“That sounds great,” I said diplomatically. “I’d love to see what’s changed.”
What I didn’t mention was that I was also curious about whathadn’tchanged, and whether returning to Everdale Falls would feel like moving backward or moving toward something I’d forgotten I wanted.
“Oh, and such a coincidence,” Mom said, settling back in her chair with the particular expression that meant she was about to share information she considered significant, “Declan Hayes is back in town! He arrived yesterday, too. Isn’t that funny?” She stares at me.
I nearly choked on my coffee. “Declan Hayes is here?”Yeah, hilarious.
“He’s house-sitting while Martha and Jim are in Florida for the winter. Martha mentioned he might be coming home for a while—apparently, he’s taking some time off from his law practice in New York.”
Declan Hayes.The name hit me like a perfectly aimed snowball to the groin area, bringing with it a flood of memories I’d successfully avoided thinking about for years. Matt’s best friend. Three years older. With his dark hair and blue eyes, he was completely out of my league then, probably even more out of my league now, given his apparent successful lawyer status and my current unemployed-and-living-with-parents situation.
Also, the object of my most persistent teenage crush, which had been embarrassing enough when I was fifteen and he was eighteen. Now that I was twenty-eight and he was thirty-one, the mathematics of attraction had probably not improved in my favor.
“That’s nice,” I managed, proud of how steady my voice sounded. “I’m sure Matt will be excited to see him when he gets home for Christmas.”
“I’m sure he will be,” Mom agreed, though there was something in her tone that suggested she was thinking about more than just Matt’s reaction to his best friend’s return.
Dad, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents of maternal matchmaking, returned to his paper. “Good to have young people back in the neighborhood. The place was getting too quiet with all of us old folks.”
Young people.Right. Because nothing said “successful adult” like moving back into your childhood bedroom and being categorized as a “young person” by your father.
“Maybe you’ll run into him while you’re here,” Mom continued with the kind of casual tone that was anything but casual. “It would be nice for you to reconnect with old friends.”
Old friends.As if Declan Hayes and I had ever been friends rather than me trailing after him and Matt like a lovesick schoolgirl while nursing an obvious crush that everyone pretended not to notice. I cringe when I remember the heart-shaped doodles with our initials inside.
“Maybe,” I said noncommittally, though the prospect of running into Declan while I was in my current state of professional and personal uncertainty was right up there with root canals and tax audits on my list of things to avoid.
After breakfast, Mom insisted on the promised tour of downtown Everdale Falls’s improvements, which turned out to be more extensive than I’d expected. The main street that I remembered as slightly shabby but charming had been transformed into something that belonged on a postcard advertising quaint New England destinations.
The old coffee shop had expanded into the neighboring storefront and now served artisanal everything with locally sourced ingredients. The bookstore had partnered with a gift shop and was doing a thriving business in what appeared to be sophisticated tourist merchandise. Even the pharmacy had been updated with modern fixtures that somehow managed to maintain the vintage charm that made tourists take photos.
“It’s like Stars Hollow, but real,” I said, watching a young mother push a stroller while talking animatedly to an older woman who was definitely local based on her practical winter coat and lack of camera equipment.
“Exactly!” Mom said with obvious pride. “The town council has been very strategic about preserving the character while making improvements that benefit both residents and visitors.”
Strategic.The word reminded me that I was supposed to be a strategic thinker, someone who could analyze market conditions and develop innovative campaigns. Someone who had, until recently, been successfully employed doing exactly that kind of work.
“It looks great,” I said, meaning it. “Really well done.”
We wandered through shops that were familiar enough to feel nostalgic but different enough to be interesting. I tried on a scarf at the new boutique. I sampled locally made chocolates that were genuinely delicious rather than just charming. Mum bought us coffee from the expanded coffee shop and struck up a conversation with the owner about her supply chain strategy that reminded me I actually was good at understanding business operations.
By lunch time, I was feeling more like myself—confident, competent, temporarily between opportunities rather than fundamentally failed at adult life.
And then it happened.
We were walking back to the car when I saw him.
Declan Hayes was coming out of the hardware store, looking like he’d stepped off the cover of a magazine dedicated to successful men who somehow made casual clothing look expensive. He was wearing dark jeans that fit perfectly and a charcoal wool coat that, without even thinking about it, cost more than my car, and he moved with the kind of confident ease that suggested he was comfortable in his own skin regardless of the setting.
He’d definitely grown up well. Very, very,verywell.
Gone was the gorgeous teenager with the messy hair and the infectious energy. In his place was a man who filled out his clothes in ways that should probably be illegal, with shoulders that suggested he did more than sit behind a desk all day and a jaw that had acquired the kind of definition that made smart women consider poor life choices.
He glanced in our direction, probably drawn by Mom’s enthusiastic wave, and his face lit up with the kind of genuine smile that had made teenage me believe in the possibility of fairy tale endings.
“Holly Winters!” he called, approaching with the confident stride of someone who was genuinely pleased to see an old friend rather than politely tolerating an awkward social obligation.
“Declan Hayes!” I returned idiotically.
