“So, old friends, huh?”

Scott grew silent and rested his forearms on his knees.

“Seemed like the easiest thing to say.” She stole a glance in his direction, her breath catching at the intensity in his eyes.

“You were a hell of a lot more than just a friend to me,” he said, and Emily looked away, frowning.

If she was so much more of a friend to him, then why did he leave without a trace?

There you go again, Emily scolded herself. The past was over. What was done was done. When her father died, she had learned to savor the moment, to not take the present for granted. Sometimes it was easy to lose sight of that, especially more recently, when she was too busy getting lost in the future and all of its conflicting possibilities.

She straightened her shoulders. There would be no thinking about the future today. Today was all anyone really had.

A little shiver down her spine told her that today she had everything she had ever wanted, anyway.

Recipe for

Romance

Olivia Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

OLIVIA MILES lives in Chicago with her husband, young daughter and two ridiculously pampered pups. As a city girl with a fondness for small-town charm, she enjoys incorporating both ways of life into her stories. Not a day goes by that Olivia doesn’t feel grateful for being able to pursue her passion, and sometimes she does have to pinch herself when she remembers she’s found her own Happily Ever After.

Olivia loves hearing from readers. Visit her website, www.oliviamilesbooks.com.

For my family,

for their love, support, and encouragement.

And for my editor, Susan Litman,

for her invaluable feedback and guidance.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

Reaching behind her waist to tie the strings of her crisp cotton apron in a jaunty bow, Emily Porter kept a firm eye on the clock, waiting with a quickening of her pulse until the long hand finally ticked to the twelve. She glanced to her friend and boss, Lucy Miller, who gave a nervous smile followed by a simple nod of her head. Eleven o’clock. This was it!

With a deep breath, Emily crossed the polished wood floors and turned the homemade sign on the door of the Sweetie Pie Bakery. They were officially open for business.

“I haven’t been this nervous since my wedding day,” Lucy exclaimed giddily, her voice high with sudden emotion.

“It’ll be a huge success. I just know it,” Emily said, grinning ear to ear. This was the most exciting day she’d had in a long time, and heck, it hadn’t even started yet! Her stomach fluttered with anticipation as she glanced around the sun-filled bakery. The past few weeks had flown by in such a whirlwind of activity to get everything ready for the opening day that she hadn’t stopped to stand back and take it all in. The walls were painted a creamy ivory, nearly the same shade as the sleek cabinets that lined the wall behind the gleaming glass display case now housing fifteen different kinds of pie, all baked fresh that morning, with more in stock in the kitchen. The counter was a warm rustic cherrywood, chosen to complement the spotless floor. Ten cozy tables dotted the room, all eagerly awaiting the guests who would soon be coming through the front door.

“I hope so.” Lucy sighed, glancing out the wall of windows onto Main Street.

It was the first time Emily had seen her friend express any doubts since she’d first announced she was going through with the venture. She’d been working for Lucy for as long as she could remember at the diner across the street and never in all that time had she seen her boss so flustered.

“You’ve been in the restaurant business for almost twenty years,” Emily replied, coming around the counter to get the coffee started.

“You calling me old?” Lucy winked. Then, on a sigh, she admitted, “You’re right...” She began straightening chairs that were already straight. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

Emily poured another heaping spoonful of fresh coffee grounds into the filter. “You aren’t going to let anyone down. Everyone in Maple Woods loves your diner and there’s no reason why they won’t love this place, too.”

Lucy brushed an imaginary crumb from her pink and white pinstriped apron and squared her shoulders. “What would I do without you, Em?”

A ripple of guilt crept over Emily, but she pushed the feeling aside as quickly as it formed and distracted herself by setting the coffee to brew. She glanced around the bakery once more, wishing someone would just come in already! Deciding there was nothing left to do but wait until the first customer made their appearance, she announced, “I’ll water the flower beds.”

Lucy nodded her approval, her eyes never leaving the window.

“You know what they say about a watched pot...” Emily teased as she pushed through the front door with a wide grin, feeling the warmth of late morning sunshine on her arms and face.

Bright pink tulips lined the tall windows of the storefront, and Emily gave each one a healthy drink while gazing down Main Street, which was unusually quiet for this time of day. In an hour the lunch crowd would hit, and then...then Emily didn’t know what to expect. She had visions of people pushing through a crammed door, eager to take a peek inside Maple Woods’s newest establishment.

Still smiling at the thought, she whipped around to the sound of an engine revving in the near distance. A bright red sports car was sitting at the intersection of Main Street and Maple Avenue, the noise a dramatic contrast to the peaceful and simple life of Maple Woods.

Emily watched as the car took a sharp left when the light turned, wincing as the vehicle rumbled offensively and took speed in her direction. She squinted into the sunlight as it quickly closed the distance, but as it zipped past her, her eyes shot open.

It couldn’t be...not him. After all these years, there was no way. Why now?

Emily peered at the sidewalk as she tried to logically process what she had just seen. Her stomach tightened with each ragged breath. Scott Collins hadn’t shown his face in this town in nearly twelve years. Would he really come back now, after all this time?

She pursed her lips. It had taken months of heartache and waiting to learn the answer to that question. It was about time she accepted it, too.

She swallowed the knot of disappointment that was quickly forming a lump in her throat, replacing her sudden shock. She hadn’t thought of her high school sweetheart in years, and look at her: all it took was one drive-by, one trigger to open wounds she thought had finally healed. One double take to have her thinking of those blue eyes and that lopsided grin all over again.

She shook her head and pulled open the door to the bakery. The car had been too fast. Her mind had been playing tricks on her. Besides, Lucy would have surely announced if her own brother was paying a visit.

“I just got a call from George,” Lucy announced breathlessly as soon as the door closed behind Emily. She finished untying the strings to her apron and hung it on a hook on the back of the kitchen door. “He needs me at the diner for a bit to help prep for the lunch crowd, seeing that we don’t have any customers here yet.” The last words of her statement were laced with disappointment.

Emily studied Lucy’s face thoughtfully, wondering if she should even mention her possible sighting, but her friend’s expression showed nothing that would indicate Scott’s arrival any more than her words did.

“Hurry back if you can,” Emily said as Lucy gathered her things to hurry to the diner that she owned with her husband. “I have a feeling that by tonight, we’ll be so busy, we’ll be wishing everyone would just go home.” She paused to stare out the window, idly searching for the mysterious red car. Suspicion engulfed her all over again. No one in Maple Woods drove a car like that. She turned back to Lucy. “Were you expecting anyone special for today’s grand opening?”

She knew from Lucy that her father wasn’t well...but no. Scott hadn’t so much as bothered to come back for a holiday in all these years. Surely he wasn’t suddenly sweeping into town looking to make up for lost time. Unless...

“Just the usual group of friends and family showing their support.” Lucy shrugged. She surveyed the empty room once more, her lips thinning. “I’m off, then. Call if you need me. I’ll just be across the street.”

“Will do,” Emily said, sighing. Silly girl, she thought with a shake of her head. Of course it hadn’t been Scott. He was gone, never coming back.

Besides, she was better off without him.

* * *

What the hell was he doing here?

Scott leaned on the hood of the red Porsche, his eyes narrowing as his gaze swept down Main Street and over to the town square. The charming little gazebo bordered with hydrangea bushes. The bronze statue of the town’s founder standing tall and proud under the umbrella of a magnolia tree. His stare lingered on Lucy’s Place, his gut knotting at the familiar sight. In all his life, he never expected to see that diner again, or any place in Maple Woods, really. There was no circumstance that could bring him back, he’d thought, and yet here he was.

He shook his head in disgust, angry at himself for giving in. He shouldn’t have come back. He should have stayed away. Twelve years was a long time. Longer than the innocence of some childhoods. Longer than most marriages. But twelve years wasn’t enough time to put distance between him and Maple Woods. Or the secret the town held. The one he had sworn he would take to his grave.

Scott turned and regarded his rental car, grimacing with regret. He’d rented the exact model he owned in Seattle, out of habit, but with its flashy red paint and six-figure price tag, that car didn’t belong in Maple Woods any more than he did. It would only garner more unwanted attention and speculation, and God knew this town was full of enough gossip. Sleepy little towns like this enjoyed a good scandal, or in his case, a good secret. It kept things interesting, and gave an otherwise dormant community something to talk about other than marriages and births. Deaths.

