The weather in San Francisco was mild this time of year, and Henry lifted the windows in his studio apartment, letting the fresh air filter through the stale room as he went to the small kitchen and flung open the fridge. It was empty, of course, just like the cabinets.
His bags were propped near the front door, and he eyed them steadily, somehow unable to bring himself to unpack. Normally, he didn’t bother. He rarely spent more than a few nights each month here, and it showed. Not a single picture hung on the walls. The bedspread was basic, the black leather couch cold and sterile, and no frames rested on the mantel. Nothing to remind him of where he came from, or who he’d left behind.
It was as uninviting as the hotel rooms he spent the majority of his time in. About as generic, too. He’d never put much thought into it, seeing no point in making roots when it was wheels up the next day, but now, having been away for more than a month, he felt a bit depressed to be met with these surroundings. It wasn’t a home—a home was something to come back to. This was just a room. It was functional. It fit his needs. Or it had, until now.
He picked up the phone and dialed his editor, who on occasion was up for dinner when he was in town. They agreed to meet at the steakhouse one block from the office, leaving Henry an hour to read over his article one last time.
He powered up his laptop and set his feet on the glass coffee table. The remote was inches from his fingertips and he flicked on the television. Soon, sounds from a random sitcom filled the room. He glanced up as he opened his document. The usual setup: parents squabbling about something the teenager had done, meddling neighbors popping by at inopportune times, and loud meals where everyone was talking over one another.
He flicked off the television. There was no use pretending anymore. No use filling his life with makeshift families. This was his life, alone, in this sterile little room he’d carved out as his own in the world. This was the life he had chosen for himself. So why was the thought of continuing this way starting to feel unbearable?
He should have had a picture of Ivy out, he realized, staring at his bare mantel with sudden shame. Somehow it was easier not to.
His chest heavy, he turned back to the computer. He just needed to focus, work, clear his head. Eventually the memories would fade and he’d put one foot in front of the other. Eyes in front. He was good at that.
He ran a spell-check of his article and cleaned up some language, then read it over from the beginning one last time, almost imagining himself walking down Main Street as he read his own description of Rosemary and Thyme, Petals on Main, and, of course, Main Street Books.
He swallowed hard, thinking back on the sounds of the percolating coffee, the smells of scones, and the rain spattering against the window as he sat in the corner, watching Jane from the corner of his eye.
Enough. Briar Creek wasn’t where his life was centered anymore.
He hurried through the rest of the article, skimming over the part about the local dance studio that offered drop-in ballroom classes, and chuckling to himself about the chatty proprietor at the Main Street B&B.
After uploading the photos he’d taken, he began scrolling through the shots of the town, robust with bursting fall colors. It was a pretty little town, with the cobblestone streets and quaint storefronts, and looking at it through this lens, it was hard to believe it was the where place he’d grown up. He’d built it up to be a dismal, dark place, but the six weeks he’d spent there hadn’t felt that way. Sure, the people were a little nosy, but what was worse? Having people know his business, or not having anyone care enough to do so?
Nick was about the closest thing to a friend he had, and the guy was his editor—he knew nothing personal about him other than a few of his professional habits. Henry had liked it this way, kept it this way, but now… The walls had come down, and he wasn’t so sure he could build them up again. Wasn’t so sure he wanted to.
For the first time in years his life in San Francisco felt completely empty.
He clicked to the next picture, and his hand froze over the keypad. There, on the screen, smiling back at him, was Jane. It was the photo he had taken the day of the Harvest Fest—he’d almost forgotten about it. She was sitting at an old knotty picnic table, an enormous, yet-to-be-carved pumpkin in front of her, little Sophie tucked protectively under her arm. Sophie was giggling, her eyes on the pumpkin, but Jane was looking straight at him, her eyes clear and bright, crinkling at the corner, and her smile… Oh, that smile. It was the smile she’d given him when they’d shared a laugh over breakfast, the same smile he’d seen when she told him the good news—when he’d denied having any part of it, denied writing that letter.
It was the last time he’d see that smile, he realized with a jolt. The thought of it suddenly felt impossible.
Henry hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the long sigh escaped him. He closed out of the file quickly and sent the article and a few scenic shots of the town to his editor. Then he stood, flicked off the lights to his apartment, and locked the door behind him.
Nick was already at their usual table when he arrived twenty minutes later. “I read your article. That’s one hell of a charming town,” he said, reaching for the bread basket.
Henry placed his order with the waitress, knowing Nick would have already put his in, and sipped his water. “It’s quaint.”
“You said you grew up there?” Nick asked. “Gave it all up for the big city?”
“Something like that,” Henry said. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, looking around the room, unsure of what he was looking for, or who. He could keep running, keep bouncing from one hotel to the next, occasionally meeting someone to share a meal or spend the night, but no amount of time would fill the hole in his heart.
