Page 9 of Winter in Kentbury
She shakes her head, a faint smile on her lips. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine for now. Honestly, I’m too nervous to eat. My stomach’s been in knots.” She looks up at me, her smile soft, almost shy. “And I don’t drink coffee, just tea.”
Of course her stomach’s in knots. I don’t blame her. Her van broke down in the middle of a snowstorm, and she’s stuck here with a man who nearly lost control on the road. She’s already lived through more than anyone should. Losing her family in that crash, barely surviving it herself—I should’ve been careful with her, even back then.
And this—sitting here together, me wanting to bridge the years between us—is exactly why getting close to her was a mistake in the first place. She didn’t need someone who might die a thousand miles away or leave her with nothing but promises that couldn’t survive deployment. She needed someone steady. Someone who’d be there for her, who’d stay. Someone who wasn’t built to walk away.
But as she looks up at me now, there’s something in her eyes that pulls me back, stirring up all those feelings I tried so hard to forget. It’s as if no time has passed at all, the emotions raw and insistent, urging me to do something, say something. All I want is to take that worry off her face, to somehow show her that I’m not the same kid who left all those years ago.
But how can I prove it? I don’t even know if I should. I’ve got too much baggage, and she deserves someone who can be there without dragging her down. And yet, standing here with her now, there’s one thing I can’t ignore: more than anything, I want to be that man for her.
Chapter Six
Jenna
Well,this day definitely isn’t going the way I thought it would.
Here I am, in Holden’s house—a place that feels sturdy, grounded, and meticulously put together. Everything is neat andintentional, with the faint scent of fresh wood lingering in the air.
The floors gleam like he’s just polished them, each piece of furniture crisp and new, every surface spotless, barely touched. It all fits together perfectly, yet there’s something about it that feels like it’s still finding its place. Like maybe he is too.
Outside, the snow piles up, thick and relentless, coating the windows until the world beyond looks like nothing more than swirling white. Holden is busy in the kitchen, the quiet clinks of silverware and the steady hum of the coffee maker filling the silence.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, warm and rich, grounding me in this strange moment. But despite the calm of this house, I feel something tugging at me—a familiarity in the way he moves, so confident and sure. It’s like no time has passed, like he’s still the Holden I couldn’t stop thinking about all those years ago.
But my stomach twists, and I know better than to let myself get pulled back in. I was just a kid back then, hopelessly infatuated with someone who was never really mine.
And now?
Sure, I’m not that girl anymore, but I’m not some big-city woman with stories of foreign adventures and wild ambitions, either. I’m just Jenna, the girl who stayed, who built her world in this small town. The farthest I got was Rhode Island and Massachusetts, studying horticulture and floral design.
Grandma used to tell me you didn’t need a degree to work with flowers. But after we built the greenhouse together, she changed her tune. I’m proud of what I’ve made of that greenhouse—growing half of what I use year-round right there, creating something that’s a mix of her legacy and my own vision. Even she’s impressed, though she’ll never fully admit it.
Sometimes, I wonder if my parents would be proud too. They always said leaving Kentbury was the best decision they ever made. They believed there was a whole world waiting for them out there.
But here I am, back in the place they left behind, carrying on their legacy in my own way. After they died, nowhere else could’ve felt like home.
And if I’m honest, I’ll always miss them. Even after years of therapy, even after learning to live with survivor’s guilt, the ache of their absence is always there. Sometimes I think about what it would’ve been like if I’d died with them. But no, I made it through, and maybe, in some strange way, Holden leaving was for the best too.
If he hadn’t left, I’d have spent every day in limbo, worrying, waiting for news from wherever he was stationed. Maybe this is just one of those lies we tell ourselves to make life feel a little less fragile, a little more bearable.
I hear his footsteps as he walks back into the living room, carrying two mugs. He places one filled with tea on the small table beside me, then checks the fire to make sure it’s roaring, casting warmth and light through the room. The house feels so quiet, like the storm outside is a million miles away.
Holden settles into the chair across from me, his gaze drifting toward the snow-covered window as he takes a slow sip of coffee. We sit in silence for a while, questions lingering between us, each one hovering just out of reach. I wonder what he’s thinking, whether his mind is on what happened earlier in the car or somewhere else entirely.
Outside, the storm grows stronger, the wind howling against the windows. I know I should feel trapped, yet somehow, with Holden nearby, there’s a sense of safety that makes everything else fade away.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “Penny for your thoughts?” I ask, my voice breaking the quiet.
He glances at me, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “My mind . . . wanders sometimes,” he says, taking another sip of coffee. “It’s something I can’t help.”
Is he about to open up? I feel a flicker of hope, but part of me hesitates. If he opens up, he might expect the same from me, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Trust doesn’t come easily for me anymore, and I don’t know if I’m prepared to let anyone—especially Holden—see past the walls I’ve built.
“I imagine dealing with PTSD is incredibly hard,” I say softly. “Have you talked to anyone?”
He lets out a low chuckle, a hint of sarcasm in his smile. “You mean a shrink?” He shakes his head slightly. “Yeah, I talked to one before they discharged me. Haven’t been back since. I’m okay. Just the occasional bad dream . . . and a panic attack now and then.”
He smiles, wide and forced, like he’s trying to lighten the heaviness that lingers between us. I want to believe he’s fine, that he’s moved past whatever haunted him out there. But there’s something else in his eyes, something guarded, and I realize he’s hiding just as much as I am.
I start to wonder if he’s been with anyone else, but the thought of him looking at another woman the way he once looked at me makes me feel queasy.