Scott scowled as his stomach began to burn again. It had been happening a lot lately—ever since Lucy had called and begged him to come back to Maple Woods, pleading with him to take over the rebuilding of the town library, which her son had damaged in a fire he had accidentally started. “Kids,” Scott had told her over the phone, when she’d tearfully explained his nephew’s involvement, but something about it touched a nerve, evoking memories that were better kept buried. Lucy wanted to set things right: Bobby was doing community service, he was working hard to get into a good college on a football scholarship, and the plans for the new library were moving along nicely...until their father got sick.

He didn’t know why he gave in to her request in the end. Maybe it was because she’d let him stay away as long as she had, maybe it was because he respected her need to set things right for the wrongdoings of her son, or maybe it was because she didn’t ask him directly to come back and be there for the family in their hour of need that he felt he couldn’t say no to her. Whatever the reason, he was here.

You’re gonna pay me back for this one, Lucy.

His breath hitched on a rueful laugh. Who was he kidding? He could never stay mad at her for long. How could he? With their seven-year age difference, they’d never had the kind of banter or rivalry one expects with siblings. Lucy had always doted on him, right up until the time she married George Miller and moved across town to start a family of her own.

She would probably be in the diner right now, filling coffee mugs with that no-nonsense grin and a twinkle in her eye. In a matter of minutes he could see her again. He had to admit the idea of it was appealing, despite the circumstances.

Scott pushed back from the car and straightened his shoulders. Hands thrust into his pockets, he began wandering down the sidewalk, taking his time in surveying the shops that lined the quaint street. He was struck with wonder as his eyes roamed over the storefronts. Absolutely nothing had changed. It was all the same. The pizza place. The flower shop. The bookstore. The fashions in the window of the clothing boutique sure had changed, though. He paused to study the dress on the mannequin with furrowed interest before his gaze slid to a wide-eyed face staring back at him through the glass. He flushed as the woman mouthed what he was nearly sure was “Oh, my God, it’s Scott Collins!” and another slack-jawed face quickly appeared on the other side of the mannequin, eyes gleaming in the ray of sunlight that poured through the shop window.

Scott frowned before turning on his heel and quickening his pace toward the diner. He remembered those girls, all right. Women now. They were both in his math class senior year. They’d been some of the prettiest girls on the cheerleading squad. From the looks of it, they’d remembered him, too.

He’d put a hundred bucks on the notion that the women in the clothing shop were calling around to every one of their old classmates right this moment and grimaced to think of the reaction he was going to elicit when he pushed through the doors of Lucy’s Place. After all, a man didn’t disappear from this town for twelve years without prompting a reaction when he returned.

He didn’t think he could stomach it, honestly.

Scott closed his eyes as his chest tightened. He could only hope that one person could be spared. If he was in and out of town quick enough, he might manage to avoid her altogether.

A chalkboard sign up ahead boasted the loopy script Grand Opening! and Scott grinned. Of course! Lucy’s new bakery. She had mentioned on the phone that she was planning to launch this week but his mind had been so muddled with the thought of his return that he’d almost forgotten. He glanced to the diner across the street, noting the swarm of customers filling every table near the windows and exhaled in relief.

He couldn’t face that diner—those curious faces and eager smiles—and now he wouldn’t have to. He strode up to the bakery and registered the open sign. One glance through the windows revealed an empty establishment: a safe haven. With any luck he’d have a chance to catch his breath and reunite with his sister without forty sets of eyes memorizing the exchange, eager to report it verbatim at the dinner table later that evening.

He glanced back up the street to where the women from the clothing shop were now standing on the sidewalk, cell phones pressed against their ears, staring at him as if he was some carnival freak. He swallowed the acidic taste that filled his mouth.

It had been a bad idea to come back here. He had known it would be difficult to face his past but he hadn’t realized how quickly the emotions he had tried to bury would bubble to the surface. Well, all the more reason to do his business and then get the hell out. And this time, he wouldn’t be back. Under any circumstances.

* * *

The bells above the front door chimed, causing Emily to jump. The cookbook she’d been holding slid to the cool marble kitchen island with a thud. Their first official customer. Nearly an hour had passed since they’d opened, and she’d just managed to relax. Now butterflies danced through her stomach as Emily quickly smoothed her apron and made her way out of the kitchen and into the cheerful storefront.

“Welcome to Sweetie Pie! What can I—” She halted abruptly, her voice locking in her throat.

Scott Collins stood before the display case, casually eyeing the selection. His hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his chinos, accentuating his broad chest and well-toned arms. It had been twelve years since she’d seen him, standing in the glow of the summer sunset, waving to her from the base of her peeling front stoop, that lopsided grin tugging at her heart as she turned her back and retreated into the shadows of her old farmhouse—but she had been wrong in thinking she wouldn’t recognize him now. He was just as handsome as he had ever been. Even more so, as luck would have it.

He lifted his sparkling blue eyes to her now, his lips already curling, causing her heart to flutter in a way she didn’t think it could anymore. His ash-brown hair was cut in a more conservative style than she remembered, and he’d bulked up in all the right places, but one thing hadn’t changed. He still had a smile that could stop traffic. And make her heart skip a beat.

Twelve years later and he still had this effect on her. Damn him.

But as his eyes met hers, his expression froze. That irresistible grin faltered.

“Emily.” His voice was gruff.

“Scott.” His name felt unnatural on her tongue. “What a surprise.” The understatement of a decade.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Scott said. “I mean...I didn’t expect to see you. Lucy hadn’t told me... This, well... It’s nice to see you,” he settled on.

Emily narrowed her gaze as he stumbled over his words, trying to draw some explanation from him, something that would clarify what had happened all those years ago. What had gone wrong? What had caused him to leave town without a word, without any hint or preparation, to break her heart and all his promises in one fell swoop?

Her heart squeezed as his turquoise gaze sliced right through her. “I didn’t expect to see you around here again,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she added, “I just started working here, actually.” She brushed aside the twinge of hurt that Lucy hadn’t mentioned it to him. That she meant so little. That she was so forgotten. “Today’s our grand opening, but I’m sure Lucy mentioned that to you.”

“Is she here?” Scott looked hopefully around the empty room.

Emily shook her head. “She’s at the diner, but she’ll be back soon. Funny, she didn’t tell me you’d be stopping by.”

Scott grinned nervously. “She probably didn’t want to jinx it. I don’t exactly have the best track record for homecomings.”

Emily’s brows inadvertently pinched. She studied him for a long moment, gathering her thoughts, forcing a deep breath to temper her racing pulse.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked, bracing herself for the answer. Lucy barely mentioned Scott, and no one else in town kept in touch with him. When Scott left home, he’d severed all ties. With his family, his friends. With her.

“Good enough,” Scott said with a shrug. He dropped his gaze. He couldn’t even look her in the eye.

Coward.

“Where are you living these days?” she tried again, disappointment tugging at her that two people who had once known every inch of each other, who finished each other’s sentences, who shared the same dreams, could be reduced to this sort of awkward conversation. They were strangers now.

“Seattle,” he replied, and Emily frowned. She knew he had gone to college in Chicago and had just assumed he’d stayed there. But all this time he had been living in Seattle, and for some reason that depressed the hell out of her.

She paused. “Married? Kids?” she asked, because there was no point in holding back. After all, she’d lost him a long time ago.

“Nope,” he said, and in spite of herself, Emily felt her shoulders relax. “So you’re still in town,” he observed.

She gazed at him, disarmed by the incongruity between his sudden reappearance and the nonchalant way he strode into town. Nothing fazed the man—not then and, it would seem, not now. Silence stretched between them; the only sound audible was the pounding of her own heart and God did she hope he couldn’t hear it, too.

“Yep.” Emily she said tightly. “Never left.” Twelve years after Scott had disappeared from Maple Woods, she was still right where he had left her. Pathetic.

Scott nodded again, dropping his gaze to the floor as his face reddened, and she knew she had hit a nerve. Well, good! It was about time that Scott gave some sort of reaction for what he had done to her, even if it was a decade or so too late.

“I always wondered about that,” he said, his voice so low she had to strain to hear. “I always wondered about you,” he said, looking up to properly meet her eyes.

Emily’s stomach rolled over, but she pushed back the temptation to dwell on his words, to extract more meaning from them than he’d probably intended. She straightened her spine.

