Page 18 of Back in the Bay

"Like hell, you don't. Mabel Maxwell. That girl's been eating you alive for thirteen years, and today she's gonna be standing twenty feet away looking like a million bucks." He leans forward, his eyes serious. "Question is, what are you gonna do about it?"

I take another sip of his toxic hangover cure and force it down, buying myself time I don't have. The bitter liquid burns my throat, but it's nothing compared to the way his words burn through my chest.

"She made it pretty clear where she stands," I mutter, staring into the murky depths of the mug. "Thirteen years, Mr. Malone. She's had thirteen years to?—"

"To what? Read your mind?" He snorts. "Son, I've known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and you've been carrying a torch for that girl so long it's practically welded to your hand. But have you ever—and I mean ever—told her straight out how you feel?"

My stomach churns, and it's not entirely from the hangover. "It's complicated."

"Bullshit." The word comes out sharp enough to make me wince. "You know what's complicated? Spending the next forty years wondering if she would've said yes. You know what'ssimple? Walking up to her today and laying your cards on the table."

I drain the rest of his concoction and immediately regret it. My head throbs in protest, but the fog is starting to lift. "And if she shoots me down? If she tells me I'm an idiot for waiting this long?"

"Then at least you'll know." Mr. Malone stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his suit pants. "But I'll tell you something else—that girl didn't come back to Cedar Bay for the wedding cake. She came back because this place still holds meaning for her. And whether you want to admit it or not, you're a big part of what this place means."

He heads toward the door, then pauses. "Pride's a funny thing, Cole. It'll keep you warm at night for about five minutes, but it makes for a lonely life partner."

He disappears through the doorway, leaving me alone with his words echoing in my head louder than the pounding behind my temples. I set the empty mug down on the table and rest my face in my hands, trying to think through the haze of whiskey and whatever the hell Mr. Malone just made me drink.

The truth is, he's right about everything. I've been a coward for thirteen years, hiding behind hurt feelings and wounded pride like some martyr. Every time I've had the chance to tell Mabel how I feel, I've choked. At high school graduation, when she was discussing college. That summer, she came back after her first year. The handful of times our paths might have crossed when she'd visit her parents.

Each time, I told myself it wasn't the right moment. That Mabel was busy, focused on her career, clearly over whatever we had, and that I was protecting myself from another round of rejection.

But maybe I was protecting myself from the possibility that she might say yes.

My phone buzzes against my leg. A text from Rowan:

Ceremony starts in 30. Are you alive?

I type back:

Barely. Your dad's trying to kill me with folk medicine.

Good. It means you deserved it. Get your ass out here.

I push myself up from the chair, testing my balance. The room only spins a little, which I'm taking as a victory. My reflection in the small mirror by the door looks like I've been hit by a truck, but it's an improvement from when I walked in.

Through the window, I can see guests starting to take their seats in the garden. White chairs arranged in perfect rows, flowers everywhere, the whole fairy-tale setup that Rowan and his bride dreamed of.

And somewhere out there, in a dress that probably costs more than my truck, is the woman I've been in love with since I was eighteen years old.

Mr. Malone's words ring in my ears:Pride makes for a lonely life partner.

Time to stop being lonely.

mabel

. . .

The white tullecanopy flutters in the breeze like my heart in my chest as I watch the bride—radiant, beaming Cilla—pledge herself to Rowan. I never thought I'd be back in Cedar Bay for this, of all things.

My champagne flute is slippery against my palm, condensation mingling with the sweat of my hands. I take another sip, letting the bubbles burn my throat, reminding myself that I'm actually here. That this is real. That the man who once poured a jar full of grasshoppers down the back of my blouse is now looking every bit like the fairy tale groom with his gorgeous bride in her vintage lace gown.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant says, and the small crowd erupts in cheers.

I clap along, muscle memory taking over while my mind wanders down roads not taken. What if I had stayed? What if I hadn't fled to Portland? I could have been standing there under my own canopy of flowers, maybe with a baby on my hip and a small-town law practice with my name on the door. Cedar Bay Law, serving the community I grew up in rather than fightingcorporate battles in a high-rise where nobody knows their neighbors.

I feel his gaze before I see it. It’s like a physical touch, warm and familiar against my skin. Cole Bennett is watching me from across the room, his dark eyes finding mine through the sea of wedding guests. He looks good—too good—in his black tuxedo, the years having sculpted his jawline even sharper, sprinkled just enough silver at his temples to make my stomach flip.

---