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“You remember how I take my tea?” Her voice was curious.

“Just like mine.” I handed hers over.

Our fingers tangled for a beat—accidental, but the sparks weren’t, at least on my end. The flush rising in her cheeks became my new favorite hue.

“It’s strange being back,” she said, eyes on the mug. “Everything fell apart the last time I visited.”

“No one can blame you. People grieve in different ways. None of us boys dealt with our dad’s passing the same. If anything ever happened to Mama…” I shook my head and hated to think of it.

Lacey had gotten through her mother’s funeral service, holding it together with a stiff upper lip. I remembered that day vividly. Afterward, at the reception here, guilt and grief had overwhelmed her. She downed a few glasses of her mother’s strong strawberry wine, and got into a fight with Carson who tried to stop her from making a scene.

He got frustrated and left with the girl he’d brought with him, which I suspected was the cause of their argument in the first place. Then she stood on a chair and got everyone’s attention, insisting on giving a toast.

What came out was a mess—ranting about her failures as a daughter, the town judging her for leaving, the life she thought she wanted in the big city.

It ended in her tears, and with me carrying her upstairs to her room, hoping to save her from further embarrassment. I had laid her on her bed and covered her with a quilt. I stroked her back and promised her she’d be okay until she feel asleep.

To this day, town gossips still talked about it:“Lacey got drunk and made a scene at her mama’s wake.”

“Why’d you come back now?” My voice softened.

“Everything fell apart in New York too.”

“I’m sensing a pattern.”

“I figured things would be different if I came back to Poppy Valley. Ready to try living here with…”

She didn’t say Carson’s name, but it hung there between us like the steam from our mugs.

“Yep. Definitely a pattern. Your life gets messy, you run, and you hope Carson will be here for you when you fall.” I had her figured out now.

“No. That’s not true. Not quite.” She chewed her cheek and crossed her arms. My eyebrows lifted, calling her out. “Okay, maybe I did expect him to be here for me. But clearly, with Emme by his side, he won’t be.”

“And don’t get any ideas about breaking them apart. Emme’s a nice girl. She’s done a lot for him. He’s really matured because of her.”

“Do you think I’d be the kind of woman to come between them? He made his choice.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Apparently, our marriage pact meant nothing to him.”

“Uh, say what now?” I almost choked on chamomile.

“It was a silly teenage thing. We pinkie promised that if we were both single at thirty, we’d marry each other. So much for that plan.” She shook her head.

“Wait. You two turn thirty this winter.”

“Exactly. But clearly Emme got to him first.” She sighed, tossing the rest of her tea down the sink. “So here I am. All alone in a big house filled with memories and regrets and no idea what to do with my life.”

“Hey. First of all, you’re stronger than you think. You’ll get through this.” She blinked up at me like I was the first man to truly see her. “And second, you’re not alone. I’m here, Lace. Reach out anytime you need me. Day or night. I’ll come running.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Hersoulful brown eyes held mine across the kitchen, glassy, about to cry again.

Another second of this and I’d admit truths I’d kept locked up for years.

Instead, I watched the girl who was never mine slip away, sashaying toward the front door.

“You should head back to the party. To your family. Thanks for the ride, though.” She held it open.

Resigned that I’d done enough for now, I followed.

“Hey, Lace…” I turned at the top of the porch steps, catching her womanly silhouette in the dim light of the family room behind her.

“Yeah?”