“Well, you could have called. Or written.” She cursed herself for allowing the hurt to creep into her voice. But damn it, she couldn’t help it! His words were empty, falling flat and meaningless. She wondered briefly how many of the other things he had said to her were equally insincere. Most of them, she decided. As much as she hated to realize this, it was just the cold hard truth.

“I’ve never been good about keeping in touch. No matter how much I wanted to be,” Scott said, frowning. His eyes locked with hers until her pulse skipped and she had to look away.

He wasn’t here for her. He hadn’t come back for her. That was all that mattered.

“I’m sure Lucy’s eager to see you,” she blurted. “Half the town is at the diner for lunch. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see you walk in.” Scott was the high school football star, after all, the kid from the good family with the good looks and “things going for him.” He had always been loved around town. Especially by her.

“I had hoped to avoid the diner for a while,” he admitted, offering her a rueful grin. “At least until everyone knows I’m back in town.”

“People do love to talk around here,” she mused as she set a stack of napkins next to the cash register.

Their gazes locked and she noted the warmth of his smoky blue eyes, and felt nearly sick with humiliation at the pity she saw float through them. She didn’t want his sympathy, or anyone else’s for that matter. She wanted to break free, to start over. To live a life where she could be so many more things than this town had allowed her to be.

“Too much,” Scott said quickly, and Emily gave him a brief, tight smile. He knew the things people used to say about her family. It hung in the air, in the leaves of the maple trees that lined Main Street. It triggered family dinner conversations and prompted Sunday prayers. It was a name spoken in whisper, with lowered eyes and a shake of the head. Those poor Porters.

Emily shook herself from the darkening thoughts. “Well, I’ve just put on some fresh coffee and there’s plenty of pie. Feel free to wait here, if you’d like.”

He hesitated, shifting back on his heels. “Why not?” he suddenly said with a shrug. His eyes softened their hold on hers, causing her pulse to skip a beat.

“How about a slice of pie?” she asked nervously, squeezing her fists to keep her hands from shaking. “There’s strawberry and cream, pecan, apple crumb—oh, we have a lovely cherry here,” she offered before she could stop herself. She hadn’t even remembered until now that it was his favorite.

“You know me well,” he said with a sigh, sliding into a seat at the counter.

Emily offered him a small smile in return, then, her heart heavy, turned her back to him to plate the pie, paying careful attention in getting the first wedge just right. It was tricky, but she’d learned the knack through practice. Long before her father had died on a construction site when she was just a little girl, Sunday pie had been a ritual in her household, and she still took comfort in his memory every time she pulled one from the oven. No matter how rough the week had been, there was always some reassurance in the time-honored tradition. Pie could bring comfort in a world that could be cruel. It was something to be shared. It brought people together. In the most difficult of circumstances, she liked to think it helped keep them together, too.

“Here you go,” she said to Scott now. “I made it this morning, so it’s fresh.”

“You always made the best pies, Emily Porter.” He grinned, and his eyes shone bright on hers until he caught the heat in her expression and looked down at his plate.

She sucked in a breath. “So,” she said briskly. “What brings you back to town?” It certainly wasn’t her. He’d made a promise—dozens of beautiful, hope-filled promises—and broken each one right along with her heart.

“My dad asked me to help oversee the construction of the library.” His jaw twitched and he scratched at a day’s worth of stubble. “Well, Lucy asked, actually.”

“Lucy mentioned once that you were in construction, just like you’d always planned.” She frowned at the thought. Why couldn’t he have stayed in Maple Woods and taken over Collins Construction, the family business? It was a fine company, well respected by the town. Her own father had proudly worked there.

Scott paused. “My father isn’t up to the job at the moment.”

Emily nodded. Scott and Lucy’s parents had never been warm to her, but she’d decided a long time ago not to take it personally. Her father had worked for Mr. Collins for more than fifteen years before the accident on the job took his life when she was eight years old. It had been human error, the police had said, his own negligence in failing to put the emergency brakes on the excavator that rolled down the slope and killed him. Mr. Collins had been there that day. He’d dealt with the police, and as a courtesy to the family he had helped cover the funeral expenses, but he had been tense around her family in passing ever since.

“Sticking around for long?” She held her breath, waiting for an answer she knew deep down wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

“Only as long as I have to.”

Emily held his sharp gaze and then lowered her eyes with a slow nod of her head as her heart began to tug. He was still the same old Scott. The same charming guy with dreams beyond Maple Woods. And she was still the same old Emily, still living in the same small town, still waiting for life to really start.

Well, it was time to do something about that.

* * *

Of all the people he had hoped to avoid in this town, Emily was at the top of his list. So he supposed it made sense that she was the first person he ran into. The one girl who had crawled under his skin and remained there. No matter how much he wanted to resist her, to turn his back and leave, he just couldn’t.

He rested an elbow on the counter, grateful for its barrier. If it wasn’t there, keeping them apart, he wasn’t quite sure he would have been able to refrain himself from greeting her with a hug, to feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, to hold her close and know that she was real and that she was okay. That no matter what had happened, what he had done, that she was all right.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way with them. They’d had plans—plans he’d intended to stick to—until that horrible summer night, his last night in this town, when his entire world came crashing down around him and Emily was lost to him forever.

Swallowing hard, he allowed his gaze to roam over her as she repositioned the pie plate on its stand and swept some crumbs off the counter, her glossy chestnut waves cascading over her shoulders. He couldn’t peel his eyes from her. His high school sweetheart—the girl who interrupted his dreams and haunted his waking hours was standing right in front of him, looking more beautiful than ever.

But time hadn’t changed one thing. Emily was still off-limits.

“So what have you been up to all this time?” he asked, even though he didn’t want to hear it confirmed. Emily had always had dreams. Dreams beyond this small town. Dreams that hadn’t come true.

“Oh, not much,” she said. “I worked at the diner before this, but you might have known that.”

His stomach twisted at her words. Emily was the smartest girl he’d known back in school. She should be running a restaurant of her own, not waiting tables. She should have gone to college, pursued her passions—opportunities she would have had if her father had lived. If his father hadn’t deprived their family of insurance money that was rightfully owed to them as a result of the tragic accident. If Scott hadn’t been on that construction site at all the day that Mr. Porter...

“No,” he managed. “No, Lucy hadn’t mentioned it.”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before she pulled back and leaned against the far counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ah, well, I suppose you and Lucy have better things to talk about than some girl you used to know.”

The hurt in her tone sliced through him, but the pain in her eyes was his true punishment. He’d earned it. He’d deserved it. He’d take it.

“You were more than some girl, Em.”

She lifted her eyes to his, holding his stare for a beat, and then shrugged.

“Well.” He sighed, “I should probably brace myself for the gossip mill.” He gave a tight smile and set his fork on the edge of the empty plate. “If Lucy knew I was already in town and hadn’t come to see her yet, she’d probably never forgive me.”

“Probably for the best,” Emily said softly. “It looks busy over there today. I won’t be surprised if she’s kept longer than she wants to be.”

Scott stood and reached into his pocket for his wallet but Emily frowned and held up her hand. “No, please. It’s on the house.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, frowning. Take the money, Emily. Take what is owed you, what you should have had a long time ago. Take what my family stole from you. “It’s your opening day. I want to help.”

But Emily was adamant, shaking her head. “Lucy would never forgive me,” she insisted, falling back on his own words, and he knew she had him there.

“I guess I’ll get going then,” he said, but he didn’t move toward the door. For twelve years he had done nothing but imagine this moment, the things he would say to her if he ever saw her again. But he couldn’t say them. And that was why he had never come back.

“Bye, Scott,” she said coolly.

He gave a tight smile. “Bye, Em.” He turned and walked to the door, pushed through it out into the warm glow of the morning sun and crossed the street, focused on the diner in front of him growing nearer with each step, his heart thudding in his chest.

He knew this feeling. It was the same one he’d had when he’d packed up his bags and gotten into his car that late-summer night twelve years ago after he’d overheard his parents talking about Richard Porter’s death—after he’d found out what he had done, what they had covered up for nine years, only revealing the details once it was too late, once he was already in love with Emily, once he was eighteen and old enough to feel the toll of his actions, however unintentional. He’d sped out of town before he had a chance to look back, to think of what he was leaving behind, his heart breaking as he swore he would never love again.

He didn’t deserve love.

