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“Ro? You okay, honey?” Gran’s soft voice interrupted my thoughts, her lavender scent tickling my nose. She’d come up the stairs without me even noticing. She, too, stared at the droopy leaf in my fingers. “It’ll bounce back with some TLC.” She understood. Since mum passed away, she knew how much theplant meant to me. She had given it a home along with me and my brothers.

I nodded, the corners of my mouth ticking up a little.

“Are you okay with Brody staying?” Her brow furrowed as she spoke. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

I honestly didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure how I felt. Trepidation? Regret? How could I explain to Gran what had happened all those years ago? About the one kiss we’d shared that turned my world upside down.

“I thought you two were good friends.”

I worried my bottom limp at the word “friends.”

“We were. We still are, I guess. It’s just I wasn’t expecting to see him.” And certainly not half naked in my kitchen. “He frightened the life out of me, but I’m sure I’ll recover.”

Gran placed her tiny hand on my arm, her touch featherlight on my skin. “I think he needs some friends right now. He’s having a tough time since his injury.”

My gut pulled. Brody broke his leg in a game months ago. When it happened, I’d only shown a friendly interest around my family. Then I’d scoured the news alone in my room, lapping up any information I could find. He’d spent time in physical rehab. I meant to send him a text. A get-well-soon note. Flowers. Something. But as time went on, that window closed, and I didn’t contact him. Now any concern or well wishes would be a little too late.

“He looks just fine to me.” A simmering heat hit my cheeks. Brody looked better than fine. His legs looked as solid as the oaks standing in the town square. As rock hard as the statue of Jericho Tuft that enjoyed their shade. If that was what an injured leg looked like, then…

“Rowena!” The furrow at Gran’s brow deepened. “Are you even listening to me?”

Damn, I needed to keep my thoughts on track and above the waistband. “Sorry. I’m just concerned, I guess.” The lie slipped out far too easily for my liking. What was happening to me? In the space of half an hour, I’d almost committed assault with a spatula, had impure thoughts about the legs of the man I’d crushed on for years and lied to the woman I loved most in the world.

Gran cleared her throat. “I’m just saying that looks can deceive. I want you to make sure Brody feels welcome.”

I took a breath, letting it out in a slow blow of air. “Okay, Gran. I promise I’ll be nice.”

“Thank you, darling.” She leaned in to kiss my cheek, and I gave her a half-hearted smile. I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm for anything more. Maybe I was still in shock from my late-night kitchen jump-scare.

“Good night, Gran,” I said, turning toward my bedroom. I slept down the hall from the rest of the family. When all my brothers lived at home, I’d have gone mad without my little slice of peace tucked away at the back of the house.

I pushed open the door and settled on my bed, picking up the crochet project I was working on. The pattern had bothered me for days now. Who knew a set of little owls could be so troublesome? Four orders for this item were waiting in my Etsy store. The pressure was on. I picked at the stitches, examining their structure. Usually, crocheting was my passion, my distraction. But tonight, my brain swam.

Brody Flockhart, “Flock” to his adoring fans, was back in town and staying in my house for the foreseeable future.

I flung myself back on the mattress, arms above my head, the little plastic stars on the ceiling glowing a tepid green in the low lighting. They matched the age of the feelings I’d buried deep within my heart. Ever since hockey took Brody away from Tuft Swallow. Away from me.

Brody always planned to leave. To reach for his dreams. For as long as I could remember, his whole life revolved around hockey. It still did, butsomethingabout Brody had changed. He was as tall and broad as I remembered, but his shoulders and chest were bigger and leaner. Any puppy fat melted away to be replaced with hard, chiseled muscle.

If he’d looked the same five years ago, I would never have had the guts to kiss him like I did. Like a fine wine, he’d matured nicely and how I wished I could sample a taste of him now. In the interests of staying Brody-sober, though, I’d keep our contact to a minimum.

My phone pinged in my pocket. I sat up, pulling it out. An irrational part of me entertained the fantasy that it could be him, but it turned out to be Eve, asking if I got home before my slushie melted. I looked down at the sticky stain on my shirt, and butterflies took flight in my tummy.

I tapped out a quick response.

Ro: I have news.

Maybe telling Eve about Brody being in town wasn’t the best idea, but I couldn’t keep the fizzing in my chest to myself. Besides, she was Flock’s biggest super-fan. She’d want to know.

I stood, but as the old springs of the bed creaked under me, I froze, shoulders lifting. Could Brody hear that? The den was right below my room. A flush rose in my chest. If he could hear every sound I made, I’d have to keep creaking to a minimum. Particularly any bed creaking. I didn’t want him to think I was up to anything naughty.

The buzz of Eve’s reply jolted me back to the here and now.

Eve: What news? Don’t tell me you’ve found some of your boss’s old movies online? Was Bessie’s hair even bigger than it is now? Does Bart have a giant [eggplant emoji]?

Despite my dour mood, a giggle escaped my lips. My bosses, the Flubbergeists, were often the subject of gossip around town. The rumor mill said they were eighties porn stars. Eve and I frequently made up crazy stories about their misspent youths and the naughty films they’dpossiblystarred in.

Ro: Ew! Eve!