Chapter 2
COLE
“Do it for Luke.”
I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white against the cracked leather, wishing I was almost anywhere else. I’d rather be hauling lumber in a blizzard than walking into this inn.
But Luke was my best friend. The only one who stood by me when I left the money behind.
I killed the engine and checked my reflection in the rearview. I’d trimmed my beard, but I still looked like what I was: a man who lived alone on a mountain to escape a life that nearly suffocated him.
I shoved open the door and got out of my truck. I’d agreed to be Luke’s best man, and that meant showing up to all the pre-wedding events, even if I’d rather be alone in my cabin.
I strode toward the private dining room, adjusting the collar of a shirt that felt like a noose. I didn’t miss wearing ties every day.
Just get through the lunch, I told myself. Smile. Shake hands. Don’t be the grump in the corner.
It was hard. I liked Luke’s fiancé, but he warned me she was aiming to set me up with her sister, the maid of honor. I was sure she was nice. Luke would have said something if she wasn’t. But I wasn’t a reformed playboy for nothing.
My heart hadn’t truly been in the game for six years. Not since the woman with the whiskey-brown eyes and the laugh that made me want to burn my legacy to the ground.
I reached the door and shoved it open.
“Sorry I’m late. The truck was—”
The words died in my throat. Time didn’t just stop. It unraveled.
Sitting across from Luke was a ghost. Older. Tired around the eyes. But unmistakable. I took in the familiar curve of her cheek. The wide brown eyes that had once sparkled at me, the lips I still remembered tasting.
Ava.
My blood roared in my ears. The woman I’d walked away from. The only woman I’d ever regretted leaving. She was staring at me, her face draining of color, her lips parted in a silent gasp.
I stood frozen, my boots rooted to the floorboards, my brain misfiring. She’s here. How is she here?
“Momma, who’s that?”
The tiny voice cut through the static. My gaze snapped from Ava to the child beside her. A little girl. Maybe five years old.
She propped her chin on her hand, tilting her head to the side to study me with serious, dark eyes.
My lungs seized.
I knew that move. I knew that jawline. I saw it in the mirror every damn morning.
The room spun. I looked back at Ava. Her hand was gripping the tablecloth, her knuckles white. She wasn't just shocked to see me. She was terrified.
Math, my brain screamed. Do the math, Cole.
Six years ago. One night.
The air left the room.
“That’s the best man, sweetie,” Ava said, her voice brittle. “Uncle Luke’s friend.”
“Okay.” The girl grinned—my grin—and waved. “Hi. I’m Maisie.”
Maisie. The name hit me in the chest.
“Hi, Maisie.” My voice was a wreck, rough like gravel. I pulled out the chair next to Ava. She flinched, her body angling instinctively to shield the child.
My child.
I wanted to claim her. But I needed to talk to Ava first. “You can call me Cole.”
I sat down, close enough to smell the apple scent I’d dreamed about for half a decade. I looked at Ava, and I let her see the truth in my eyes. I let her see the shock, the anger, and the absolute, unyielding possession taking root in my chest.
If she thought I’d play the stranger, pretend I didn’t recognize her, or know who Maisie was to me, she was wrong.
Fate had brought Ava and I back together. And this time, I wasn’t walking away.