5. Reese #2
But even if it is that, why wouldn’t Pastor Reeves just tell me as much?
The porch is adorable, and there’s a pair of rocking chairs beside the door, both of them boasting decorative fall pillows. A small table sits between them, a vase of flowers in front of the large bay windows.
I try to peek inside without making it look like that’s what I’m doing, but with the glare of the sun behind me, I can’t see much. So, I shove down the nerves as I recall the way Mrs. Knox and the other women watched me, and pull open the door.
The scents of fresh-baked goods and strong coffee fill my lungs before I’ve even stepped inside. In response, my stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped breakfast and lunch today.
Okay, so a muffin and coffee.
A blonde is behind the counter, and when the bell dings over the door, she turns to greet me. The moment she sees me, though, the smile on her face dies. Just like I imagine the one on my face does.
Here we go.
Anastasia Knox.
Weston’s best friend’s little sister.
I can feel the blood drain from my face, but I try to force a smile anyway. Maybe it won’t be a big deal. Maybe enough time has passed that she won’t hate me for leaving.
“Uh, hey, Anastasia,” I greet.
“Reese?” Her gaze flicks toward the back of the shop, her expression shifting from surprise to concern.
Before I can help it, I turn, too, glancing over toward a small, round table at the back corner of the shop.
Two men are seated at it, both built like linebackers, though one clearly spends more time at the gym than the other.
At first, I don’t recognize either of them, but then my gaze meets a pair of familiar hazel eyes, and every bit of oxygen is ripped from the shop like I was just launched into space.
He’s older now.
Gruffer.
But there is no mistaking Weston Hayes.
My lungs burn, my throat constricting in my frantic attempt to draw breath into my body.
Those sharp eyes are leveled on me, and I know, without a doubt, that strong jaw is tight beneath his trim beard. I can picture every inch of his expression, right down to the way he’d grind his teeth together when he was upset or frustrated.
Is he either now? Is seeing me affecting him, too?
Tattoos cover both muscled arms, then disappear beneath the fabric of his black t-shirt before reappearing and climbing up the side of his neck. His dark hair is slightly longer on top of his head, a mess of loose waves that I ran my fingers through countless times. I can still feel them even now.
Can still feel his lips on mine.
His arms around me.
I can hear the murmur of his voice, an echo of a dream I once had about spending forever with this man.
Oh. That single word slips into my mind as every emotion I have fought to bury since I left this place slams into me in rapid succession.
Love.
Loss.
Fear.
Agony.
Loneliness.
Guilt.
The pain that is still so fresh rips through me all over again, flaying me open to the bone and smothering the light I’ve fought so hard to find over these years. My stomach aches, twisting into uncontrollable knots until I cannot breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I say as tears fill my eyes. Turning, I sprint out of the shop, unable to hear anything but the pounding in my own ears as I race toward the sidewalk. I can’t even see where I’m going, though, and I trip, falling onto the sidewalk.
Pain shoots up through my knees and hands as I scrape both against hard concrete. My legs tremble, my vision nearly completely gone thanks to the tears. This is ridiculous!
“Hey, wait!” Anastasia’s voice calls out over everything else, and before I can pick myself up off the ground, she’s right there. Gripping my arm and helping me to my feet. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Tripped.” Heat spreads across the back of my neck, embarrassment momentarily pushing out everything else. On shaking legs, I stand and wipe my face. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Are you sure that you’re okay?” she asks again.
“Yeah.” It’s been nearly two decades since I saw him last. Since my entire life went up in flames. Since everything I loved was ripped away from me and shredded right before my very eyes.
But nineteen years? Isn’t that long enough? Why am I reacting this way now?
The tears still haven’t stopped, and if it didn’t hurt so darn bad, I might be mortified at the outward display. “I’m so sorry, Anastasia. I just need a minute.” I wipe my eyes and force a smile. “Wow, that was an entrance, huh?”
I’d always gotten along well enough with Anastasia before.
She was best friends with Weston’s sister, so I’d occasionally see her whenever the two of them were together.
We didn’t know each other well, but I remember that she was kind.
Her loyalty, though, is absolutely in Weston’s corner because that’s just who she is.
Given everything else in this town is the same, I imagine that remains unchanged as well.
Except Weston looks different, doesn’t he? Despite everything, desire burns in my gut. The love that never faded, ripping the steering wheel of control right out of my hands.
“You could say that.” Anastasia’s hazel gaze, similar to Weston’s despite them not being blood relatives, is narrowed on my face, concern etched in her expression. “Are you sure that you’re okay?” she asks for the third time.
“Yeah. Just been a while, that’s all.”
She nods in understanding. “He left, if that helps. Went out the back.”
Leaving is what we’re both good at, so why am I surprised each of us went our own way?
“He didn’t need to do that.” Heat climbs up the back of my neck all over again as I realize how completely ridiculous I must have looked to him. He’ll probably have a good laugh about it with his friends later.
Except I know that’s not true.
Weston is a lot of things.
Kind.
Strong.
Protective.
Stubborn.
Cruel isn’t even close to being on the list.
“I think he was on his way out anyway. Come on.” Anastasia loops her arm through mine and guides me back toward the shop as though we’ve been friends our entire lives and never spent any time apart.
With every step, the pain in my knees fades, and I briefly glance down, so happy to see that my leggings protected my skin and didn’t tear on impact. Woohoo for small victories.
We move back into the coffee shop, and my gaze lands on the table where Weston had been only a minute ago. He’s gone now, just like Anastasia said. The other man is gone, too, but when Anastasia releases me and steps behind the counter, I see that he’s standing behind the register.
His light brown eyes are kind, and he smiles at me. “Hey, I’m Sawyer.” He offers his hand over the counter.
“This is my fiancé,” Anastasia adds with a bright smile as she grips his arm and stares at him with hearts in her eyes.
Her happiness is a punch to my gut, which of course makes me feel terrible. “It’s nice to meet you. So sorry about that. I—”
“No need to apologize,” he interrupts as he waves a hand. “Cowboy seems to have that ‘I need to run away’ effect on a lot of people.”
“Cowboy?” I question.
“It’s what the guys call him,” Anastasia says. “What can I get for you?”
Cowboy. It’s a fitting name for him, that’s for sure. “Uh.” I try to gather my thoughts. “I wanted to grab something for my mom and me.”
“She loves the lavender lattes,” Anastasia offers. “They seem to be her favorite.”
Nodding, I force a smile back onto my face. “Then I’ll get her a lavender latte, and I guess I’ll have the same since I’ve never actually tried one.”
“Anastasia’s lavender lattes are the best,” Sawyer says. “And that’s coming from me, a chronic black coffee drinker.”
“Oh stop. You say everything I make is the best.”
“Because it’s true.” He kisses her forehead, and I force myself to look away as I pull out my wallet.
Once upon a time, I was that happy and in love, too.
But a happily ever after just wasn’t in the cards for me. I thought I’d come to terms with that, but if my reaction to Weston was any indication, I’ve clearly still got a lot of healing to do.
Which means I need to get back to the ranch as quickly as possible and hope our paths don’t cross again.