“You know how this always ends up. You lose. Just give up before you hurt yourself,” he warned her.
Sadie had yanked with all her might, but his grip held fast. He pulled her closer, moving her arms until they were pinned behind her back, and she and Jake were chest to chest, breathing hard.
Sitting in her garden with her eyes closed, Sadie could still smell the fresh soap and bonfire smoke that had clung to his skin. And just like woodsmoke, his essence had clung to her long after the fire had been put out.
She’d refused to think about that house for ten years. There was something about the promise of it that was far more painful to think about than even the night they’d first kissed. The desire that had her panting to catch her breath. To think straight. To think of anything other than how she wanted his rough hands scraping over every inch of her body. The way she’d finally found something she wanted to lose control over.
She inhaled. The smell of him was so strong that, with the memory of it, she could almost feel his smooth skin.
And then someone cleared their throat.
Sadie’s eyes snapped open.
And there he stood. A delicious memory brought to life.
Her stomach dipped and knotted—and it all came rushing back.
It was the satisfying crunch of a sharp knife cutting through ripe watermelon. It was green citronella spirals burning down and sunscreen squirting hot out of the tube. It was banana pancakes on repeat and the tang of river silt clinging to tanned skin. It was summer. And freedom. And youth. And heartbreak so hot it cauterized.
“How long have you been standing there?” she demanded, her heart going staccato.
“Long enough to know you haven’t changed,” he said somberly.
He had sorrow in his eyes. Just a shadow of sadness, hidden behind the crinkle when he smiled. She used to make it her mission to make him happy. And she had. There was something about being the one that brought out his booming laugh. It unlocked something inside her. Made her realize who she wanted to be—the one who made his eyes smile. But she’d also never found out why he was sad in the first place.
His voice was a recollection, the siren song of the past, and damn it all if she didn’t want to climb inside it and live there. Before she knew what her legs were doing, they were walking her to the gate.
He held out his arms, and she hesitated. It’s just a hug. A friendly hug, she told herself. And then she was running.
His arms went around her and he squeezed, and for the first time in ten years she felt small again. Against his broad chest. His strong shoulders. Her body’s muscle memory urged her closer, where her head nestled in the crook of his neck. This was why she could never settle for Ryan. For anything less than the way her ribs turned into a steel drum, echoing her thudding heart in a summer drumbeat of hopes long abandoned.
Home, home home—the rhythm reverberated in her chest.
But when she leaned back, still in his arms, and registered the little lines beneath his eyes, she remembered the years that had stretched into a decade since they last met, and the echo stopped short. She stepped out of his embrace, her cheeks pinker than they had any right to be.
“Before you start yelling, I brought something for you. Just let me give it to you first, and then you can attack.” He took a small blue box out of his back pocket and handed it to her as her eyes narrowed. There was a clear cutout in the top and nestled there in white satin was …
“You brought me a tiny spoon?” she asked, vacillating between confusion and incredulity.
“I remember you saying how much you loved when your grandad would bring one to Gigi. You said that even though you never wanted to leave Poppy Meadows, you liked the thought of having little pieces of the world. And I went to a conference a few years ago in Texas and saw it, and—look, I know it’s about ten years too late,” he said. “I’m sure you hate me. I’d hate me too. I was an ass. But I was young. And stupid. And didn’t know what I wanted. Not that that’s an excuse. I’ve apologized to you in my head twenty times in the last ten years, but I was too much of a coward to do it in real life.”
The longer he spoke, the more the initial glow at seeing him turned to ash. She hated him for remembering that. For it softening her toward him now, when all she wanted to feel was righteous anger.
“I trusted you,” she said in a quiet voice. “And you ruined me.” She’d been waiting to say that for ten years. But now that the words were out, they didn’t make her feel better, like she’d hoped they would. “Do you know how hard it is for me to trust people? Do you know how much you screwed me up?” she demanded. As soon as the words were out, she winced. He wasn’t the only one to blame. She’d held on too long. And as always, she said too much around him, revealed too much. He was the one person she’d allowed herself to lean on, to tell her truth to, show her mess to. And then he’d left. She’d sacrificed her self-control for him, and when he’d gone, she vowed that no one would hold that power over her again.