Chapter 2
Lucas
I watch Maya's face go pale as whoever's on the other end of that call delivers verbal poison. Her hands shake so hard she can barely hold the phone. Every protective instinct I've spent ten years trying to bury comes roaring back to life.
"Everything okay back there, boss?" Jake's voice cuts through my laser focus on Maya. I realize I've been gripping the bar towel so tight my knuckles have gone white.
"Fine," I mutter, not taking my eyes off her. She's still talking, but her voice has gone small and tight. Making my jaw clench.
"Uh-huh. Sure looks fine." Steph appears at my elbow, following my gaze to where Maya sits hunched over her phone. "Isn't that Maya Bennett? From high school?"
"Yeah." The word comes out rough.
"Damn." Jake wipes down glasses with unnecessary enthusiasm. Clearly enjoying this. "Little Maya Bennett, all grown up. She looks good, boss. Real good."
I shoot him a look that could strip paint. "Don't you have tables to clean?"
"Already done." He grins, completely unbothered by my death glare. "So, she staying in town long? Because if you're not interested—"
"Touch her and lose a hand."
The words fly out before I can stop them. Low and deadly serious. Jake's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. Steph actually takes a step back.
"Jesus, Lucas." Steph shakes her head, but she's smiling. "Ten years and you're still carrying a torch for her."
"I'm not—" I start, then stop. Maya's conversation is getting heated. I can hear the fear creeping into her voice even if I can't make out the words.
Focus. She doesn't need you getting involved in whatever this is.
But even as I tell myself that, I'm already moving closer.
Positioning myself within earshot in case she needs backup.
Like she's some damsel in distress instead of the brilliant, fierce woman who used to debug my code in tenth-grade computer science.
Never once making me feel stupid for asking for help.
"You remember how she used to look at you?" Steph's voice has gone soft. Almost wistful. "Like you hung the moon."
"She was seventeen." I grab another glass to clean. Anything to keep my hands busy. "Teenage girls look at everyone like that."
"No, they don't." Jake leans against the bar, studying my face. "She looked at you like you were the only person in the room. Hell, half the school was jealous."
A memory hits me without warning. Maya in her oversized Harry Potter t-shirt and paint-stained jeans.
Explaining some coding concept to me with her hands flying everywhere.
So animated and passionate about it that I couldn't look away.
She'd catch me staring and blush that deep red.
Then duck her head and keep talking like she hadn't just turned my entire world upside down.
I'd been half in love with her since sophomore year. Too much of a coward to do anything about it. Besides, we were friends. I didn’t want to ruin that.
"That was a long time ago," I say. My voice lacks conviction.
"Was it?" Steph tilts her head toward Maya, who's finally ending her call. "Because you're looking at her the exact same way you used to."
"Steph—"
"I'm just saying, maybe the universe is giving you a second chance." She shrugs and heads back to her tables. "Don't screw it up this time."
Jake follows her, but not before clapping me on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, boss, she's looking at you the same way too."
I want to tell him he's wrong. That whatever spark may have been between us died the day she left for college and never looked back. But then she hangs up the phone and turns to me with those big brown eyes full of fear and something that looks suspiciously like relief.
I know I'm completely screwed.
Because Jake's right. After ten years, three failed relationships, and building a life I never thought I'd want in this small town, I'm still gone for Maya Bennett.
And judging by the way she's looking at me—like I'm safety incarnate—she might need me as much as I've always needed her.
The call ends. Maya stares at her phone like it might bite her. Her breathing is shallow, quick. There's a tremor in her hands. Fear. Every alarm bell in my head is going off.
I keep my movements slow and non-threatening. Whatever just happened, she's spooked. The last thing I want is to make it worse.
I keep my voice low. Calm. "Maya. Who was that?"
She looks up at me. For a second, I see straight through all her defenses to the scared woman underneath. It's like being sucker-punched.
"Nobody." The lie comes out too quick.
I don't buy it for a second. That wasn't nobody. That was someone trying to intimidate her. They were doing a damn good job of it.
"That didn’t sound like nobody." I lean against the bar. Close enough that she'd have to lean back to avoid my presence. Not so close that she feels trapped. "That ‘nobody’ has made you look like you've seen a ghost."