And he certainly didn’t deserve Emily.

There was no amount of time or distance that could put Emily Porter behind him. Oh, he’d tried all right. He’d gone to the far end of the country, putting as many miles between him and Maple Woods as possible, only his dark, dirty secret to keep him company and serve as an aching memory of everyone he’d left behind. Of why he could never return.

He was the reason Emily had grown up without a father. He was the reason she’d been stuck in the mercy of this town and all its limitations, and that wasn’t something he could ever forget. But it was something he would have to set right. Once and for all.

Chapter Two

The steady trill of the alarm clock pulled Emily from a deep slumber. She blindly slapped at it and rolled over in bed. The grand opening of Sweetie Pie had kept her at work longer than she’d expected, plus she’d stayed late to prep for today. Poor Lucy had been so busy bouncing from the diner to the bakery that she had barely stopped to take a breath. They hadn’t even had a moment to discuss Scott’s return.

Scott. At the memory of his startling arrival the day before, Emily’s eyes popped open, and she sprang out of bed. She showered and dressed quickly, quietly, so as not to wake her sister Julia, who rarely emerged from her bed before eight. Tiptoeing through the living room, she paused at the stack of yesterday’s mail piled neatly on the small table just beside the front door. She had been so preoccupied with seeing Scott again that she had failed to check the mailbox on her way home last night. It wasn’t like her, and with a frown she realized the hold he still had over her nearly a dozen years later.

Recalling his words yesterday, she shook her head and silently scolded herself. She’d been a fool to pin any hopes on that man. There was nothing in Maple Woods for Scott—there never had been, it seemed—and he made it very clear that he wasn’t planning on staying in town for long.

Well, neither am I.

Her heart began to thump as she picked up the stack of crisp envelopes and began thumbing through them. When she reached the end, she sighed—possibly in relief, possibly in disappointment. She wasn’t sure which anymore. It had been three months since she’d sent her application to the cooking school in Boston, and as the weeks passed without a response, her anxiety grew stronger. So many hopes were hitched to this opportunity that a part of her was happy her fate wasn’t yet sealed. It was good to have a dream, and this had been hers for as long as she could remember. She wasn’t ready for it to be over just yet.

The bakery still wouldn’t be open for another two hours, but the day was still young and there was plenty of work to do. Lucy was a pie-making expert—there was no denying her skill—but when she’d tasted a few of Emily’s creations, she had decided to feature those each day, as well. Emily had free rein on what she could create.

Emily gave a sad smile whenever she thought of the irony of the situation—who would have known she’d get such an opportunity just when she might be able to finally break free of this town once and for all?

Determined to think about nothing but the second day at Sweetie Pie, she rolled up her sleeves and went into the kitchen. A couple hours of straight-up baking, fortified by strong coffee, were sure to banish the blues that had set in when Scott walked through that door yesterday.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re up!” Julia gushed, bursting into the kitchen half an hour later, already dressed for her job at the yarn shop. Her cheeks were flushed and her green eyes flashed with excitement as she quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail.

“Good morning to you, too,” Emily said mildly as she finished slicing pears into a bowl and showered them with sugar.

Julia’s eyes danced. “You will never believe who is back in town!”

Emily smiled as she measured out a cup of flour, then diced a stick of cold butter and pulsed the mixture in the food processor with a teaspoon each of sugar and salt. This was a little game of theirs, and even at their age, it was endlessly amusing, adding a bit of suspense to an otherwise routine life. Julia would come home with a juicy bit of gossip, usually about who was dating whom, and question by question, Emily would narrow it down until the titillating conclusion was reached. Sadly, on this occasion, there was no buildup of clues; Emily already knew the answer.

“Scott Collins,” she said and immediately wished she had just played along when she saw Julia’s face fall with disappointment.

“You knew?” she cried. “And here I nearly shook you awake last night to tell you!”

“He came into the bakery yesterday,” Emily said.

“Did you speak to him?” Julia’s eyes were wide with interest. “What was he like?”

Emily heaved a sigh. “Not much different than I remembered,” she admitted, catching the wistful edge to her tone.

“Still a hunk then, huh?” Julia dipped her finger into the sugar canister, and Emily rolled her eyes.

“Still a hunk, as you so delicately put it.”

Julia regarded her for a long moment, a dreamy look creeping over her face, as if she were lost in time, clinging to a memory. “Sorry,” she said, straightening herself. “I know it’s a touchy subject.”

“I was seventeen,” Emily reminded her. “It didn’t mean anything.” Clearly.

“Well, it meant something to me.” Julia lifted her chin, her eyes suddenly darkening at the memory. ”I still haven’t forgotten the way he took off without so much as a goodbye.”

“Really?” Emily narrowed her gaze in mock confusion. “Because you seemed to have completely forgotten about that episode when you came bounding in here two minutes ago.” She flashed her sister a rueful grin as she formed the dough into a disk and wrapped it in cellophane. She set it in the fridge to chill, swapping it for one that had cooled, and plucked her rolling pin from the drawer beneath the stove.

“Well, I admit, I did get a little swept up in the memory of how handsome he was,” Julia explained, and Emily bit her lip to keep from laughing. “But the truth is that he treated you like a first-rate jerk, leaving you like that, without any explanation.”

They were supposed to have gone to a movie the next night. Emily could still remember sitting on the steps of her front porch, waiting. She’d called his house, worried he might be sick or worse—that he’d had an accident. It was a fear of hers ever since she was little, since her father had died. Instead she was told in clipped tones by Scott’s father that he was gone. He’d left town the night before, and they didn’t know when he’d be back. If he’d be back. And he never did come back. Until now.

Emily shrugged off the twinge of hurt with a smile. “Please, Julia. That was ancient history. We were kids.”

Julia watched her carefully. “If you say so.”

“Are you accusing me of still pining after Scott Collins?”

Julia tipped her head. “I just thought that you would be interested to know he was back in town. That’s all.” She paused. “So...is he married?”

“No,” Emily said, stirring more forcefully.

“And you know this—”

“Because he told me,” Emily huffed, whipping around to face her sister. “Because I asked, okay. I...asked.” It was a normal question, she told herself, but probably not when it was posed to the man whom she had once imagined an entire future with. His answer had filled her with a surge of hope that had no business being there.

A spark passed through Julia’s bright green eyes. “Huh. Interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Julia shrugged. “Nothing at all.” She smiled conspiratorially and then breezed out the door, as if there was nothing left of the subject to discuss.

Emily shook her head and chuckled softly. Leave it to her sister to get carried away with Scott’s reemergence and the impact it might have on her. Of course she was interested to know that Scott was back. More interested than she should be. And that was just the problem.

* * *

Before she left the house, Emily took extra care in brushing her hair and selecting just the right shade of lipstick. It was silly, she knew, and she was probably jinxing herself with the effort, but if there was a chance of seeing Scott again today, she wanted to be ready.

Let him see what he’s been missing.

“Well, don’t you look pretty today!” Lucy proclaimed as Emily pushed through the back door of the bakery into the kitchen.

Emily shrugged off the compliment with a wry grin and tied an apron around her waist. “What’s the plan for day two?”

Lucy regarded her suspiciously for a lingering moment and then, with a lift of her brow, changed the subject. Emily made a mental note to swipe off her lipstick the first chance she had. She felt suddenly self-conscious and foolish and overly aware of herself. She had never liked being the center of attention, and here she was, trying to be front and center in Scott’s mind.

“Mayor Pearson agreed to the pie toss,” Lucy said, and Emily smiled. Flyers and word of mouth went far in a small town such as this, but a little promotion helped with a new business, too. “I’m hoping it will pull in more customers today.”

“I’m sure it will help get the word out.” Emily thought of how the mayor prided himself on Maple Woods’s sense of community. “People might love him, but I doubt few would resist the chance to see him covered in whipped cream.”

“I’m hoping so.” Lucy studied her inventory list. “A fresh shipment of apricots arrived this morning, so let’s use those up where we can.”

Emily carefully removed the three pies she had baked that morning from their boxes. “I made a pear-and-cherry tart this morning.” She began plating it for display. “I’ll start prepping a few apricot pies next. A lattice crust would be nice for those, don’t you think?”

“What would I do without you?” Lucy said on a sigh of content.

