Page 6 of Back in the Bay

Mom: Sorry, honey. He didn’t know your address, so he sent us the invitation. I’ve been so busy helping your aunt plan the event I forgot to tell you. But you have to come. Please don’t make me look bad!

Aidan reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Maybe that's exactly why it's happening. When was the last time you went home to Cedar Bay?"

"Four Christmases ago," I say automatically. "For two days. In and out, minimal interaction with anyone outside my immediate family."

"And Cole?"

"Haven't seen him in twelve years, and that was an accident.” My new whiskey arrives, and I take a fortifying sip. "What if he's married, Aidan? What if he has kids? What if he hates me?"

"What if he doesn't?" Aidan counters softly. "What if this is your chance to finally get closure—real closure, not the kind where you run away and pretend the past doesn't exist?"

I close my eyes, feeling the room spin slightly. "I can't do this.

"You can," Aidan says firmly. "You're Mabel Maxwell. You make grown men cry in depositions. You can handle seeing your ex-boyfriend."

"Former love of my life," I correct without thinking, then clap a hand over my mouth. "I did not just say that."

Aidan's smile is gentle. "You did. And it's okay to admit it." He raises his glass. "To facing the past, so you can finally move forward."

I clink my glass against his reluctantly. "To cosmic jokes at my expense."

As I sip my whiskey, I can't help but wonder what Cole Bennett looks like now. Are his eyes still that impossible shade of blue? Are his hands still calloused from work? Does he ever think about the girl who left him thirteen years ago?

I guess, I'm about to find out.

I wake up the next morning with a whiskey headache and six missed calls from my mother. The universe isn't just pushing me toward my past; it's shoving me with both hands.

"You're going," Aidan announces when I trudge into the office, sunglasses still on, clutching my extra-large coffee like it contains the elixir of life.

"I haven't decided," I lie, slumping into my chair.

"Your flight's booked." He slides a printed itinerary across my desk. "Next Thursday. I cleared our schedule with Margaret. I’m going as your plus one. A part of me wants to see this train wreck unfold, and the other part just likes weddings.”

I peek over my sunglasses at him. "You went to the managing partner?"

"I told her you had a family emergency." He shrugs. "Which isn't entirely untrue. Your emotional well-being is at stake."

"This is kidnapping," I mutter, but I take the itinerary. “A week? Aidan, I can't be away from the office for an entire week."

"You haven't taken a vacation in three years. The firm legally has to let you go." He perches on the edge of my desk. "Besides, you need to arrive in time for the rehearsal dinner, and I figured you'd need a day to acclimate to your surroundings.”

I roll my eyes, instantly regretting the movement as pain shoots through my temples. "Christmas is a horrible time to dig up the past."

"That’s where you’re wrong. The holidays make everything lighter and happier." Aidan's smile fades into something more serious. "Besides, when was the last time you did something that scared you?"

"Yesterday, when I let you order me that third whiskey."

"I mean really scared you. The kind of fear that means you're growing."

I stare at the itinerary, at the neat columns of flight times and confirmation numbers. Cedar Bay, Oregon. Population: too small. Current weather: probably raining. Likelihood of awkward encounters: one hundred percent.

"Fine," I say finally. "But when I come back emotionally devastated, I’m going nag incessantly for weeks.”

"Deal." Aidan looks far too pleased with himself. "I’m used to your constant complaining. And If you rekindle your romance, I will repeat the words I told you so until you until you hire someone to kill me."

"Don’t be so flip. I spent a year as a public defender and have connections," I warn him, only half-joking. "And there will be no rekindling. That fire went out a long time ago."

Even as I say the words, I'm not sure I believe them.

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