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“I remember that schedule. My dad’s was the same.”

He nodded. “Not much has changed at the firehouse—except Buxley’s cooking. He passed last year. New cook now. Younger guy who tries to make us eat healthy.” His lips twitched with humor, softening his whole face.

Hudson had nice eyes. Hazel. Warm.

“I’m sorry to hear about Bux. He was always so kind. After Dad died, he used to stop by and check on Mom.”

Hudson cleared his throat, sheepish. “Word around the firehouse was he had a thing for her.”

“A what?” I choked.

He chuckled and shrugged. “Just what we heard. Probably nothing to it.”

I blinked, stunned. But maybe I shouldn’t be. Mom had been lonely. She once told me she’d never remarry while I lived at home. Had I kept her from being happy?

Great. More guilt.

“Here we are—two lattes to go,” Hailey said cheerfully. “Now you two go on and enjoy your day together.”

The implication in her tone was clear. The gossips would have us paired off by dinner.

“Thanks.” Hudson took both drinks and nodded toward the door. He held it open with one arm, and I stepped through, brushing past him again.

My stomach fluttered, but I chalked it up to hunger.

Surely it couldn’t be anything more.

He was Carson’s brother.

Carson was my ex long ago.

Anything more than friendship with Hudson would be…

Well, that would be just plain complicated.

6

PAINT BRUSHES AND PROMISES

HUDSON

I heldthe door open for Lacey and stepped out into the sunshine with her. We stood in the shade of the cedar tree by the sidewalk, leaning against the brick facade of the coffee shop.

“So, what’s your plan?” I asked.

She took a sip of her latte and gave me that long, searching look of hers. It always hit somewhere deep—like she saw more than she should.

“Hm. Are you asking about today or in general? Because believe me, I have nothing long-term figured out.”

“No one says you have to have your whole life mapped out, Lace.”

“Really? Because turning thirty feels monumental. Like I should have my crap together by now. I’m sure you had yours together when you turned thirty.”

I laughed softly. “If by ‘together’ you mean barely managing not to burn dinner and keeping my truck running, then sure.”

She smiled, and for a second, I could almost forget the years between us. Seven years wasn’t much. She was here now, standing in front of me, gorgeous as ever, and sipping coffee like a peer.

“You’re here for the summer. So take it one day at a time is my advice,” I suggested.