Then she looked away.
And just like that, every piece of resolve I’d built over the past five months cracked down the middle.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What?” Callum asked.
“Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was her. It wasalwaysher.
And if I wasn’t careful, I was about to find out the hard way that some ships don’t stay sunk for long.
Chapter Three
Melanie
The problem with small towns is that you can see everything and everyone long before you’re ready.
Case in point: Drew Benedict.
He was standing outsideThe Rusty Staglike a damn Christmas card come to life, with his flannel rolled up, muscles flexing, snow catching in his dark hair while he and Callum wrestled some poor reindeer decoration into submission.
The sight would’ve been charming if it didn’t also make my pulse do a weird flutter-jump thing that I refused to acknowledge as attraction.
Because his type was dangerous. His type was what my mom warned me against.
Tattoos included.
“Home sweet home,” Lydia said, smiling like a woman in a Christmas movie who’d just returned to the town that believed in her dreams.
I muttered, “If this is home, then I’m the Grinch.”
Lydia adjusted her scarf, eyes twinkling. “You’re glaring again.”
“I’m not glaring,” I said. “I’m… assessing the engineering integrity of that reindeer.”
“Mmhmm.”
She was smirking, which was deeply unfair for someone who got to have regular relationship bliss with her very own Benedict brother. Callum was grinning his big, dumb, lovesick grin. The man looked like he’d just been hit with a snowball full of endorphins.
Lydia climbed out of the car and started toward the bar while I gave myself a little pep talk.
When I realized it wasn’t going to get any better, I opened the door, took a deep breath, got out of the car, and wished I had stayed in Seattle.
Meanwhile, Drew turned at the sound of the car door, and our eyes met.
It was like getting electrocuted by nostalgia and bad decisions all at once.
He looked the same…maybe a little broader, a little scruffier, the kind of man who aged like whiskey and was more dangerous the longer you let him sit.
That crooked half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, the one that always appeared right before he said something I shouldn’t enjoy.
And there it was. “Well, if it isn’t the ghost of bad decisions past,” he called, voice low and amused.
“Present,” I shot back. “And I see you’re still decorating like a hungover lumberjack.”
