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He smiles at his wife. His love for her is hard to miss in the curve of his lips. “Tuuli and I will have been married forty years this September, so you can imagine we’re huge fans of romance. Romantic gestures are what have kept our marriage going strong all these years. And our anniversary is the reason we’re waiting till October to sell the land. We want to have our wedding anniversary party there. Our Ruby anniversary.”
Tuuli beams at her husband, the love in her expression matching his. “It’s where Robert proposed to me.” Tuuli flashes me an apologetic smile. “It would be different if you or one of your brothers were married. If you were settling down, starting your own family. But you’re not.”
Well, this is a first.
And here I thought they won’t be selling the land to us because of the ridiculous drug charges. Instead, it’s our single status that will be the demise of our dream.
Robert takes a quick sip of his coffee and sets the mug on the table. “We felt it’s only fair to you and your brothers to let you know where we stand on things. And we wanted to make sure you understand it has nothing to do with the drug charges. We’ve known you, Lucas, since you were a little boy, and we know you’re innocent.”
“Thank you. And I appreciate the heads-up.” I fight the urge to bang my forehead on the table.
Even if I wanted to get married, it’s not like I can make a bride magically appear. And something tells me a mail-order bride won’t cut it either.
So basically, my brothers and I are screwed.
Because even if Blake can prove my innocence, it won’t affect whether I can buy the land that means everything to me.
5
Simone
Time has stood still in Maple Ridge since I was here last.
The clean streets lined with maple trees and middle-class homes. The squat high school with its green and white colors. The ice rink where my brother played hockey. The stores in chalet-style buildings, their shuttered second-story windows peering down at me.
Everything…everything has remained frozen in time.
The sidewalks are busy with tourists stopping briefly on their way to the mountains. I slow behind the truck ahead of me, and my gaze lands on the children’s store. A jagged pain rises in my throat, and the flash of old grief tightens my chest.
I swallow and quickly look away.
Before my parents died, they used to take Aiden and me there whenever we visited Grams and Grandpa. It was like a wonderland, with unique toys that weren’t available in the big-box stores.
One of my fondest memories of my parents used to be our visits to that store. Now, just glancing at the shop, with its antique cribs and cute dresses and stuffed bears, leaves my insides shredded.
Leaves me feeling the hollowness deep in my belly.
Beyond the town, mountain peaks slice into the cloudy sky, taunting me with memories of hiking with a certain dark-haired, brown-eyed boy. Hopeful beams of sunlight squeeze past the narrow gaps in the clouds, ringing the gray pillows in a thin band of light. My car window is open, and the fresh, tangy scent of pine carries in the ghost of a kiss that was like no other.
I hastily shut the window and turn down a street toward another set of brick buildings that makes up downtown Maple Ridge.
Picnic & Treats is one of the few places that didn’t exist while I was growing up. The two-story brick building was here, the contrasting white molding recently repainted. But the café’s name and owner have since changed.
I find an empty parking spot on a side street and walk the short distance to the café. I pull open the door and step inside. A mix of delicious aromas greets me—spicy, yeasty, sweet—all hinting at the variety of dishes and treats the place offers.
Jazz music plays in the background. Other than the music, the place is silent, every gaze in the room directed my way.
In movies, the small-town folk stare suspiciously at the stranger who enters the bar as if expecting her to transform into a bat or something equally undesirable.
But I know that’s not the case here.
Everyone recognizes me.
Everyone knows the reason I’m back.
Sorrow and shock line their familiar faces. Not shock that I’m here. Shock at the sequence of events that resulted in my return.
My rib cage tightens, squeezing air from my lungs. But there’s also a warmth in my chest from their love and concern and unspoken prayers for my grandmother.
