Page 10 of Kellan & Emmett
But none of that feels simple with Emmett in the room. I catch myself scanning crowds, tracking him without meaning to. It’s like my compass never reset.
Maybe today will be different. Or maybe it’ll just remind me of how far I ran, and how close he still feels anyway.
—K
Chapter 5
Kellan
The smell of bacon and brewed coffee drifted up the stairwell before I even reached the bottom step. By the time I stepped into the dining room, the place was already alive—chairs scraping, silverware clinking, voices rising and falling in easy currents. Sunlight spilled through the wide windows, striking the mason jars of wildflowers set at each table.
And Emmett.
He moved through the room like it was second nature, topping off mugs, answering questions. Button-down sleeves rolled, expression composed, he looked every bit the innkeeper. Professional. Untouchable.
I grabbed a plate at the sideboard more for cover than hunger. Eggs. A biscuit. Fruit I barely registered.
“Coffee?” His voice brushed my shoulder.
I turned, heat already creeping up my neck. “Unless you’re hiding sweet tea back there, yeah, thanks.”
He poured without reaction, steam rising between us. Not so much as a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Early start for a Saturday, huh?” I tried again, lifting the cup. “Nine o’clock tour? Thought reunions were about sleeping in and regretting the night before.”
“Plenty of time to regret things later.” His answer clipped short, polite enough for anyone else to miss the edge.
I nodded like I hadn’t felt the sting. “Right.”
He was already gone, refilling another guest’s mug.
I sipped. Too hot, but my eyes tracked him anyway. Efficient. Calm. At home in a way I’d never managed as an adult. Regret pressed tight under my ribs. I’d run from Gomillion like it was poison. He’d stayed. Rooted. Built something. And damn if he didn’t look good doing it.
“Hey, Miller.” A voice at my elbow pulled me back. I glanced over—Caden North, taller than most even sitting down. I remembered him from the basketball team. He gave me a quick nod, easy smile.
“Caden,” I said, returning it.
“Hell of a turnout, huh?”
“Yeah.” Polite. Nothing more.
A couple of other classmates offered passing greetings as they drifted to the buffet. I managed short replies, the kind of small talk that could be over in three words.
When a guy, whose name eluded me, but I think was in the school band, jostled past to reach the orange juice, my coffee nearly tipped, dark liquid sloshing against the rim.
“Sorry, man!” he said, grabbing a napkin.
“Don’t worry about it,” I muttered, blotting at the spill.
From across the room, I caught Emmett’s glance. Just a flicker—his eyes on me, then gone as quick as it came. No warmth. No opening. Just the reminder of a wall I’d never learned how to climb.
At the campus tour, we got to see the new wing that’d been added. The colors were bright with fresh paint and the windows were wider.
I trailed with a loose knot of classmates. Derrick Barnes pointed out the spot near the science lab where he’d set off a stink bomb in tenth grade, swearing the janitor had tried to hunt him down for weeks. Jamal Johnson cracked a joke about still having nightmares of Coach’s push-up punishments.
That sent the two of them right back into old rhythms—ribbing each other about who’d gotten softer since high school.
“Definitely you,” Derrick said, poking Jamal in the stomach.
