Page 5 of Winter in Kentbury
“I’m somewhere between Kentbury and Silver Pines. Drive southwest, and you’ll see a big blue flower shop van—you can’t miss it,” I say, forcing my tone to stay light.
“Send me your location via text,” he replies, short and clipped. He explains how to do it, and I follow his instructions, biting my lip as I press send.
“Done. Do you think you’ll be able to help?” I ask, the words escaping me before I can stop them. “Or I could try another shop in Silver Pines?” I add, a little too quickly, hoping it doesn’t sound desperate and regretting I didn’t do that first.
“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” he mutters, sounding as if he’s already irritated. There’s no reassurance, no promise that he can actually help.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I reply, trying to sound like it’s no big deal, like I’m not relying on him for this.
“Don’t thank me yet. Not sure what I’ll be able to do in this snow, but I’ll do what I can,” he says, still gruff, then hangs up without another word.
My hands tremble as I set down the phone. This is fine. He probably won’t even recognize me. I was just a girl on the sidelines back then, someone easy to forget. Why would he care now?
I can do this. Professional, distant. Pretend we’re strangers and just get through it.Keep telling yourself that, Jenna.Because what’s the alternative? A full-on panic attack because the man who broke your heart is coming to help?
I try to steady my breathing, reminding myself this is just another minor crisis. Snow, flowers, a broken-down van. Manageable. But will it still be manageable when he shows up?
Maybe not. I’m not prepared for this, not now, maybe not ever. I’d heard rumors he was coming back to town after his service, but I hadn’t believed it. Not after the way he hated this place—and his family. Back then, I knew every detail.
Everything he liked, hated, every dream he’d shared in the quiet moments that made me think I was special to him. I memorized his stories, the complicated love he had for his brother Landon, his loyalty to his uncle, the man he loved like a father.
What a fool I’d been, spending hours listening to him talk, thinking he hung the moon and the stars. He probably doesn’t even remember half of it. I was just a kid with a crush who thought she was seeing something that was never there.
Lost in my own thoughts, I don’t notice the truck pulling up until it’s nearly in front of me. It’s not a tow truck, just a big ass pickup, and as he steps out, I feel my breath hitch. My lungs seize, and for a second, I can barely move. He’s even more handsome than he was back in high school—broader, the years giving him an intensity that sends a pang through me I wasn’t ready for.
I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to stay focused. This is just business. Nothing more. I can handle it. Right?
As he approaches, I can’t help but take in every detail, each one hitting me harder than I’d like. He’s tall, solidly built, broad shoulders framed beneath a worn Carhartt coat zipped up tight against the cold. His hood is pulled low, shielding him from the falling snow.
Even from a few feet away, I can see his green eyes, intense beneath dark brows, and he’s sporting a thick, rugged beard now. My pulse thunders, almost loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I steel myself, stepping out of the van, bracing against both the cold and the emotions threatening to rise.
“Mr. Miller, I assume,” I say, as if he’s any other stranger. I ignore the past, pretend we never shared anything. Very mature. Or at least, I hope it comes across that way. I just need to survive the next half hour, then I can move on and never see him again. “Thank you for coming out here.”
Our eyes meet, and he stares at me for a moment longer than I’d like, as if he’s trying to piece together something he thought he’d forgotten. But he snaps out of it, clearing his throat, a hint of grumpiness woven into his tone.
“Hi, Jenna. It’s been a while,” he says, trying for a lighthearted tone that doesn’t quite stick. “If you wanted to catch up, you could’ve just called. Breaking down on the highway seems a bit dramatic for an excuse.”
His attempt at a joke stings, sharper than I expected. I’m right back there, a teenage girl with feelings she can’t quite hide, standing before someone who looks at her like she’s nothing more than an afterthought. But I’m not that girl anymore. I won’t let him see that part of me.
“Excuse me?” I retort, voice clipped and incredulous. “You think I’d risk my business just to—what? Catch up with some stranger? I didn’t break down on purpose, and I definitely don’t need to see you. I just need the van fixed so I can get on with my life.” I pause, trying to stay calm, but the words spill out a littlesharper than I intended. “So, if you don’t mind, can we get this over with?”
The smile fades from his face, his expression darkening for a split second. I almost think I see a flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe irritation—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. We’re strangers now. It’s been nearly two decades. I’m not interested in small talk, or any kind of talk for that matter.
“I’m not going to be able to fix your van out here,” he says, voice edged with a gruff impatience as he averts his gaze. “The snow’s picking up fast. I’ll tow you back to town, and we can work on it there if that’s okay.”
My stomach drops. “I can’t go back to town,” I say, trying to keep the panic from creeping into my voice. “I have to get these flowers to the wedding venue. This order—well, it’s crucial for the shop.”
He looks at me, as if trying to decide if I’m serious. I hold his gaze, hoping he understands how much this means. The snow falls heavier, swirling around us, and I know if I don’t get to Silver Pines soon, I’ll lose any chance of making it at all.
“Fine,” he says at last, jaw tight. “I’ll hook your van up to my truck. I’ll try to get you there, but I’m not making any promises. If the storm gets worse, we’ll have to find shelter and wait it out.”
Relief and dread mix together as I watch him turn back to his truck, pulling it into position to hook up the van. I want to thank him, but the words stick in my throat. I settle for a quiet, “Thank you. I appreciate your assistance,” I say, hoping it sounds businesslike, neutral.
But as I reach for the van door, his voice stops me. “You’re going to ride in the truck with me, Jenna.”
“Don’t you need someone in the van to steer while you’re pulling it?” I ask, scrambling for a way out, any excuse to avoid being stuck in close quarters with him.
He shakes his head, the barest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “No. Get in the truck. You’re going to freeze out here.”
