CHAPTER FIVE
Jamie – Now
My hands move on autopilot as I type her name into the reservation system.
Avonlea—I pause, unsure if her last name is still Stewart. I would assume not, based on the last time I saw her, but there it is on the screen. Avonlea Stewart. So she didn’t change her name? That doesn’t mean anything. Many women don’t these days.
Avonlea. Avi.
My Avi.
She’s not mine. She never really was. But fuck if that wasn’t what my brain supplied the moment I caught sight of her grappling with the coat rack.
What is she doing here?
That appears to be a question for my grandad because he sure as hell knew she was coming. Gran did too.
Traitors.
Though I can’t really blame them, considering I never explained what happened between us. I just left and never came back. That cowardice sours my stomach because I know it meant missing out on all these years of seeing them—of seeing Grandad—and now the time we have left is so short. Too short.
But why the fuck is she here?
I scrawl her name across a note—seeing it there in my handwriting makes my heart ache—and leave her key on the desk. Then I head for the kitchen where I know the old man is hiding.
The door swings open with a cry of rusty hinges, and I drop my head back with a small sigh.
I guess this’ll be the next one I attack with WD-40.
I continue through, passing the staff stationed around the stainless-steel countertop, then make my way over to where Grandad sits at a desk in the corner.
It’s where he’s been spending his days since we brought him home from the hospital last week.
He’s not supposed to be cooking, so he’s been overseeing things from the sidelines—much to his dismay.
“Ah, Jameson,” he says, and a wide smile lifts his cheeks. “Did you get our girl all checked in?”
Our girl. God, why does he have to call her that?
“Grandad…” I say with a hint of reproach. “What is she doing here?”
“She’s here as my replacement. I asked her to come and take over the kitchen.”
He—What? His replacement?
That can only mean she followed in her mother’s footsteps and became a chef like she always wanted.
I pretend not to file that information away and instead ask, “Why do you need her when you have Hamish?” with a harsher tone than I intended.
At his narrowed eyes, I puff out a breath, trying to rein it in.
This isn’t his fault. He doesn’t know what seeing her here is doing to me.
“Hamish, lads.” He addresses the kitchen staff who are hard at work preparing for dinner service, though his eyes never stray from mine. “Can we have a moment?”
They all nod and file out the back door, probably for a smoke.
“Listen, Jameson,” he says, steepling his fingers in front of his face.
Why does he always have to use my full name?
I feel like I’m in trouble. “Hamish is great, but he’s a sous chef—a damn fine one—and that’s all he wants to be.
He’s filled in these past few weeks, but I need someone I can trust to take this on full time. To be me when I’m gone.”
His bluntness is like a red-hot poker down my throat. He and my gran have come to terms with his future far quicker than I have. I don’t think I ever will.
He continues, pointing his finger toward the front of the inn. “That girl is family. She always has been. And with this being a family business, I want her here.”
Well, shit, those words hurt too. Because he’s right; she is family. Or she was.
But now? Is she really family now? Doesn’t she have her own?
“You couldn’t have warned me?” I’m grasping at straws, desperate for a solution that doesn’t involve her, here. “You know, when you asked me to stay, you could have at least told me your plan to hire her.”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t have hired her?” He lifts a brow at me in question.
I don’t have an answer to that, so I just shake my head.
“And that decision was made long before any of this heart failure business. I just brought things forward a bit.” His gaze softens on me. “You used to be friends. I know it’s been a long time, but maybe you can be again.”
He looks… hopeful? As if it could be that easy. As if watching her live here with the family she built after she moved on and forgot about me will be no big deal.
“Yeah, maybe.” I nod and turn to leave, only to find Avi herself standing in the doorway.
Her lips are pressed into a firm line and she’s tied her long blonde waves into a ponytail so they cascade down her back. Her jeans are tucked into duck boots and the lightweight long-sleeve top she’s wearing clings to her body. She has more curves now than she did the last time we were here.
I felt so mature back then, at seventeen, but we were practically kids.
Kids who didn’t know a thing about love or relationships, playing at being adults. And look how that turned out.
I clear my throat and stride past her without a single word because I still don’t know what I’m supposed to say.
I’m sorry?
Why didn’t you come back?
Why couldn’t we have stayed friends?
Why didn’t you tell me you’d moved on?
Where’s your family? The guy you moved on with? Your child?
But I don’t say any of those things. I just walk away—the way I did our last summer together… the way she did when she wouldn’t let me apologize and disappeared from my life.