Emily lowered her head, unable to answer the question knowing the information she was withholding, and pulled a canister of flour off the shelf, waiting for the wave of guilt to subside. She was getting ahead of herself, she finally reasoned. There was nothing to feel bad about yet. She might not even get into that school in Boston. There was no use getting worked up over something that might never even happen.

Feeling slightly better, she went about her task as Lucy brewed coffee, the pair working in companionable silence for a while until Emily finally dared to observe, “So...Scott’s back in town.”

Lucy whipped around. “Can you believe it?”

Emily opened her eyes wide. “Not really.” She forced back the image of his handsome face by gathering ingredients from the refrigerator. “You must be really happy,” she managed, hoping Lucy didn’t detect the note of hurt that laced her words. She couldn’t help it. She still wasn’t over it. Twelve years later and that man still hadn’t explained himself! Was he so beyond reproach?

She winced. He probably didn’t think she cared anymore. After all, he obviously didn’t.

Lucy huffed out a breath. “Yesterday was quite a day. The opening of this place, then seeing Scott again...” She paused. “I had to really work on him to come back here at all and a part of me still didn’t think he really would—I guess I didn’t dare to believe it until I finally saw him.”

“It’s been a long time.” Emily nodded in understanding.

“Too long. When he first left town, I kept hoping he would be back one day. Then I guess I just learned to give up on that hope.”

Emily looked down. That made two of us.

Her heart began to ache in that all too familiar way as she washed the apricots and set them to dry. It was the same feeling she got every time she thought of Scott over the years. Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have just stayed away forever? Surely at some point she would have forgotten the way his grin could make her heart skip a beat, or the way her hair rustled when he whispered in her ear. A dozen years might not have done the trick, but a dozen more might have...

She watched Lucy silently, wondering if she would say more, but Lucy just tied her apron strings, grabbed two pies, and tapped her hip against the swinging kitchen door. Emily sighed and got to work herself. She had always wondered why Scott had stayed away, but it wasn’t her place to ask Lucy. Anyone who avoided Maple Woods for a dozen years had a reason. A big one.

Her heart dropped as she pulled out the cutting board. If Scott was that determined to put Maple Woods behind him, and get out of town no sooner than he had returned, it seemed like wishful thinking that he might ever be back again.

She began to measure out the sugar thoughtfully, reminding herself that she might not be in town much longer, either. Some things just weren’t meant to be.

* * *

Scott locked the door to the apartment above the diner where Lucy was letting him stay and jogged down the stairs to Main Street. He eyed the bakery across the street and wavered slightly, wondering if he should give in to the temptation of what was tucked inside, his mind on anything but the pie.

Quickly, he looked away, assessing his options. He’d slept late, and by the time he’d dragged himself out of the comfortable solitude of his room, it was already nearing lunchtime. He was prolonging the inevitable trek to his father’s office, but eventually he would have to head over—there was no getting around it.

Once he thought he would continue the legacy of Collins Construction, follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. Back then his plan was simple: he would marry Emily Porter, settle down in Maple Woods and earn an honest living at his family’s company. But that was before he knew what his family had done to Emily’s. Before he knew the part he had played in her father’s death when he was just a kid, playing on the machinery, hanging out on his dad’s job site, too oblivious to know the truth. Before he knew there was nothing honest about that company. Or his father. Or himself.

“Scott!” Lucy’s familiar voice jarred him. He hated to think what her opinion must be of him now—she probably assumed he had gotten too successful for a small town like this, that he was better than it somehow, that he couldn’t be bothered to make time for people who had meant so much to him in the past, including her. She couldn’t be more wrong.

It was easier this way, he told himself, better that she wasn’t in on the family secret. It was easier for everyone he cared about to be left out of his mess. Let them think he went off to college and never looked back, that he didn’t think of Maple Woods every damn day of his life, that he didn’t wonder how different things might have been. Let them think he was happy in Seattle, that city life fit him in a way Maple Woods never could. Let them all think what they wanted, so long as they didn’t know the real reason he had left.

A man was dead because of him, and the surviving family had suffered as a result.

He forced a smile and crossed the street to stand next to his sister. “I was thinking about grabbing something to eat at the diner,” he said as he approached the sidewalk.

“You’re not sick of my cooking after dinner last night?”

Scott smiled at the recollection of sitting around Lucy’s old farm table with her husband and son, talking and laughing long into the night like any other family would. A few times he’d caught himself thinking that maybe he could have a life like this, but that must have been the wine talking. There was no room for him in this place.

“I haven’t had a meal like that in years.” He grinned.

“Well, you can have another tonight, then. I’m going over to Mom and Dad’s for dinner after work.”

Scott’s gut twisted as he held her eyes, carefully selecting his excuse. Lucy stood before him unwavering, her mouth a thin line. She knew what she was doing. And he didn’t like it one bit.

“Lucy, don’t do this to me.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. He broke her gaze and glanced down the street, desperate for an escape.

Her eyes were sharp when he turned his attention back to her. “Dad’s dying, Scott,” she said firmly, her gaze narrowing in disappointment. “The treatments aren’t working. The cancer has spread.”

“You know we don’t get along,” Scott insisted, but Lucy was shaking her head, clearly not buying it.

“Scott, I’ve put up with this nonsense for long enough,” she said, her voice steely. “Whatever happened between you and our parents is old news. You were a teenager then, now you’re a thirty-year-old man. Start acting like one,” she snapped.

Scott took a step back, his eyes flashing with indignation. He forced himself to remember that Lucy didn’t know the part his father had played in the events of the past. He’d kept in touch with her over the years, but he made sure to keep their conversations light, and mostly about her, George and Bobby. “You know I came back for you. You asked for my help in the rebuilding of the library, and I’m here. I’ll see it through, but please don’t ask anything more.”

Lucy’s eyes softened. “I know, and I’m so grateful, Scott. Honestly, I am.” She lowered her eyes to the ground, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve lived with so much guilt knowing that Bobby accidentally caused that fire.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know what we would have done if Max Hamilton wasn’t funding the project in exchange for some land George inherited. You can’t imagine how that felt...the relief.”

No, Scott thought grimly. He couldn’t say he did know how that would feel. There was no stranger to swoop into town and clear up his mess, the way Max had apparently helped so much since moving to Maple Woods after the holidays. Scott couldn’t rebuild the past. He couldn’t raise the dead. There was no righting his wrongs.

“It means everything to me that you’re here to take over the job, Scott. Don’t lose sight of that,” she explained.

Scott eyed her warily. “I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”

Lucy gave a sad smile. “Don’t let this chance pass you by. It’s been a long time. Let things go. Don’t do something you’ll regret forever.” She held his gaze, and he almost felt his stance weaken, his resolve waver. Almost.

Scott shook his head adamantly, feeling the flush of heat spread up his neck. “I don’t regret staying away, Lucy.” And he didn’t. His father might not have trouble looking people in the eye, knowing the part he played in one of the town’s greatest tragedies, but Scott would rather give up everything he loved than build his life around a lie.

“Well, if you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me!” she said, her eyes suddenly filling with tears as fury blazed bright.

Scott cursed inwardly, feeling the strain of her emotion, the weight of his burden. After a long pause, he said tightly, “No promises.”

Lucy relaxed her stance. She nodded slowly, saying nothing more as she reached out to take his arm. It took everything in him not to break down then and there, to tell her everything. To shed the weight he had carried for so long. To divulge every last detail of what his parents told him that awful night—what their family had done to the Porters. Those poor Porters.

“Come into the bakery,” she said to him. “We’ve got a special event as part of the opening week and I don’t want you to miss it.”

Scott hesitated. “You’re not working at the diner this morning?”

“Not if I can help it.” Lucy bent down to clip a sprig of blue hydrangea from a whiskey barrel planter. “I barely spent an hour at Sweetie Pie without being interrupted yesterday, they were so lost without me at the diner. I’m hoping things go a little smoother today.”

Without another word, she pushed through the front door, frowning until Scott forced himself to follow. His pulse skipped when he saw Emily standing behind the counter, looking just as pretty as the day before. She met his gaze with a small smile and something deep within his gut stirred. He looked away, around the crowded room, noticing that nearly every table was filled. There was a cheerful buzz to the room, a soft tinkling of music in the background, and the sweet aroma of pie and coffee to make everyone, including him, feel at home.

