Page 85 of Caden & Theo

He lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “Probably. You know how I feel about paying twelve bucks to mail a registered letter two towns over.”

We exchange a quick clap on the back, nothing out of the ordinary. Emmett was a year ahead of me in school, and like a few of us, he never really left Gomillion. We run into each other often enough—at the store, on Main, grabbing coffee at Mo’s. It’s all just part of the rhythm of small-town life.

“You heading home?” I ask, adjusting the tote bag slung over my shoulder.

“Yeah, I just swung out to pick up a few things for a couple of picky guests. B&B’s filling up fast. Full-on reunion rush.” He shifts his keys in his palm. “Guess who’s on my check-in list?”

I pause. My stomach tightens in anticipation even though I already know.

“Caden.”

I try not to flinch, but I feel it. My pulse kicks up, and something in my lungs forgets how to inflate. “Oh,” I manage. “Right. Figured he’d be staying somewhere nearby.”

Emmett eyes me for a beat—too casually not to mean something. “He’s due any minute. I figured I’d give you the heads-up, just in case.”

I nod like it’s no big deal, like I don’t suddenly feel like the sidewalk’s tilted sideways. “Appreciate it.”

“Sure. I didn’t know if you’d want to… I don’t know, avoid or ambush.”

I snort. Like almost everyone else, he doesn’t know the truth about Cade’s and my romantic relationship. “I’m not ambushing anyone.”

He grins. “I didn’t think so. But I’ve seen you at the grocery store, Theo. You ambush the last box of oat granola like your life depends on it.”

“You know I’m not right without fiber,” I say dryly.

He laughs and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

And with a final wave, he heads off down Main Street, and I stand here for a beat too long, letting the weight of Caden’s name settle on my chest like dust on a picture frame not touched in years.

Caden. In town. This evening.

For a minute, I consider walking to the B&B. Just… being there when he arrives. Like ripping off a Band-Aid with questionable impulse control.

But that idea really does feel like an ambush. Like something I used to do when I was seventeen and had zero chill. I have no idea what he wants, if he even wants to see me. It’s been fifteen years. Fifteen years of silence so loud, it echoed in my bones. Fifteen years of living with his ghost even though he wasn’t dead.

I blow out a breath and pivot on my heel, heading toward Timbers & Tallboys instead. If there was ever a day that called for a drink, it’s this one.

The bar sits close by, tucked between the pharmacy and a thrift store that smells aggressively of mothballs. The neon sign flickers as I approach, buzzing faintly like it’s on the verge of giving up.

Inside, it’s exactly the same as it’s been since we were teens sneaking in with fake IDs—and getting caught every time. Low ceilings, pine paneling, darts that are always slightly crooked, and the best damn wings south of Charleston.

Moses is behind the bar, polishing a glass like it personally insulted his mother. It’s not a face I’ve seen in a while. He looks up, his face creasing into a wry grin. “Well, if it isn’t Professor Ball Game himself.”

I slide onto a stool. “Hey, Moses. Good to see you, man.” I reach out and we shake hands.

“Back at you. You look like a man who needs something stronger than sweet tea.”

“Preach.”

He sets down the glass and pours me a local IPA without asking. Impressive really since the last time I came in here when Moses was in town was probably four months ago. “You organizing all that reunion mess?”

“Some of it.”

“God help you.”

We clink glasses, and I take a long sip. Cold. Hoppy. Blessedly distracting.