Page 13 of Back in the Bay

I remember that truck. Stolen kisses in the cab, stargazing in the bed on summer nights, the way Cole would drum his fingers on the steering wheel when his favorite songs came on.

"All done!" Trina announces, mercifully interrupting my thoughts. She spins me around to face the mirror, and I have to admit, she's worked wonders. My hair falls in soft waves, elegant enough for the rehearsal dinner but not too fussy.

"You look beautiful, honey," Mom says, appearing beside me with her own freshly styled hair.

"Cole always did like your hair down," Mrs. Henderson muses, and the other women nod in agreement.

I stand up, desperate to escape. "Well, thank you all for the... updates. It was lovely to see everyone."

As Mom settles the bill, Mrs. Foster catches my arm. "He asks about you, you know. Not directly—men never do—but he always perks up when your name comes up."

I don't know what to say to that, so I smile and gently extract my arm.

Outside, the late afternoon sun bathes Cedar Bay in golden light. Mom links her arm through mine as we walk to her car.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asks innocently.

I give her a sideways glance. "You set me up."

"I did no such thing." Her protest lacks conviction. "I just thought you might want to know what's been happening with old friends."

"One old friend in particular, it seems."

Mom squeezes my arm. "Sweetheart, I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," I insist, even as something hollow echoes in my chest. "I have everything I wanted."

As we drive through town, I can't help but notice the riverside project coming into view—scaffolding, construction equipment, and a familiar blue Chevy parked near the entrance.

"Can we take the long way home?" I ask quietly.

Mom gives me a knowing look but turns at the next intersection without comment.

Some things in Cedar Bay haven't changed. The gossip, the well-meaning but intrusive questions, the way everyone knows everyone's business.

And some things have changed entirely.

Like me. Like Cole.

cole

. . .

I'm notthe kind of man who freezes in place, but seeing Mabel Maxwell across the room after thirteen years does exactly that to me. She's laughing at something her date is saying, her head tilted back just enough to show the elegant line of her throat, and suddenly, I'm seventeen again, watching her from across the high school cafeteria.

"Cole? You okay?" Ellie nudges me with her elbow, her bridesmaid dress rustling. My cousin has always been too perceptive for her own good.

"Fine," I lie, downing half my whiskey in one swallow. The burn is welcome—anything to distract from the knife twisting in my gut at the sight of Mabel with another man.

"That's Mabel, isn't it?" Ellie whispers. "The one who broke your heart before college?"

I don't answer, which is answer enough. Ellie pats my arm sympathetically before being whisked away by a mutual friend for photos.

The rehearsal dinner for Cilla and Rowan’s wedding is exactly the kind of event I'd usually navigate with easy confidence. Hell, I built the venue with my own hands—the lakeside pavilion that's become Cedar Bay's most sought-after wedding location. But tonight, I'm a stranger in my own creation, awkwardly clutching my whiskey while stealing glances at the woman I've never been able to forget.

Her date's hand rests casually on the small of her back. It shouldn't bother me. It's been thirteen years. We've both lived our entire lives apart from each other.

But it does bother me. It bothers me like a splinter under my skin.

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