Home. He hadn’t thought of that word in a very long time. It was a vague idea of something he wasn’t sure he had anymore. He hadn’t dared to think of Maple Woods as home since he’d left, and his condo in Seattle was just a place to live.

“Emily!” Lucy called to Scott’s horror. His breath locked in his tightened chest. “Mind getting Scott settled? I’ve got to check on that order of strawberries. We should have had them an hour ago.”

Emily’s face blanched and she darted her gaze from Lucy to Scott and back again. “Sure,” she murmured as she finished plating a slice of pie for an impatient customer.

Scott turned to his sister. “I came in here to visit with you, Lucy,” he said quietly.

“Emily will take good care of you. If you let her.” Lucy winked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back.

“I’m just saying that Emily makes a damn good pie,” she said airily. “Last I checked, that was the purest way to a man’s heart.”

Scott chuckled in spite of himself. “Lucy! Please!”

“What? I seem to remember you being awfully smitten with her at one point. I always thought you were going to marry her, in fact.” She lifted an eyebrow and turned away from him with a coy shrug, shutting down the conversation.

Scott shook his head and reluctantly walked over to the display case, sparing an awkward smile for Emily. Guilt and shame haunted him, and he tried desperately to shrug off the unwanted feelings.

“Hi.” Emily’s soft voice dragged him from his darkening thoughts and he quickly recovered, perking up as he let his gaze roam over her pretty face. His stomach tightened as his attention lingered on the smoky gray eyes and that plump, upturned mouth stained a shade of red that excited him more than it should.

“Hey.” He stared into his mug as she filled it to the rim. Just the way he liked it. His breath hitched as he caught sight of her feminine curves beneath the apron she wore, and he tried to recall what it had felt like to hold her waist and feel her body against his. The memory was so close, but just out of reach.

She held his gaze, not betraying any outward interest, and Scott felt a flicker of disappointment. She was being hospitable. Playing her role. Doing her job. He wanted to pull her into a back room, somewhere they could talk, and explain everything. He wanted to atone for the pain he had caused, to make it up to her—somehow. He searched her face, imagining her sweet expression crumbling before his eyes as he delivered the crushing news, and his gut twisted. He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t, but to never tell her...

“So, I don’t see you for twelve years and now it’s twice in two days,” she said, shaking her head on a sigh. “The pie must be even better than I thought.”

Scott grimaced at the edge of hurt in her tone and took a quick sip of the steaming coffee. “Lucy invited me in,” he began. “I don’t want to upset you. I can leave if you want.”

Fire sparked her eyes. “Leave?” She chuckled, a soft icy sound that pulled at his chest. She really did hate him, and who could blame her? “Leaving seems to be something you’ve had practice with,” she said evenly.

Scott drew a ragged breath and ran a hand over his face, every inch of his heart aching to set her straight, to tell her the truth. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“Believe it or not I had my reasons.” He cleared his throat and finished the rest of his coffee. His body temperature was starting to rise. He needed to get out of here. Even his father’s office would be better than this place. Anything was better than seeing that hurt expression in Emily’s eyes.

Emily leaned a hip against the counter and folded her arms. “I’m all ears.”

The knot in his gut tightened. Not now. Not like this. Not ever. Emily could never know what he had done, the part he had played in her misfortune. The losses she had suffered at his hand. “It was a long time ago, Em,” he finally said.

After a beat, she gave him a withering smile and slapped a hand over his empty mug, pulling it toward her. “You’re right,” she said, before turning her back on him. “And I stopped holding my breath before you’d even crossed the state line.”

He scowled. “You don’t mean that.”

“Is it really so hard to believe?” She snatched a rag from under the counter and began scrubbing furiously at the polished wood counter. “We were kids, Scott. It was a fling, it was fun, and then it was over.”

“Emily.” She couldn’t mean those harsh words. She couldn’t. They’d been in love. “It wasn’t a fling.”

She stopped scrubbing, but her hand remained clenched on the rag. “Maybe it wasn’t. But it was just as meaningless in the end.”

She turned on her heel and walked away before he could open his mouth to reply. From the entrance to the kitchen, Scott saw Lucy smiling at him, her eyes full of hope. He wrapped a hand around his neck and rubbed at the tense and aching muscles.

If Lucy thought she was playing matchmaker here, she was doing a very bad job of it.

* * *

The nerve of that man!

Emily’s blood pounded in her ears as she assisted the next customer on autopilot. From the corner of her eye she could see Scott, sitting at the counter, fingers tented before him, his mouth a thin, grim line.

What was he still doing here? Why wouldn’t he just leave?

She lifted her chin and turned away from him once more, denying the temptation to steal another glance. So he knew he had hurt her, knew how badly he had broken her heart. And now—now!—he wanted to spare her? As if he assumed she was still holding on, still licking her wounds from a dozen years ago.

She gritted her teeth. He knew her better than she wished he did in that moment.

She turned her head slightly, waiting to take another quick peek, her pulse quickening as she did so. Yep, still there all right. Well, no bother. He was here for Lucy, after all. And the freaking pie. Honestly!

He looked up, catching her stare. Flustered, Emily spilled the coffee she had been pouring all over the counter. She hissed out a curse and grabbed a rag, hiding her burning face behind the curtain of hair spilling from her ponytail as she wiped up her mess, trying to ignore the tremble in her hand.

Damn you, Scott Collins! After everything he had done to her—the way he had treated her—she was still irresistibly, hopelessly, foolishly attracted to this man.

A commotion was starting near the door and Emily looked up to see Jack Logan and Cole Davis hollering to Scott, both men grinning ear to ear as they strode past the counter and greeted the town’s prodigal son with slaps on the back and high fives. Emily bit back a scowl. The kid who put Maple Woods on the map with that tie breaking touchdown senior year had graced them with his presence. A photograph of Scott’s victorious win still hung in the principal’s office.

She listened passively as the men caught up, making promises to meet up for beers one night, to talk about the good ol’ times. Her heart fell, wondering why the same hadn’t been offered to her. Hadn’t she been just as much of a mark on that time in his life as his teammates? Hadn’t she been more?

“Emily, we have a problem,” Lucy announced, coming out of the kitchen flushed and breathless.

Emily studied her in alarm. “What is it?” she asked, realizing that Scott had stopped talking with Jack and Cole long enough to eavesdrop.

“It’s the mayor. He has a last-minute meeting. He isn’t going to make it.” She gestured around the packed room of customers, all waiting for a chance to partake in the pie toss. “I hate to let them down. Our first week in business!”

Emily opened her mouth to put her boss at ease when Scott cut in. “What’s the problem, Lucy?” he asked.

Emily trained her eye on Lucy, refusing to feed into his concern. So he felt like being nice now. Felt like playing hero. Where was this chivalry twelve years ago? Where was his sense of responsibility then?

“It’s the pie toss,” Lucy explained. “We seem to be missing our target.”

“Let Scott do it!” Jack suggested, and Cole laughed heartily, slapping Scott soundly on the back.

The men grabbed his shoulders, cajoled him until his face was red and his smile was broad enough to reveal that elusive dimple she had almost managed to forget. He held up his hands in mock defeat. “Okay, okay,” he said, grinning. “But only as a favor for my sister.”

A cheer went up in the room at this and Lucy beamed, leading the group through the front door to where a chair had been set up on the sidewalk for all of Maple Woods to see. If this didn’t pique interest and generate business, Emily wasn’t sure what would. Already a few curious customers from Lucy’s Place had emerged from the open door, lifting their chins to take in the show across the street.

“Don’t go too easy on the whipped cream,” Jack advised her, and she slid him a smile. Oh, she didn’t intend to. “Hey,” he said, tipping his head. “Didn’t you and Scott used to date?”

Emily felt her cheeks warm, but before she had a chance to shut down the question, Jack turned to Scott, who was settling himself into the folding chair. “It’s a real reunion over here, today. You and Emily used to date, didn’t you?”

Emily filled another pie plate, holding her breath. Seconds seemed to pass as she waited for Scott’s answer, her heart racing with expectation.

“Yeah, we used to hang out,” he finally said.

Her hands went still. They used to hang out? Three years of her life, all those days spent laughing and talking, curling into each other’s arms, dreaming of a future. They were just hanging out!

Tears prickled the backs of her eyes, whether from fury or sadness, she wasn’t even sure anymore. She thought it had hurt when he disappeared without a trace twelve years ago, but hearing him dismiss their relationship all over again only broke her heart for the second time.

