Henry Birch stood in the middle of the perfectly landscaped town square, his travel-sized umbrella hanging at his side despite the light drizzle that filtered through the golden oak leaves. He roved his eyes over Main Street, up around Cedar Lane, and down Chestnut, past the fat pumpkins squatting at the base of each shop door, and the cornstalks wrapped around every iron lamppost, considering how he might summarize his hometown of Briar Creek.
With its quaint shops and cobblestone streets, it is easy to be lured in by the charm of this small Vermont town, but do plan on limiting your visit to a three-day weekend, lest the locals get too friendly…
He rolled back on his heels, lips thinning, and popped open his umbrella. Just ahead, smack in the center of the square, was the white gazebo, freshly painted last spring, no doubt just like it was every year. Wet leaves stuck to its wide stairs, where he’d sat many a day watching a festival, chatting with friends. Back then, his gaze was always off in the distance, his attention only half present as anxiety churned in his gut, looking for a hint of a problem, an issue he’d have to deal with or hide, until inevitably it presented itself and he’d have to leave. It always ended the same way—his face burning with shame as the curious stares followed him until he was safely out of sight.
He tightened his grip on the plastic umbrella handle and turned back to Main Street, trying to ignore the acid that burned his stomach. There was no sense wasting time on memory lane.
He crossed the street and headed deeper into town, scanning for a quiet place to work on his latest assignment. Most of the shops had turned over since he’d moved away more than six years ago, reminding him that even in Briar Creek, things did grow and change. He frowned as he caught his reflection in the window of a new restaurant called Rosemary and Thyme. The travel writer in him forced to admit it looked half decent, at least from the outside, with its tall paned windows and a hint of thick velvet curtains and dark wood. He scanned the menu behind a glass case, impressed, and then glanced away before he invited trouble. That was just the problem with Briar Creek: If you stood still long enough, you were bound to run into someone who knew you way back when, someone who would want to know how you’d been and what you’d been up to—Didn’t you get married?—someone wanting to offer condolences, who would lower their tone when they mentioned why…
Well, he didn’t need their damn pity any more than he needed their inquisitions. He dodged through the rain, ducking under awnings, falling back on the few places he knew. Quickly deciding his options were Hastings, the local diner, or an armchair at Main Street Books, he decided on the latter. Hastings would no doubt be filled with locals wanting to chat, and he wasn’t here to catch up.
The door to the bookstore jingled when he pushed it open, and he set his umbrella in the overflowing stand, wiping his feet on the coir mat before walking over to a display table to peruse the new releases. The smell of coffee and sweet cinnamon pulled at his attention, and he glanced to the right, grinning as he ventured into the adjacent café. His sister had mentioned that the Madison girls had recently spruced up the place, but this was a complete renovation. A bakery counter lined the far wall, filled with scones, pastries, and muffins, and clusters of farm tables filled the space near the large paned window. Despite the addition being new, the floorboards were wide and stained a rich mahogany to match those of the bookstore, and instead of modern track lighting, wrought iron chandeliers and sconces lit the room they called the Annex.
It was just the kind of local gem he liked to highlight in his articles. If he was writing an article on Briar Creek, that was. And he wasn’t. Most definitely not.
Henry grinned as he dropped his bag from his shoulder with a thud. This was officially home for the next few weeks he was stuck in this damn town.
A few people he mercifully didn’t recognize sipped cappuccinos and read books or chatted in low voices. Henry walked to the counter, glancing around for someone who worked there, and waited with growing impatience. The last thing he needed was to be standing around when someone came in and recognized him. Then he’d be forced through the usual song and dance, the one he’d already been through just about every time he dared to leave the Main Street Bed and Breakfast, when all he wanted to do was get in and out and on with his day. Alone.
He gritted his teeth and looked around the café. He was just about to step into the bookstore itself when a flush-faced and frazzled-looking woman came through a back door, tying an apron at her waist. The color in her cheeks rose when she met his steady gaze, and after a beat, she gave a genuine smile, but it did little to mask the trepidation in her eyes.
“Henry! This is a surprise!”
He felt his grin widen as he scanned her shocked expression. With her flushed face and bright smile, Jane Madison looked just as beautiful as she had on her wedding day. He remembered the day clearly; couldn’t forget it if he tried. And oh, had he.
