Page 7 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,” she says, her voice tight, like she’s clinging to the formality to keep everything in check.
Of course she’s stranded, and with the snow falling like this, it’s only going to get worse. I pull my hood down lower and glance at the road, wondering how bad it’ll get by the time I reach her. “Send me your location via text.”
“Done. Do you think you’ll be able to help? Or I could try another shop in Silver Pines?” she asks, sounding almost reluctant, like asking me was a last resort.
“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” I reply, keeping it short.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she says, still in that stiff, formal tone.
I scoff quietly, masking it with a cough. “Don’t thank me yet,” I mutter, half to myself. “Not sure what I’ll be able to do in this snow, but I’ll do what I can.” I end the call quickly, not wanting to stretch this out any longer than necessary.
I slip the phone back into my pocket, watching the snow as it swirls around me, thickening by the second. It’s going to be a long drive, and with the storm moving in like this, getting Jenna to Silver Pines might be more than either of us bargained for.
This is going to be one hell of a drive.
Chapter Five
Holden
Three things are painfully clear.One: Jenna Santos still has zero sense of self-preservation—or any sense of direction. She never knew where the hell she was going, and today is just moreproof. She said she was halfway to Silver Pines, but she’s barely outside Kentbury.
Classic Jenna.
Lost, unfazed, just coasting along like she’ll magically end up where she needs to be.
Two: Somehow, she’s ended up in charge of her grandmother’s flower shop. Jenna Santos, handling delicate flowers that need constant attention. I don’t know whether to be impressed or to worry for the poor plants in her care.
And three—the kicker—she’s acting like she doesn’t even know me. Like we didn’t spend almost three years close to each other after she moved to Kentbury. Like there’s no history between us at all.
I sigh, watching the snow fall thicker, faster, blurring the world around us. What was with that whole “Mr. Miller” routine? Or did she even call me by name?
I can barely remember—only that her tone was cold, polite, as if we didn’t have history. And with each second that passes, I feel myself growing more irritated. This isn’t how I thought she’d act around me. Not that I should care. Whatever we had back then—if it even counted as something—wasn’t a relationship.
She was too young, and my uncle made damn sure I knew it. He’d drilled into me that getting tangled up with a small-town girl was the last thing I needed. My plan was to get out of Kentbury and make something of myself, and that’s exactly what I did.
No pretty Jenna to distract me, no memories to keep me anchored here, no one to make me second-guess my decisions. And now, here she is—more infuriating than ever—and I’m the one playing her white knight in the middle of a snowstorm. All I want is to get her to Silver Pines, keep things strictly professional, and go back to the quiet life I’ve carved out for myself.
I grab the cables from the back of the truck, securing it to her van while the snow piles up around us. By the time everything’s in place, my hands are frozen stiff. I glance over at the cab—she’s sitting there, arms crossed, looking just as miserable as I feel. With a final tug on the cable, I climb back into the truck, slamming the door to keep the cold out. It’s bitter outside, but it’s nothing compared to the frustration simmering inside.
“We might not make it in this weather,” I tell her, glancing at the snow as it falls even harder. “But I’ll do my best to get you there.” I keep my focus on the road, careful not to let my gaze wander in her direction. But it’s tempting, because somehow, after all these years, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered.
The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable. I want to say something, anything, to break it, but I have no idea where to start.
For reasons I can’t explain, I end up saying the first thing that crosses my mind. “How is it that you don’t remember me? I’m Holden Miller, the guy who taught you to drive.”
She gives me a sidelong glance, her face expressionless. “Okay,” she says, like I just pointed out the weather or the latest score from a game she couldn’t care less about. Sports were never her thing.
“But you really don’t seem to remember,” I push, unable to let it drop.
She huffs, looking away. “I learned to drive when I was fifteen. That was almost twenty years ago,” she says, as if she’s moved on from that version of herself completely.
Just like that, the conversation dies, leaving a thick awkwardness between us. Outside, the storm worsens, and with each passing mile, it’s becoming clear that Silver Pines is slipping out of reach.
Snow piles on the windshield faster than the wipers can clear it, and the road ahead is vanishing into a solid blur of white. Continuing would be reckless at best.
My jaw clenches as I consider our options. Up ahead, the turnoff to the vineyard appears, barely visible through the snow. My cabin isn’t far, and it’s stocked with everything we’d need to wait out the worst of this—if the storm doesn’t drag on too long. I hate the idea of letting her down, but this is our only option if we want to make it through safely.
“We have to stop for now,” I mutter, not sure if she can even hear me over the howling wind outside. “I’ll try to get you there when the storm clears.”