Only one person had, and he’d pushed her away. All his life he’d been searching for the one thing Jane could offer him, the one thing he’d found with her. A home. A community. A sense of belonging.
Briar Creek was in his blood, it was a part of his fiber, his being, and all the experiences, good or bad, that had shaped him into the man he was today. He’d married Caroline to run away from his past, just like he landed in a new airport each week.
Before, all he’d wanted was to run. To not get close. But now, all he wanted was to go home. Home to Ivy, to that old ramshackle house that he’d brought back to life. Home to the Browns, who still welcomed him with open arms, and always would.
And home to Jane. If she’d still have him.
Jane stood at the front of the church, clutching her bouquet in both hands, her eyes trained on the open set of doors at the back of the room. The music swelled and the guests stood as Grace appeared in the doorway, her smile visible even through the gauze of her veil. She took the aisle by herself, and Jane experienced only a slight pang at how unfair that was, until she saw her father’s handkerchief wrapped around the base of Grace’s bouquet. It was as if their father was holding her hand all the way down the rose-scattered carpet.
Grace’s green eyes were misty as she took her position next to Luke, and they never strayed from his as she said her vows. Jane thought this moment would be difficult—it was the first wedding she’d been to on her own—but somehow, hearing their promises didn’t make her long for her marriage or all that it might have been. It made her think of Henry, and the things she’d like to have offered him. If he’d given her a chance.
She’d wrestled with anger, hurt, even sadness over his decision, and then ultimately told herself that she had no choice but to accept it. She’d spent how many years loving the wrong man, trying to ignore the warning signs, brushing aside the knowledge that he didn’t seem to want the same things as her. Maybe Henry had spared her from that hurt. Maybe he really couldn’t give her what she was looking for.
Or maybe he was just a jerk.
She wanted to believe that, and at times she could. After all, if he cared about her as much as he had once seemed to, why sleep with her? Why get involved with her at all if in the end all he ever planned to do was turn his back and walk away?
She pulled in a breath, lifted her bouquet a little higher, and focused her attention on the bride and groom and all the friends and family who had joined them to celebrate this event. She held Sophie’s hand as they walked back up the aisle behind the bridal party, admiring her sister, now officially a married woman. She smiled through the photos, and laughed when the Champagne was popped in the back of the limo, and tossed confetti alongside the guests as Grace and Luke entered the reception.
The entire room glowed under chandeliers, and the votives on each table flickered against the gold-rimmed plates. A familiar twinge pressed against Jane’s chest as she took her seat for dinner next to Ivy, but Ivy seemed distracted and on edge, and there was a high color in her cheeks.
“Are you feeling okay?” Jane whispered, but Ivy just blinked quickly.
Her smile was radiant, and Jane suddenly realized the gleam in her eye was from excitement, perhaps even joy. “Never better. It seems to me that there are some single men here tonight, after all.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Jane glanced around the room, her spirits deflating quickly. The only bachelors she saw were the usual crowd: Brett Hastings, the sheriff, a few of the other guys from town.
She picked up her fork. May as well enjoy her dinner.
It wasn’t until the cake had been cut and the first dance was over that Grace came over to her. “Are you having a good time?”
Jane set her hands in her lap and surveyed the dance floor, where Sophie was twirling in her flower girl dress. “Of course. It’s a beautiful wedding, Grace. And it all came together so well!”
Grace swatted her. “I know I wasn’t the easiest bride, but you know how it is. I just wanted it to be perfect.” She tipped her head as the music turned to a slow number. With bitter irony, Jane realized it was the first song she’d danced to at her prom all those years ago. She’d never forgotten it. “You should get out there on the dance floor.”
“Oh…” Jane struggled to maintain her smile. She hardly wished to point out that she had no one to dance with. Well, Sophie, of course.
Her sister frowned as she studied her, and then handed her the small cotton handkerchief.
Jane searched her sister’s eyes as she rubbed her finger over the embroidered initials. “But, this doesn’t belong to me. It’s Dad’s, and he’d want you to have it today.”
“I have a feeling you’ll be needing it back someday.” She jutted her chin over Jane’s shoulder.
Confused, Jane turned to follow her sister’s stare. Her pulse skipped a beat when she saw Henry standing in the open doorway to the reception room, one hand in the pocket of his black suit pants, looking so handsome. Jane felt her breath catch.
He was supposed to be gone, in San Francisco, or wherever else his job took him.
Her heart began to speed up until she realized that none of this changed a damn thing. So he was back in town. He wasn’t here for her.
She tried to fight the disappointment that was building up in her chest, tried to focus on her daughter, who was practicing her pirouettes and all but slipping in her new shoes, when an open palm appeared before her.
She looked up, meeting Henry’s steady gaze, and felt her heart begin to pound.
“May I have this dance?”
Tears began to prickle the back of her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked quickly and looked away. “Henry,” she sighed. “I… don’t understand.”