“Jane! Wow… Jane!” He shook himself back to the present, pushing back the thumping of his chest, and he took in that smile. He reached out awkwardly to embrace her, but the counter was wide, and the opening was a few feet down. After they shared a laugh, he stuck out his hand, holding hers in both of his. “It’s so good to see you! You working here now?”
She nodded, then glanced down at her hand—he hadn’t let it go yet, and he still didn’t want to. He felt his grin turn rueful as he loosened his grip and shoved his hands into his pockets, but Jane just blinked and bit her lip, watching him expectantly. Of all the people in Briar Creek, she was one he was at least glad to see. She’d married his best friend, after all.
“I work here part time. I teach ballet at the studio, too,” she added quickly.
How could he forget the long legs, the dance bag she toted around when she’d dated Adam… the scholarship to that academy she’d given up when he proposed? Henry let his eyes pass over her face, wondering if that was regret he sensed in her expression. Her hazel eyes were wide, and rimmed with long, black lashes. She’d filled out a bit since he’d last seen her—no longer so gangly. The soft curves suited her, he decided at once, lingering on her hips. He swallowed hard.
“You keep busy,” he remarked.
“That I do. So… what brings you to town?” Her eyes darkened as she held his stare.
“Ivy,” he said, referring to his sister.
Jane’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Ah. Well, what can I get for you? Coffee?”
“Black,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “The biggest size you’ve got. I have some work to catch up on.”
“Travel writing, right?” She slid the mug to him, holding up her hand in refusal when he held out a five-dollar bill. Her smile was shy, hesitant almost, and she looked away every time they made eye contact.
Guilt rested heavily on his shoulders. He’d been away too long. But then, what part of coming back was ever supposed to feel easy?
“I insist.” He grinned, dropping the money into the tip jar.
Her lashes fluttered as she sighed. “Well, then at least take a muffin. Wild blueberry, freshly baked this morning.” From a basket she took an enormous, crumble-topped muffin. Blueberries the size of nickels burst from the moist cake, and Henry’s stomach rumbled at the sweet scent. “They’ll sell out quickly,” she pressed, grinning.
“Did you make these yourself?” he asked, accepting the plate.
“God, no.” Jane laughed and the pink in her cheeks grew higher. “My sister Anna makes them. She runs a restaurant and café in town—Rosemary and Thyme? You may have passed it.”
“The nice-looking place on the corner of Second.” Henry nodded, impressed.
“She and Mark Hastings opened it this summer. It was a café called Fireside before that, but when they joined forces, she expanded.”
“Mark Hastings!” Henry grinned. He hadn’t thought of the Hastings guys in years. “My sister and I don’t chat as much as I would like, but I feel like Ivy mentioned something about Luke and Grace getting back together.” He shook his head. “I must be more out of touch than I thought. I didn’t even know they’d broken up.”
Jane’s eyes widened at this. “Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know, then. You’ve stayed away too long.”
He locked her gaze, ignoring the truth in her statement. “Why don’t you fill me in, then? We could have a coffee, catch up a bit.” He motioned to the empty table near the window. Work could wait. “What do you say?”
She seemed to stiffen. “Oh. I have to watch the counter.”
He glanced around the room. Everyone was engrossed in a book or a conversation, or huddled over a laptop, deep in concentration. A quick scan beyond some bookshelves to the front door revealed it empty.
“If a customer comes in, I’ll understand. I have an article to finish, so I’ll be here for a while.”
She gave him a long look, and he soaked in the pleasure of looking into her pretty face, without excuse. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
He arched a brow. “Should I?” But even as he said it, he knew he should. He should go to the corner, open his laptop, and get on with his life. His work kept him busy, kept his mind from running down paths it should resist. From lingering on people like Jane Madison and everything she represented, everything she’d once meant.
She hesitated. “Coffee it is, then. I could use another cup, honestly.”
Smiling easier now, she reached for another mug, and that was when he saw it. The engagement ring he’d personally helped Adam select at a jeweler in the neighboring town of Forest Ridge was missing, as was the plain silver wedding band he’d held in his breast pocket at their wedding, retrieving it on cue, watching as his best friend slid it onto her slender finger. She’d been smiling then, her eyes glistening with tears behind the soft sheen of her veil, and he remembered thinking Adam was the luckiest guy in the world.
Now, her fingers were bare, and it suddenly clicked. That sorry bastard had lost the best thing that had ever come into his life. And now here he was, reminding Jane of a time in her life she probably just wanted to forget.
He of all people could relate to that.