She set the pie plate down and turned to him, resting her hands on her hips. Watching him sit there with that expectant grin on his face that used to be reserved just for her, practically basking in the attention of half the town who had gathered to see Scott Collins—back at long last!—she felt her heart begin to rip all over again.

“Who’s up first?” Lucy called out, and a shuffling and nervous laughter fell over the crowd.

“Why don’t I kick this off?” Emily heard herself say.

Scott swiveled to her. Dread clouded his eyes, but there was no denying the amused twitch in that cocky grin.

Setting her jaw, Emily swiftly picked up a pie plate and walked to the line Lucy had drawn out in white chalk. Without waiting for a signal, she hurled the plate in Scott’s direction. Whipped cream splattered at his feet.

A rumble went up in the crowd, but Emily barely noticed it. Her chest heaved with each breath as she stared at him, remembering the way his mouth used to curve when he saw her across the room, the way his brow would lift ever so slightly, the way he would quietly come up to her and place one hand on her hip. Lifting her chin, Emily marched back into the bakery, ignoring the way the crowd hushed and then slowly started to whisper with speculation. She walked around the counter, grabbed Scott’s beloved cherry pie from its stand, and beelined back to the door. An audible gasp released from the crowd as she stepped onto the sidewalk, but they were of no concern to her at the moment. There was only one person on her mind, and he had it coming. This was well overdue.

“Emily—” Scott’s old buddy Jack started, but she nailed him with a hard look and he clamped his mouth.

She positioned herself before she lost her nerve, but the adrenaline pumping in her veins showed no signs of slowing. She locked eyes with her target, noticing the way his brow had furrowed to a point. He let out a nervous chuckle. This is for stealing my heart, Scott. She pulled her arm back, fixing her eye on that lopsided grin that quickly vanished as she released the aluminum pan, sending it flying in his direction. And that’s for breaking it.

She knew even before it hit him square in the face that her aim was perfect. And he knew it, too—she saw his expression dissolve into one of frozen shock just before the pie slammed into him, dead center, knocking him slightly to the left. Bright red filling oozed from the sides of the flimsy pan as it slowly slid down his nose. Scott swiped at the cherries and bits of crust that clung to his face, his eyes wide and confused, and for a moment, Emily almost felt sorry for what she had done. But then she remembered. He was no friend of hers. And she had nothing to apologize for. That was his department.

The crowd was laughing now, but Emily wasn’t amused. Blindly muttering something to Lucy about going back inside to man the counter, she wove through the throng of onlookers, ducked into the empty storefront, and pushed past the swinging door to the kitchen. And only then, only when she was sure no one would ever see or ever know, did she allow herself to cry over Scott Collins.

Chapter Three

Scott pulled his car to a stop and shut off the ignition, sighing as he leaned back against the smooth leather headrest. The evening sunlight reflected off the windows of his parents’ house, making it impossible to see inside. He felt an odd sensation of disbelief that he had once lived here at all, much less that he had spent the first eighteen years of his life knowing every inch of the house by heart, thinking of it as home. Still one of the prettiest houses in all of Maple Woods, time was obviously posing a challenge for its upkeep: white paint peeled from various corners of the siding; grass was sprouting up through a few cracks in the brick path leading up to the center door; the yard needed weeding and the bushes needed to be pruned.

Lucy’s car was parked at the top of the driveway, and Scott couldn’t fight the twinge of resentment he felt toward her. She had won—dragged him here against his will. She didn’t understand the circumstances that had kept him away, but why the heck couldn’t she just respect his wishes? Wasn’t he doing enough for her already?

Scott gritted his teeth. It’s now or never. He pulled on the latch and thrust the car door open, closing it behind him with quiet force. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode up the cracking path to the faded green door, wondering if he should knock or just try the handle. Hesitating, he knocked twice, peering through the slender window that framed the door for any sign of activity inside. Seconds later, an older woman with gray hair and a plump middle entered the front hall. When she saw him through the glass, she stopped walking and her hand flew to her heart.

His mother.

Instinctively, he pulled back from the window. He ran his fingers coarsely through his hair. The last time he had seen her she was an attractive woman in her late forties. Now she was sixty. Rationally he knew it had been a long time. He just hadn’t realized the toll the years had taken on her.

The door flung open and his mother’s bright blue eyes locked with his. Blinking back tears, she leaned forward and grabbed him, squeezing him tight to a body that still felt familiar.

As soon as he could, he pulled back, standing uncomfortably in the door frame, allowing her gaze to roam over him with nostalgic appraisal, as though she had just stumbled upon a once-cherished childhood toy in the attic. He hated this. He hated this. He had thought he had cut off his feelings a long time ago—that he would be strong enough to deal with this reunion if it ever came—but the ache in his chest proved otherwise.

“It’s so good to see you,” his mother said breathlessly, and Scott managed a weak smile.

“The house looks nice,” he offered, stepping into the hall. He glanced around. Everything was exactly the same. Every painting hung on its same hook, every chair sat planted in the same position. Yet somehow, it was all different.

“Ah well, I’ve been meaning to get someone out here to take care of the yard now that...” she trailed off and inhaled sharply, closing the door behind him and then smoothing her hands over her skirt.

Scott balled his hands at his sides. “Is Lucy in the kitchen?” he asked, following the smell that was wafting from the back of the house.

Lucy was standing at the big island in the middle of the room, tossing a salad. Her eyes were unnaturally bright when she smiled. When she said hello, her voice was a notch higher than usual. It was then that he realized she was nervous. Well, she was the one insisting on this awkward arrangement. He wasn’t sure why she thought it would be easy. For any of them.

“I see you’re all cleaned up,” she observed.

Scott shrugged. He had hoped to avoid thinking of Emily for just one night, but that was impossible. Being here in this house only stirred his emotions to the surface. “Keep tossing pies at me and I’ll never get into the office to get the library project under way,” he warned.

“Don’t worry,” Lucy replied. “That’s it for the promotional stunts. But between you and me, I think you were a bigger hit than the mayor would have been.”

“Glad I could help.” He glanced around the room. “Where are George and Bobby?”

“George’s at the diner. Bobby’s studying for a test tomorrow.”

Scott nodded. Topic closed, the room fell silent again. He released a heavy sigh. “Where’s...”

“Dad?” Lucy lifted an eyebrow. Tight-lipped, she returned her attention to the salad. “He’s upstairs.”

His mother appeared in the arched doorway that led to the dining room. “He’s so pleased to know you’re here,” she added.

That makes one of us.

Scott rolled his shoulders, pushing back the resentment. He was angry at his parents—angry to the bone—but damn it if a part of him didn’t ache when he thought of them. It was easier, with time and distance, to just focus on the bad—on the event that had severed his ties with them for good. But all it took was one hint of his mother’s smile, the lull of her voice, to make him wish with all his might that things could have been different, that he could have just loved his parents and let them love him. That he didn’t have to look at them and be reminded of everything that had been lost instead.

He set his jaw and turned to the window, looking out over the backyard that stretched to the wood. Tulips had sprung up around the edges of the house providing a cheerful contrast to the situation within.

“Your father won’t be able to come down for dinner,” his mother was saying as she pulled three place mats from the basket on the baker’s rack. “We’ll take some soup up to him after he rests.”

They wandered silently into the dining room, his mother taking her usual place at the head of the table closest to the kitchen, he and Lucy sliding into their childhood seats on autopilot. Scott unfolded the thick cloth napkin and placed it in his lap. “Looks delicious, Lucy,” he said as she handed him a plate with a large steaming square of lasagna.

“Lucy’s been keeping us well fed,” his mother said through a tight smile. “More food than one person can eat, really,” she continued, her voice growing sad. “Have you been over to the office yet?” his mother continued.

It both amazed and saddened Scott that his relationship with his mother had come to this: polite, stilted conversation. As though there was never a bond between them—not a shared love, not a shared life, not a shared secret.

He took a bite of the lasagna. “Not yet.” He forced his tone not to turn bitter when he said, “Given Dad’s commitment to the company, I think it’s safe to assume everything is in place for the library project and I can just take over where he left off.” A heavy silence fell over the room.

Lucy bit on her lip and then asked tentatively, “Why don’t you go upstairs and see him after we’re finished with dinner?”

