Page 7

And I’m not the one who should be ashamed to show my face around here.

I walk to the end of the aisle and head toward the cooler where Noble is still standing, looking like a trapped animal.

I don’t say anything. He looks at me, and I see the moment recognition sets in. I see it and I feel it because when his eyes land on me, my skin prickles.

He turns toward me, and the full weight of his attention lands somewhere inside my ribcage. It sends a whirlwind of activity in there, like a bunch of birds trapped in a bell tower.

His eyes narrow. “Hattie?”

“Hey, Noble,” I say, with every bit of nonchalance I can muster.

He gives me a quick once over, and I force my brain to repeat Play it cool, Hattie over and over in my mind.

I dumbly hold out a hand to shake his (what?) at the same time he awkwardly opens his arms as if to hug me (what?!), and there’s this collision of handshake/hug confusion, switching from one to the other, until we both give up and he pulls me into his chest.

One hundred percent big brother vibes happening here right now.

I stand, frozen, numb and half-heartedly resting one hand on his back as he squeezes me like the little sister I guess I still am. I try and fail not to inhale—or memorize—the spicy, woodsy scent of him.

He releases me from his arms and a tiny part of me dies on the inside. I could’ve happily stayed there for at least another year.

But then I remember I’m mad at him. Like, really, really mad.

He might not have known about my crush, but we were friends. And friends don’t walk out on each other. Period.

I shift the shopping basket to my other arm. No part of me is currently playing this cool.

I look away. I have to. Otherwise I’m going to get lost in those deep brown eyes all over again. Because Noble might’ve grown up and gotten all lean and tan, with his wavy dark hair and his five o’clock shadow, but his eyes?

They are exactly the same as I remember.

I feel like I’m fifteen.

Good grief, Hattie, pull it together, will you?

I move around him and walk toward the ice cream cooler, determined to put some distance between us. Close proximity to Noble always did have disastrous effects on the region of my brain that controls logic and common sense.

To my utter horror (also known as “sheer delight”) he follows. “This is so crazy running into you. I’m actually headed out to Copper Ridge.” He holds up a bottle of wine. “I stopped to get this for your parents, as a, uh . . .” he clears his throat. “A kind of thank you.”

I frown. “Thank you for what?”

“For letting me stay there,” he says.

“Stay where?” My frown deepens.

“At the hunting lodge, I think? I told them I’m fine in my trailer, but you know your mom.”

I do know my mom. Which is why I shouldn’t be surprised that she offered him a room in the lodge and forgot to mention it. Still, I utter a quiet, “You’re staying at my lodge . . .” It’s not really a question, more a realization, and the second it sets in, my stomach plummets.

He grins. “Is it yours?”

“I mean, kind of, yeah.” I think of the loans I personally took out to make a go of this. It was one of my stipulations when I pitched the idea to my dad. I wanted to be the project manager, but also part owner, which meant I had to have financial skin in the game. It also meant I had the freedom to make decisions. We worked out a contract, and I bought the old hunting lodge and the two cabins on the back of my parents’ property facing Silver Lake.

The lodge has been completely renovated on my dime, and while it’s a big space with several rooms and a large dining hall, I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to sleep there knowing Noble is down the hall.

“Oh, shoot. Maybe I got it wrong,” he says.

Knowing my mother and her affection for Noble, even after all these years and everything he did, he absolutely did not.