“Whoa, there!” Strong hands wrapped around the ladder’s frame, instantly righting it, and Eliza found herself sandwiched between a hard chest and the cold metal rungs. “Are you okay?”
His warm breath tickled the back of her neck, sending shivers coursing down her spine. It had been years since she’d heard that voice. But she would have recognized it anywhere.
With her heartbeat pulsing faster than her industrial mixer, Eliza turned until her gaze met familiar turquoise-blue eyes. They’d always reminded her of a tropical ocean—alluring and exotic. And yet, if she wasn’t careful, she could easily be lost at sea.
“Colt? What are you doing here?”
Surprise flickered across his handsome features. But only for a second, quickly replaced by a smoldering smile, including an adorable dimple in his left cheek. “Little Liza, is that you?”
Eliza bristled. She’d always hated his pet name for her. Partly because it poked fun at her petite five-foot-four frame. But mostly because it meant he viewed her as his kid sister.
She’d only stopped caring about Colt’s colossal lack of interest when Grant Parker moved into town their freshman year of high school. Soon, it was no longer Colt’s name doodled inside her notebook, encircled by large swirly hearts and wedding bells.
Colt’s appreciative gaze traveled from Eliza’s blushing face to the crooked sign. “Wow, it’s weird not to see my mom’s name above the door anymore.” A crease appeared on his tanned forehead as he ran a hand through his sun-kissed hair, releasing a low whistle. “Man, so much has changed around here.”
“It wouldn’t be such a shock if you visited more than once every five years,” Eliza pointed out.
Colt laughed. “I see you still have a big mouth for someone so small.”
Eliza huffed indignantly, jabbing his arm. “And I see you left your manners in Los Angeles. Oh, wait. You never had any.” She smirked as he let out another deep chuckle.
Colt always did have the nicest laugh. Like the soothing rumble of her KitchenAid’s knead cycle.
“So, what brings you home?” She repeated her question, trying not to brush against him as she hopped off the ladder.
“I thought that was obvious. My only brother is getting married. Or did you forget?” His eyes twinkled playfully.
“No, I didn’t forget. I just assumed you’d show up at the last possible minute to avoid helping with the prep work.”
He laughed again, sending the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. “You know me well.”
Not as well as I’d like…
Eliza’s eyes widened at the sudden, and extremely unwelcome, thought. What had gotten into her? Her crush on Colt had ended eons ago. Not only that, but her heart belonged to someone else. Sure, someone who didn’t want it anymore, but still. It wasn’t hers to give away. Not that she’d give it to Colt, even if she could. The guy wore “unreliable” like a badge of honor.
“Are you okay?” Colt peered at her, his forehead crinkled. “Your face turned kind of pale.”
Was she okay?She most certainly wasnotokay! She was flirting with Colt Davis. Which could only mean one thing…
Eliza Carter had completely lost her mind.
* * *
Aheaviness settled across Grant’s chest as he turned off the main road onto his parents’ quiet lane. He barely noticed the crunch of the gravel beneath his tires or the vibrant array of colors greeting him from his mother’s meticulously groomed flower beds.
Coming home after being absent for almost a decade should have been a joyous occasion. Yet Grant wrestled with conflicting emotions as pleasant childhood memories clashed with the most soul-crushing time in his life.
Grant swallowed against the tightness in his throat as the pristine Cape Cod–style home came into view. The crisp white siding and emerald-green shutters shimmered in the afternoon sunlight as though they’d recently been treated to a fresh coat of paint. Grant suspected his mother’s rigorous spring cleaning routine had extended to outside the house this year, considering the white picket fence looked equally glossy.
Parking beside his father’s pickup truck, Grant drew in a deep breath, gathering courage as well as oxygen. He should have called. But given the chance, his mother would have tried to talk him out of coming home. Which is why he hadn’t told her about his spur-of-the-moment visit on New Year’s Eve. He’d planned to, but when he’d arrived late to the festivities and caught sight of Eliza in the crowd, he’d skipped town before Harriet could shoo him away herself.
Not that she didn’t love her only son. But no one had been happier than Harriet Parker the day Grant left home to attend the San Francisco Art Institute. Grant tried not to take it personally, knowing his mother wanted to see both of her children escape what she called “the doldrums of small-town life.”
Even at fourteen years old, Grant noticed the undercurrent of resentment when his father moved them from New York City to the West Coast the summer before he entered high school. He would lie awake at night listening to his parents argue. Or rather, listening to his mother mourn the loss of her high society life. Apparently, becoming the head of every committee in Poppy Creek, from the knitting circle to the book club, didn’t make up for what she’d left behind.
Stan Parker never uttered a word, as per usual. Apart from mandating their cross-country relocation—for reasons unknown—Grant’s father was the head of the household in title only. Harriet Parker not only wore the pants in the family, she wore the entire ensemble.
“Mom, I’m home.” Grant wheeled his suitcase across the threshold, pausing in the foyer. The slick hardwood floor glistened and smelled of lemon oil and eucalyptus.
