She turns her head towards the grocery store. Right towards me. My heart rolls forward in my chest, stuttering and then coming to a complete stop. I’m suddenly hyper aware that I’m standing on a street corner, shirtless but for suspenders, having my cheek pinched by a sweet old lady. Because when I realize who I’m staring at, it’s the one person I never expected to see back in Heartwood.
It’s the woman I have thought about every day for the last decade. The silly, carefree girl who raced bikes down the street with me growing up. The girl I sat next to for hours while she sketched or painted, happy to be near her. The teenager I shared my first nervous kiss with. The woman I gave up everything for.
Wren Miller.
CHAPTER 2
WREN
Main Street looksthe same as the last time I was here. Vibrant-coloured flowers are all in bloom in large containers lining the street, and the sweet aroma of lilac drifts through my open window as I slow my speed through the centre of town. It’s hardly changed at all in the ten years I’ve been gone.
Something pinches behind my ribs, a pang of nostalgia, the kind that feels sad and leaves a lingering feeling of guilt. This is my hometown, after all, and a part of me feels like I abandoned it when I left for university.
I have a lot of good memories of Heartwood, yet so many of them have been tainted, too. The shadow of heartbreak turned all my colourful memories a dull shade of grey.
Pulling up to the curb, I get out of my car and the warmth of the sun heats my face as I step out onto the street. It’s the start of peak tourist season in Heartwood, so it’s busy out here today. People are milling about on the sidewalk, acluster of them congregating at the front of the grocery store. I can’t see past the crowd to make out why.
I shut the car door and turn to face the café my best friend owns.Thistle + Thorne, the little wooden sign dangling from the overhang reads. I promised Poppy I’d come to see her the second I arrived.
The warm, earthy scent of espresso beans is strong as I open the door, and another momentary jolt of guilt leaves me winded. In leaving Heartwood all those years ago, I left her behind, too. My best friend since we were little. But if she’s still holding onto any resentment, it doesn’t show on her face when I step inside, and her big brown doe eyes light up when she spots me.
“Ahhhh!” She squeals and runs around the counter to throw her arms around me. I could wrap mine around her twice, if not three times—she’s like hugging a tiny bird. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
“I missed you so much, Pops,” I say, pulling back from our hug and holding her face in my hands to look at her. She looks good since I last saw her on FaceTime—largely the same, except with a freshly cut dark brown bob that lands below her ears, and a new piece of jewelry in her nose, a thin gold hoop in her septum. She fucking rocks it.
Whatever pain was radiating from my heart has now dissipated, replaced by the swelling joy of being in the presence of my favourite person. Her eyes are watery as she pulls me into a hug again, and I squeeze her a little tighter this time.
“What can I get for you?” Poppy asks when we finally separate, and I follow her back to the counter. Sherounds the corner and ties on her apron. “Let me make you a special drink, on me.”
“I can’t stay long. I have to get to my meeting soon,” I say, checking the thin gold watch around my wrist.
“Please, I want to caffeinate you for your big day.” Poppy won’t give up until I tell her what I want.
“Okay, maybe a flat white?”
“Got it.” Poppy disappears behind the espresso machine for a second, bending down to pull out some milk from the mini fridge under the counter. When she reemerges, she hits a button on the large machine between us to start pulling the espresso shots. Steam hisses, and then she’s pouring the hot milk over the espresso, concentrating as she makes a cute leafy design in the foam.
While I wait, I glance around the café—there aren’t many people here, everyone seems too interested in whatever is happening at the grocery store—but like the rest of the town, Thistle + Thorne hasn’t changed since Poppy’s aunt had ownership.
The same two wingback chairs are positioned by the window in a cozy conversation space. The same local artwork and photography decorates the walls in mismatched frames. It’s cozy and quaint, and so much a staple of Heartwood.
“Here,” she says, passing me the paper cup. “Come and sit for a minute while the café is quiet. I can’t believe I’m talking to you face to face.”
As I pick up my cup, the warmth of the coffee seeps through the paper and heats my hands. Poppy calls for Ethan, the high school kid she hired so she could manage both storefronts—the café and the adjoining plant shop next door—to cover the till.
She unties her apron, hangs it on a hook behind the counter, and gestures to a small table with two chairs by the window.
“Okay, first things first, how long are you here for?” Her wide, doll-like eyes are trained on me, like she’s taking in every inch of me. FaceTime hasn’t cut it over the years, and although she’s come to visit me in Vancouver on occasion, I’ve avoided coming back to Heartwood like I’ve been avoiding the plague.
“Until the end of summer. And then I’ll be going back to Vancouver, hopefully to a big fat promotion.” A flutter ripples through my chest as I picture it, accepting the offer and immediately texting the Miller family group chat the update.
I make it sound easy, like the promotion is going to be mine for the taking, but the reality is more bleak. I want the principal engineer job so bad I can taste it—but so do a lot of other structural engineers at my firm, including the son of one of our founders, Brody. He’s sitting pretty in the back pocket of my boss, Rick; they have their own boys club, and it makes my skin sizzle.
That prick thinks the job is his birthright, and I’m going to prove him wrong. My hope is that the project I’ve taken on in Heartwood will set me apart. I sip my flat white, and my dark red lipstick leaves a mark on the plastic lid.
“I hate to talk about the elephant in the room … the reason you haven’t been back,” Poppy starts, her tone reserved, almost hesitant. “What are you going to do if you run into Hudson?”
The mention of Hudson’s name makes my pulse quicken, an old, instinctual physical response, like muscle memory. Hearing about Hudson used to rankle me, get under my skin. It used to stir up so much anger and resentment. I spent years of my life fantasizing about seeing him, imagining what I might say to the boy who broke my heart. Some days I just envisioned myself giving him an open-handed slap across the face.