His stomach twisted, but he nodded. Wordlessly, he finished his meal, slowly pushed back his chair and followed his mother up the stairs, his pulse taking speed with each step. He kept his gaze low, noticing how the floorboards creaked under the weight of each step. Lucy stayed downstairs, under the guise of cleaning up the kitchen, but he knew better. She was down there wringing her hands, saying a hundred desperate prayers that progress would be made, and that all would be forgotten.

Oh, Lucy.

“He might be sleeping,” his mother whispered as they approached the master bedroom. She stopped, her hand clutching the brass knob. “Let me just go in and tell him you’re here.”

Scott stepped back and his mother slipped through the door, leaving it open an inch. Through the crack he could hear her soothing voice telling his father that “Scottie” was home and wanted to see him. If his father said anything in return, it wasn’t audible from this distance.

His mother tipped her head around the door frame and nodded. With one last sharp breath, Scott entered the room, his blood stilling at what he saw. His father, once a strapping, robust man with a handsome face and personality that could intimidate even the strongest of men on a construction crew, had withered into a frail wisp of his former self. His skin, once bronzed from days spent on job sites, was now an alarming shade of grayish-white. Propped up on two pillows, his eyes were hollow and dark.

Scott crossed the room, his body numb.

“Dad.”

“I knew you would come home.” His father’s voice strained with effort, but it was still deep, still authoritative. “I knew someday you would put this business with the Porters behind you and finally come home.”

Scott’s pulse hammered. “I haven’t put this business with the Porters behind me and I never will,” he said evenly.

“Scott!” his mother cried out, but he couldn’t stop now if he wanted to. Even now, after all this time, the man still refused to acknowledge what he had done. The part he had played.

“A man died,” Scott insisted, silently pleading with his father to set things right once and for all. “A man with two daughters and a wife. And I was the one who took him from them,” Scott said quietly, feeling the anger uncoil in his stomach as the words spilled out. “You knew I was responsible for the accident that day and you kept that information from everyone. From the police. From Lucy. Even from me.”

“You were nine years old, Scott. We were just trying to protect you—”

“No.” Scott shook his head forcefully, trying to drive out the words, the excuses. “I should go, Dad.” Before I say anything I’ll regret. “You need your rest.”

Scott paused with his hand on the door, and then slipped into the hall. His mother grabbed him by the elbow.

“Thank you for seeing him, Scott. It means so much to us.”

Scott’s eyes flashed on his mother. “Why can’t he just admit it, Mom? Why can’t you? You denied the Porter family insurance money that was owed them.”

She visibly paled and looked away. “It was an accident, Scott.”

“Maybe so, but it didn’t have to happen. I had no business being on the machinery that day. A nine-year-old kid shouldn’t be on a job site.” He shook his head. “If I had never overhead you talking about it all those years later, would you ever have told me that I was the one responsible for the accident?”

His mother hesitated. “Probably not. You were already upset by the commotion that day. And what were we supposed to tell you? You were nine, Scott. We didn’t want you or your sister to have to live with this. Lucy still doesn’t know,” she added.

“I’m aware of that,” Scott said, “and I don’t intend to burden her with this.

“Then you can understand how we felt. We were trying to protect you.”

“By blaming the victim?” Scott cried.

“We never could have recovered from a lawsuit. Richard Porter was gone. There was nothing we could do to bring him back.”

“Then you admit it. You chose to protect yourself financially.”

“We chose to protect the company financially,” his mother corrected him. “Nearly a third of the men in this town were employed by Collins Construction. They had wives and children—families of their own, depending on that paycheck. Would it have been better to make them all suffer?”

“So it was fair for Emily’s family to suffer? They had nothing. Nothing!”

It was a no-win situation, he knew that now. A man was dead, his family impoverished and the only way they would have been reimbursed was for others to suffer at their expense. The only way everyone could have been spared was if Scott had never been on that machine that day. If his father hadn’t let him tag along to work.

“We covered the funeral expenses,” his mother offered, and Scott clenched a fist, willing himself not to lose his temper.

“It doesn’t change the fact that we are all living this lie! The police took Dad’s statement for the events of that day. Collins Construction had just finished building that addition on the Maple Woods police station—at cost. He knew they wouldn’t pursue a criminal investigation when everyone was pointing the finger at Mr. Porter’s negligence, and so it all just went away. And Emily and her family were not only denied the money they were rightfully owed for their father’s wrongful death, but worse—” his throat locked up when he thought of it “—is that you allowed them to think their father’s carelessness led to his death.”

“It wasn’t easy for us, either. We thought you would never have to know your part in this. And then all those years later you had to go and start dating Emily Porter. Of all people! Believe me when I say we never intended you to know the truth, especially when we saw how much you cared for her.”

Scott lowered his voice. “You knew how much she meant to me, and you never even welcomed her into our home.”

“You didn’t honestly think we were going to be able to invite that girl into our lives, feeling the reminder every day of what we did.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “And here I thought you walked away with a clear conscience.”

His mother stared at him levelly. “My conscience will never be free.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Scott retorted. He ran a hand through his hair. “I have to go,” he said, taking a step back, and then another. This was a useless, maddening effort.

“What are you doing?” Lucy cried in alarm, her face pale, her expression stricken as he bolted down the stairs.

“I shouldn’t have come here!” he said, bursting past her toward the front door. “Now do you see?”

“What is wrong with you?” Lucy hissed. “Our father is dying. Do you hear me? Dying. Why can’t you get over yourself for once and be the bigger person?”

Scott whipped around and met his sister’s desperate gaze. “Lucy, when it comes to our parents, I do not want to hear another word about my relationship with them. Not. One. Word.”

“You’re a jerk,” Lucy snapped.

Scott hesitated. “I’m worse than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Scott shook his head. “You have no idea.”

Lucy’s voice softened. “Try me.”

“Forget it,” he said, striding for the door. He placed his hand on the knob and twisted it, hesitating. Turning to face Lucy again, his gut tightened at the sight of her anguished face. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this, Lucy,” he said, closing the door behind him.

The spring air was cool and fresh on his lungs, and crickets chirped in the distance. He ran his hands down his face, staring at his ludicrous rental car, so sleek and bold and out of place. The image of his father lying in that bed was too clear to banish, but the words were what haunted him the most. What had he been expecting? He grimaced to think a part of him had wanted the same thing as Lucy. Closure. Peace. Some glimmer of relief to this endless, lifelong misery that hung over their family like a plague. And now he knew, perhaps he always had though, and that’s why he had stayed away. It just was what it was.

* * *

“I just don’t know what came over me,” Emily repeated, closing her eyes to the memory of her outburst that afternoon.

“Well, I do!” Julia declared. “The man had it coming, Emily.”

“But, Julia, I work there. That’s my boss’s brother!”

Julia waved her hand through the air. “Please. Lucy knows you and Scott have a history. Besides, she was the one who commissioned him for the contest.”

Emily considered her sister’s reasoning. “Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly.

“Maybe? Emily, Scott Collins is a jerk,” Julia said firmly. “I’m so sick of hearing everyone in town go on and on about his return. If it were up to me, he’d never have come back. Seriously, I mean who does he think he is, huh? He might have been Mr. Popularity back in high school, but he’s thirty years old now and he needs to get over himself. But one day he’ll see that he can’t just tromp around on his high horse, zipping through town in his fancy car, flashing that smile and expecting every woman in the street to just swoon. Oh, what I wouldn’t like to do to him...just kick that butt right to the curb, right out of Maple Woods, back to wherever the heck it is he’s been hiding all this time...”

Emily heaved a sigh and glanced at her sister, whose eyes had narrowed to green slits, her pink lips pinched in fury as she detailed the revenge she’d like to take on Scott Collins, and burst out laughing. It was the first good laugh Emily had enjoyed all day, and she needed it more than she’d realized. “Are you finished?” she asked, when she’d settled down.

“It’s not funny!” Julia exclaimed, shaking her head in disgust. She leaned over and took a long sip of wine from her glass and then set it back down on the coffee table with a scowl. She reached for her knitting needles and motioned to Emily to flick on the television. The sisters had just finished eating dinner and were getting ready to catch up on the soap opera that they recorded each afternoon and watched together each night. It was a cozy ritual, and one that Emily cherished, even if she sometimes did worry that she and Julia were destined to become two spinsters, living in a four-room apartment above the town diner for the rest of their lives.

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