CHAPTER 1
TRACE
I should have been taking advantage of the last few weeks of decent fall weather and spending my days camping and trekking through the woods. Instead, every morning, before the sun cleared the ridge, I parked behind the Hard Timber Inn, hauled out my tools, and pretended I didn’t care that half the town was losing its mind over a wedding that no one knew anything about.
“Celebrity nuptials,” Aunt Marla kept calling it, her voice full of excitement. “National coverage, Trace. Reporters, influencers… maybe even that podcaster fellow will start saying something nice about Hard Timber for a change. Imagine the publicity for the Inn.”
Yeah. I could imagine it just fine. More traffic, more gossip, more people poking at old wounds that were better left alone.
By the time I lugged my circular saw onto the back porch, sweat was already running down my back. Fall in Montana wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Or maybe it was just me. Ever since the damn Ex-List was published, I’d been irritated, restless, and way too aware that every nail I hit felt like penance for something I hadn’t done wrong.
Aunt Marla leaned through the kitchen doorway of the inn my family had owned and operated for over a hundred years. Her hair was pinned up, a pencil sticking out behind her ear like always. “Hey, Trace. They called and moved the site walk-through up to Thursday.”
I frowned. “Who’s they?”
“The fancy wedding planner from California. And Sabrina.”
The saw jerked in my hand. I set it down slow, every single one of my muscles tightening with tension. “Sabrina Meyer?”
“Who else?” She waved the towel she’d been using to wipe flour from her hands. “She knows this place better than anyone. I asked her to help coordinate with that big-shot wedding planner. Be nice, will you?”
I grunted something that could have passed for agreement. But when the door swung shut behind her, a heavy silence settled around me… thick enough to choke me and full of ghosts.
Sabrina. Back here.
I hadn’t seen much of her since she quit working at the inn and opened Morning Wood Coffee, unless I counted the accidental glances across Main Street when I was heading into The Hard & Handy every morning. We used to trade favors. She’d make me muffins when I fixed a leaky pipe or I’d build her a set of shelves in exchange for a homemade dinner. Now we pretty much avoided each other and tried to pretend like we didn’t exist in the same small town.
Up until a couple of years ago, she’d been my best friend. One night after an almost-kiss, something shifted. Things got awkward as fuck. Then the Ex-List went live and turned me into one of Hard Timber’s cautionary tales. The list called me The Heartbreaker. Hell of a title for a guy who’d never let anyone close enough to break a heart.
By noon, my small crew had gone to lunch, leaving me with the sound of the wind rustling through the dry leaves that hadn’t fallen yet and the rhythmic buzz of my drill. I ran my palm over the new deck. It was smooth and clean and free of splinters. If only hearts were that easy to sand down.
A truck door slammed out front. I heard a few voices. Then Sabrina’s. There was no mistaking the low, calm, confident tone. She was the one who used to talk me down after long days. Now her voice just haunted my memories.
She rounded the corner of the inn, clipboard in hand, her long, dark hair twisted up on top of her head. Cheeks flushed and hazel eyes more green than brown, she somehow looked exactly the same and nothing like the girl I used to know.
“Marla said you’d be out here,” she said, her eyes cool but not cold. “She wanted me to check the layout before the planner arrives.”
I got up from where I’d been kneeling down to screw in the last few boards. “You’re coordinating?”
“For now.” She adjusted the strap of her messenger bag. “The official planner is coming in for a site visit this afternoon, so she’ll take over most of the work. Marla asked me to be the point of contact for the Inn.”
My heart tripped around in my chest at the thought of having her in my life again, even if it would only be for a limited amount of time. “I guess that makes us co-workers again.”
“Guess so.”
Silence stretched. The breeze rustled through the trees again. I tried to think of something to say to fill the quiet. Like “I’ve missed you,” or “Where did things go so wrong between us.” Instead, I shifted my gaze to the deck and waited.
She stepped closer, scanning the arbor I’d rebuilt at one end. “You reinforced the base?”
“We couldn’t have a celebrity bride face-planting on a livestream.” The joke slipped out before I could stop it.
She didn’t laugh, but a quick glance up caught her mouth twitching. “I see you’re still as charming as ever.”
“And you’re still bossy as hell,” I said.
Her gaze snapped to mine, and for half a second it was like nothing had changed. Every argument we ever had hummed just beneath the surface.
She looked away first. “The planner sent over some additional requests. Apparently having a rustic wedding means crystal chandeliers now.”