She forces a laugh that doesn't fool either of us. "I know I look terrible. It's been a long day."
Terrible isn't the word I'd use. Even soaked and shaken, she's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Her hair has started to curl as it dries.
Wild and uncontainable in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch it.
Her sweater clings to curves that definitely weren't there in high school.
I have to force myself to look at her face instead of cataloguing all the ways she's changed.
But it's her eyes that get me. Same warm brown I remember, but there's a wariness there now. Like she's learned not to trust easily. It makes me want to find whoever taught her that lesson and have a very unpleasant conversation with them.
"Long day," I repeat. "Is that why you're back in Willowbridge? Bad day at the office?"
She winces. I immediately regret the question. Whatever happened in Seattle, it's clearly a sore subject.
"Something like that." She wraps her arms around herself. I realize she's still shivering. "Look, I should probably go. Find somewhere to crash for the night."
"In this storm?" I gesture toward the windows. Rain is coming down so hard it looks like sheets of water. "Maya, you can barely see the street."
As if to prove my point, thunder crashes overhead. So loud it rattles the windows. Maya jumps. Without thinking, I reach out and cover her hand with mine.
The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. Her skin is soft and cold. She doesn't pull away. If anything, she seems to lean into the touch. Like she's starved for human contact.
"It's just a storm," I say quietly. Not moving my hand. "Nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not afraid of the storm." Her voice is barely above a whisper. There's something in the way she says it.
No. You're afraid of whoever was on that phone.
The thought hits me like a freight train. Suddenly everything clicks into place. The way she keeps checking over her shoulder. The tension she’s carrying. The fact that she's here, in Willowbridge, when she swore she'd never come back.
She's running from something. Or someone.
A memory surfaces. Maya in eighth grade, cornered by Brad Hutchinson and his cronies after school.
They'd been giving her shit about her thrift store clothes and her "weird" obsession with computers.
I'd found her behind the gym. Tears streaming down her face but chin raised in defiance.
Telling them exactly what they could do with their opinions.
I'd stepped in then. Used my size to make them back off. She'd been embarrassed at first. Insisting she could handle it herself. But later, she'd thanked me with a shy smile and a homemade cookie that was burned on the bottom and perfect everywhere else.
I'd felt ten feet tall for a week.
Now, sitting here watching her try to hold herself together, I feel that same fierce protectiveness rising up in me. Only this time, the threat isn't some teenage bully I can intimidate.
This time, it's bigger. More dangerous.
And Maya is still trying to handle it alone.
I clear my throat and pull my hand back. Immediately missing the warmth of her skin. "The offer still stands."
Maya blinks at me. Taking a moment to register.
"Upstairs. My place." I keep my voice casual. Like I'm not suggesting something that could change everything between us. "Couch pulls out into a bed. It's not the Ritz, but it's warm and dry. Nobody's going to bother you there."
Her mouth opens, then closes. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. Pride warring with desperation. Independence fighting with the very real need for safety.
"Lucas, I can't. That's... we barely..." She trails off. Wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "It's weird."
"Weird how?" I lean back against the bar. Try to look relaxed even though every muscle in my body is tense. "We're friends, Maya. Or we were. Friends help each other out."
"Were being the operative word." There's a bitter twist to her mouth that I don't like. "I haven't exactly kept in touch."
"No, you haven't." The words come out with a bite. I see her flinch. Shit. "Look, I'm not going to pretend the last ten years didn't happen. You left. You made it clear Willowbridge—and everyone in it—wasn't worth staying for."
Her face goes pale. I immediately want to take the words back. But I can't, because they're true. They've been sitting in my chest like a lead weight for a decade.
"That's not..." She starts, then stops. Shakes her head. "It wasn't about you. It was never about you."
"Wasn't it?" I study her face, looking for the lie. "Because it felt pretty personal when you didn't return my calls. When you missed my dad's funeral. When you acted like this place—like I—never existed."
The silence stretches. Heavy with years of hurt and misunderstanding. Maya's eyes fill with tears. I hate myself for putting them there.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "About your dad. I should have... I wanted to come, but—"
"But Seattle was more important." The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. "I get it. This place was always too small for you."