“Then let me explain,” he said firmly. His voice was strong and thick, and his hand didn’t move. She eyed it warily, and then, unsure as to whether she was making the right decision, set hers in it.
His fingers clasped hers tightly as he led her to the dance floor and turned to face her. He set his other hand not on her waist, but around it, holding her tight, making it impossible for her to break away, and oh, did a part of her want to. She looked across the room to where Grace and Anna were watching her with wide eyes, until the weight of Henry’s stare pulled her back to him. She looked into his kind blue eyes, and felt a little part of her begin to break.
“I thought you left town,” she whispered, skirting her eyes away again.
“I did,” he said simply.
“Then why did you come back?” She held her breath, waiting for him to answer, wondering how she would respond when he did. He was here, with his arms around her waist and his chest pulled so close to hers she could feel the beating of his heart under his clothes, and something told her the racing pulse meant he had more on his mind than making amends.
“Because I realized that I could keep running and hiding for the rest of my life, but that was never going to get me where I wanted to be.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath as her eyes locked with his. “And where do you want to be?”
“Here,” he said simply, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips now, a steadiness in his gaze that made her want to believe that this time, he wouldn’t waver.
Still, she had to be sure. “Briar Creek? I thought you hated this town.”
He tightened his grip on her and a rush of heat spilled over her body. That scent… she hadn’t dared to remember it. “Everything I ever wanted was right here, Jane. I just didn’t want to believe it. I ran from it instead, put walls up, prepared for the worst. I told you all those things you deserved the other day. It took me a while to realize I deserved them, too.”
“You do,” Jane agreed, thinking of all he had been through, and all the good he had done. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Henry.”
“I’d like to be more than a friend,” he replied smoothly, and all at once, alarm bells went off.
Jane shook her head, pulling back from his grip as panic tightened its grip. She’d trusted the wrong man once before; she’d be damned if she didn’t protect her heart this time.
They were standing in the middle of the dance floor, the only couple not moving to the beat of the music, but she didn’t care who was watching or what they thought. She needed to think straight, and she couldn’t when his hand was slipping down her back, sending every nerve ending on overdrive.
“The last time I saw you, you told me why we couldn’t be together. Why you weren’t the man for me. It’s only been a few days, so what’s changed?”
“I have,” he said, setting a hand on her arm. “I went back to San Francisco, to that empty shell of a life, and I realized that the only place I wanted to be was in your home, with you, and Sophie. I was happy here, Jane, and if I’m being honest, that scared the crap out of me. It made me think of everything I stood to lose. I missed you, Jane. I missed this town. I missed the way I felt when I was in it. With you. I’ve been running from myself, but my roots are here. With the people who really know me.”
It was too easy. Too easy to believe what he saying. But oh, how she wanted to! She stared into his deep blue eyes, looking for a trace of struggle and finding none. “You… really hurt me the other day.”
He shook his head and set another firm grip on her other arm. “I think that’s what scared me the most. We spent this great night together and then, just like that, I felt like I shattered your world. All I ever wanted was to make you smile. It… it killed me to know that I could be the reason for you being so upset.”
“But then why end it? Why tell me we were better off apart, even after everything had worked out?”
He stepped toward her, and she hesitated, wanting to pull back as much as she longed to walk right into his arms. When he set a hand on her shoulder, a long, slow breath released from her. She was losing the fight, falling all over again. And this was one battle she was hoping to lose.
“I thought you were better off without me, Jane.” His eyes were eager, his tone insistent. “But then I realized I wasn’t better off without you. You’ve given me hope again. Hope for this town, for my life, to find everything I always wanted. I want a family, Jane, and I want one with you.”
“Henry,” she protested, but even as she said his name, she couldn’t fight the tears that slowly rolled down her cheeks any more than the ache in her throat. “You wrote the letter, didn’t you?”
He hesitated, and then nodded once.
“But why didn’t you just tell me?” she cried, lifting her arms as he pulled her against his chest.
“Because then you would have known… Then you would have made it too hard for me to leave.”
“What? What would I have known?”
“I love you, Jane. A part of me always has. I love your smile, I love your spirit, and I love the way you care for Sophie.” He brushed a tear off her face with the side of his thumb. “I’ve tried to keep my distance, to float through life on my own, but sometimes in life you have to make a choice and stick with it. And I choose you, Jane.”
Jane brought a hand to her lips to stifle the cry that escaped. The tears fell steadily now, but she didn’t try to stop them. He’d stood by her, stood up for her, and fought for her and Sophie.
She looked up to smile into the eyes of the man she loved. “I just need you to do one more thing for me.”
“Name it.”
“Promise to take us on one of your trips someday?”
“Honey, my traveling days are over. I’m here, I’m yours. I’m never leaving again.” He leaned in and kissed her mouth softly, and she leaned into him, feeling his warmth and breathing his air and feeling her heart swell with pure joy. “But I will take you on a trip someday. And with any luck, I’ll start with our honeymoon.”