Page 9 of Back in the Bay

Does it? I'm not sure anything really changes. Mabel left for a reason—multiple reasons. She wanted bigger things than Cedar Bay could offer, and I wasn't willing to follow her to get them. The fact that she's still single doesn't erase thirteen years of different choices and different lives.

If only I have to convince my heart that I’ve moved on before next week.

mabel

. . .

The scentof cedar and salt air hits me like a slap of nostalgia the moment I step off the plane.

"Mabel, honey!" Mom's voice carries across the small terminal, and I spot her immediately—same auburn hair as mine, though hers is streaked with silver now, same blue eyes crinkled with excitement. She’s practically bouncing on her toes as she rushes toward us.

"Hi, Mom." I barely get the words out before she's crushing me in a hug that smells like vanilla and the lavender fabric softener she's used since I was twelve.

"And you must be the boyfriend I've heard absolutely nothing about!" She releases me and turns expectantly to Aidan, who's standing there looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh God, no." The words tumble out faster than I intended. "Mom, this is Aidan, my colleague. He volunteered to be my plus one."

Her face falls slightly, but she recovers with the grace of a woman who's spent thirty years married to a small-town mayor. "Of course! How silly of me. Though you two do make a lovely pair."

“Drop the fantasies, Mom. Aiden is married to a man.” I burst her bubble before she can begin to hope.

Aidan clears his throat awkwardly. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Maxwell."

"Please, call me Rachel." She loops her arms through both of ours as we head toward baggage claim. "Now, Mabel, you'll never guess who I ran into at the grocery store yesterday."

My stomach drops. There are exactly three people in this town she could be referring to with that particular tone of barely contained glee, and I'm praying it's not the one I think it is.

"Cole Bennett."

Fuck. Of course, it is.

"He looks wonderful, honey. He has really filled out since high school—all muscle now from that construction work. And still single, can you believe it? Such a catch and no one's snatched him up yet."

I focus on breathing steadily through my nose while she prattles on, but my hands are already clenching into fists.

"Mom," I interrupt, trying to keep my voice level. "I didn't come back to Cedar Bay to discuss Cole Bennett's relationship status."

"Oh, I know, sweetheart. But you should see him now—he's got his own business with Rowan and that Fox boy––you remember Fox? They're doing so well. Cole just finished renovating the old Miller place down by the water. Gorgeous work." She sighs wistfully as we wait for our luggage to appear on the carousel. "He always was so talented with his hands."

Heat crawls up my neck at the unintended innuendo, and I catch Aidan smirking beside me.

"Rachel," Aidan chimes in, clearly enjoying my discomfort, "Mabel's mentioned Cole before. High school sweethearts, right?"

I shoot him a look that could melt steel, but Mom's already off and running.

"Oh yes! They were inseparable. Prom king and queen, of course. I always thought..." She trails off, studying my face. "Well, water under the bridge now."

My black suitcase finally appears, and I grab it with more force than necessary. "Can we please change the subject?"

"Of course, honey." But there's a gleam in her eye that I recognize from childhood—the same look she got when she was planning surprise birthday parties or scheming to get me to eat vegetables. "It's just that he'll probably be at the wedding, you know. Since he's friends with the groom's family and all."

My chest tightens. Of course, Cole will be there. In a town of three thousand people, everyone's invited to everything.

"That's fine. We're both adults." The words taste like sawdust in my mouth.

We pile into Mom's ancient Honda, and she chatters nonstop during the fifteen-minute drive through downtown Cedar Bay. The place looks exactly like the same—quaint storefronts, American flags hanging from every lamppost, the kind of Norman Rockwell perfection that used to make me feel suffocated.

Now, it just makes me feel exposed.

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