That night I thought we were invincible, that we'd have a lifetime of moments like that. How could I have known that three years later, I'd throw it all away for a contract and a dream that felt hollow the moment I achieved it?
I take a deep breath and nod my head. Mia's eyes haven't softened one bit, and she gestures to the front door one last time.
"Okay, Mia. But if you change your mind, just call me."
She doesn't respond, just starts shuffling papers around her desk. Message received. Loud and clear.
I'm almost to the door when her sweet, soft voice stops me.
"Tell your mom that…" She takes a breath, like she's not quite sure if she should finish that sentence. But then her eyes close and her lips part every so slightly. "They smell like Sundays."
I turn back, but she's not looking at me. She's staring at the muffins, and there's something raw in her expression. Something that makes my chest tight.
"What?"
"The muffins." Her breath caresses the words, so faint I strain to catch them. "They smell like Sundays. Like... before."
Before I left.
Before I broke everything.
Before I chose hockey over her.
She remembers. All of it.
I want to say something. To apologize. To beg her to let me try again. Tell her I've been thinking about those Sundays every day for eight years.
But she's already walking away, disappearing into the back room without another word.
And I, like the coward I apparently still am, let her go.
Again.
Chapter Two
Mia
I'm running on three hours of sleep and pure spite when I push through the door of Chapter & Grind. The bell jingles cheerfully, mocking my foul mood as the scent of cinnamon and fresh espresso wraps around me like a hug I'm too cranky to appreciate.
Emma spots me from behind the counter, her eyes widening as she takes in my disheveled appearance. I didn't even bother with makeup this morning, and my hair is still damp from the world's fastest shower.
"Well, good morning, sunshine," she calls out, already reaching for my usual mug. "Why do you look like you wrestled a raccoon in your sleep?"
"Because I did," I mutter, shuffling toward the counter. "Not in my sleep. At five this morning. Behind the shelter dumpster."
Emma's eyebrows shoot up. "You're not serious."
"Deadly serious. The little bastard was trying to break into our food storage. Again." I rub my eyes, feeling the weight ofexhaustion pressing down on me. "I named him Bandit. And he's my nemesis now."
"Mia!"
I turn to see Natalie waving from their usual corner table, where she's sitting with Sophia. They've claimed the plush velvet couch by the window, surrounded by half-empty coffee cups and pastry crumbs. Sophia's laptop is open but ignored as they're deep in conversation, both grinning like they've been trading gossip that has nothing to do with hockey.
Great. Just what I need. The Iron Ridge Inquisition.
"Go sit," Emma says, nudging me toward them. "I'll bring your coffee over."
I trudge to their table, collapsing into an armchair with a dramatic sigh.
