Trace’s Aunt Marla bustled in. “There you are, Sabrina. I’ve been looking for you. The planner wants to schedule another meeting the day after tomorrow, bright and early. Does seven work for you?”
“That early?” I winced. “I open the shop at six?—”
“She said the podcaster’s team might want to stop by. Something about gathering background info for his pre-wedding episode.”
My pulse spiked. “He’s coming here?”
Marla smiled like she’d just announced free coffee for life. “Isn’t that exciting? He’ll want to see where all the Hard Timber gossip started.”
Nellie choked on her pie. “This town’s got more drama than a possum in a hen house.”
I forced a steady breath. “Marla, maybe you should tell him to focus on the wedding. Not…anything else.”
“Oh, nonsense. He’s harmless.” She waved her hand. “Besides, I told him he could interview Trace. You know how much people love a redemption story.”
The blood drained from my face. “You what?”
“Relax. He’ll make the town look good. You’ll see.” Marla clapped her hands, oblivious to the slow-motion panic attack unraveling in my chest. “Now, I have to get back to the Inn. Don’t be late, sweetheart.”
Marla turned to go. The wind caught the door and slammed it against the wall just before she pulled it closed behind her. I slumped onto the nearest stool, cradling my head in my hands.
Nellie let out a low whistle. “Well. Looks like your past is about to get its own episode.”
“Fantastic.” My laugh cracked halfway out of my throat. “I can’t wait to hear the sound of my own humiliation broadcast around the world.”
Nellie offered a gentle smile. “Or maybe it’s time you told your version before someone else does.”
I looked at her, the air thick with memories I couldn’t escape. “What if my version just makes everything worse?”
She gave my hand a squeeze. “Then at least it’ll be the truth. And Trace will hear it straight from you.”
Outside, a steel-gray truck rumbled past, the sound heading out of town and toward the mountain. I didn’t need to look to know who was driving.
Trace Quade.
Hard Timber’s Heartbreaker.
The man I never stopped loving, and the one I might break again when the truth came out.
CHAPTER 3
TRACE
The first frost hit overnight. By the time I pulled into the Inn’s gravel lot, the ground crunched under my boots and my breath fogged in the crisp morning air. Pine needles shimmered, coated in ice, in the early sunlight. The whole town felt like it had been wrapped in glass. This time of year, the mountains didn’t just hint at winter, they gave a full-fledged warning… get ready. It’s coming.
I pulled open the tailgate and hauled out the day’s load: two-by-sixes, a roll of painter’s plastic, a box of wood screws, and a coiled extension cord. The weight was familiar and grounding. Everything I needed to do an honest day’s work. As I set down my supplies and figured out which project to start first, the front door of the Inn creaked open behind me.
“You’re early.” That voice. It hit me like a sucker punch wrapped in velvet.
Sabrina stood in the doorway, her arms folded across her clipboard, steam rising from the to-go mug in her hand. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, those dark waves tucked under a hand-knit beanie that she’d probably made herself. I still had the one she’d knit for me though it was the first one she’d made and was way too small to fit around my head.
She wore a thick navy flannel over black leggings that were tucked into her worn leather boots. They were practical and no-nonsense, just like her. She was still the kind of woman who could steal my breath away, even while telling me I’d hung the Christmas lights crooked.
I shifted the cord in my hands. “So are you.”
She lifted her coffee. “Old habits.”
I set the wood down next to the porch and faced her. “Are you here to boss me around, or just supervising from a safe distance?”
