closed off, sure. But that fire—that simmering fury under all that control? That caught me off guard .
I’d forgotten how Ford Winters could silence a room with just a look.
Even back in college, when he barely had two dollars to his name, he carried himself like he owned the world.
He didn’t talk much, but when he did? People listened.
I used to think it was hot—okay, incredibly hot—how he could command a space without raising his voice.
Now?
Now it just terrifies me.
Because if he knew, really knew, why I left, or what I’ve been hiding…
The bell above the café door chimes, and when I glance up and see a tall, broad-shouldered man in the entrance, my breath suddenly catches in my throat.
But it’s not him. Of course it’s not him.
Ford wouldn’t come here. This place has too much charm, not enough sharp edges.
The Ford I saw in the conference room yesterday is all straight lines and efficiency.
He probably drinks double espressos. He has no time for frothy oat milk or still-gooey cinnamon rolls.
No room for nostalgia or the past or messy things like old girlfriends who left without a trace.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to slow the pounding behind my ribs.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
He doesn’t know.
And that’s the only reason I’m still sitting upright instead of curled into a ball on the floor.
I fish my phone back out and pull up the last photo I took of Poppy yesterday.
She’s sitting cross-legged in a field of grass at the edge of the beach.
Her tiny hands are stuffed full of pebbles, her smile lopsided.
Dark blonde curls, almost brown, wild around her face, sand on her jeans.
The eyes that stare back at me are the same eyes as the man I faced in that conference room.
Storm-gray. Too knowing. So much like him.
I drag my thumb across the screen, heart aching with something fierce and maternal and guilt-soaked.
She’s six. And she’s everything.
I didn’t leave Ford because I stopped loving him. I left because I didn’t know how to tell him we were having a baby. Because I was scared. Because he wasn’t ready.
I thought I could outrun the truth. I was wrong.
And now we’re here.
In the same town.
In the same building.
Back in each other’s lives.
I blow on my coffee and take a sip, my mind already turning to what comes next.
I need to finish my research, then meet with Jesse, since apparently, he’s my new supervisor.
Most of all, I need to keep my head down and stay focused.
No drama. No distractions. And definitely no falling back into the arms of the man I never really stopped loving.
Even if his daughter has his eyes.
By the time I get back to the little rental cottage at the edge of town, the late afternoon sun is spilling gold across the mountains. Poppy’s laughter echoes off the porch as I walk up the path to the house. She’s chasing a bubble. One perfect, translucent orb, drifting just out of reach.
My mom sits on the steps, smiling as she watches Poppy with her mug of chamomile tea balanced on her knee. She lifts a hand in greeting when she sees me.
“Mommy!” Poppy squeals, abandoning her chase as she flies off the porch and into my arms.
She’s all sunshine and wild curls and I drop to my knees and press my face into her hair. “You smell like dirt and strawberry jam,” I whisper.
She giggles. “Grandma made cookies. And we picked flowers. I found one with a bee inside and I didn’t scream at all.”
“Brave girl,” I murmur, brushing her hair off her forehead. “You’re so brave, Poppyseed.”
She beams. “How was your new office, Mommy?”
“Oh, baby, no office for me today. Today, I just got ready for when I start in a few days.”
“Did you talk to the new people yesterday? Are they nice?”
I swallow hard. “They’re… intense.”
She tilts her head. “Is intense like mean?”
“No, baby. Just big. Like, they think big. Talk big. Create big things.”
She squints. “Like castles?”
I smile. “Kind of.”
She nods at that and then pats my cheek. My mom stands and brushes off her pants, walking toward us with a gentle smile. “She was an angel. Didn’t even ask for her iPad.”
“Because Grandma brought chalk,” Poppy says excitedly. “And we drew a dragon that eats ice cream!”
She grabs my hand and pulls me to the patch of concrete beside the house, where there is a chalk art drawing of a rainbow-colored dragon with curly eyelashes and neon yellow toenails standing beside a pink ice cream cone that’s just as big.
“Amazing!” I tell Poppy, brushing the curls back from her forehead.
My mom raises her brows, like you’re welcome . I mouth a thank you.
Inside, our house smells like baked apples and sugar.
Like comfort wrapped up in four small rooms and a porch with peeling paint.
It’s not much, but it’ll do. And it’s temporary.
Just until I get settled into the new job.
Until I can get to the bottom of what’s going on with my mom.
Just until I figure out how to breathe again with Ford living in the same postal code.
Dinner is grilled cheese and tomato soup, and we eat together around the small kitchen island. Poppy insists on dipping everything. Even the apple slices.
After bath time and stories and exactly three minutes of her very dramatic rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on a plastic xylophone, I tuck her into bed.
She holds out her pinky. “Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?”
“Always,” I whisper, wrapping my finger around hers.
And I mean it. With every bone in my body.