Page 2 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

WREN

Main Street looks the same as the last time I was here.

Vibrant-coloured flowers are all in bloom in large containers lining the street, and the sweet aroma of lilac drifts through my open window as I slow my speed through the centre of town.

It’s hardly changed at all in the ten years I’ve been gone.

Something pinches behind my ribs, a pang of nostalgia, the kind that feels sad and leaves a lingering feeling of guilt. This is my hometown, after all, and a part of me feels like I abandoned it when I left for university.

I have a lot of good memories of Heartwood, yet so many of them have been tainted, too. The shadow of heartbreak turned all my colourful memories a dull shade of grey.

Pulling up to the curb, I get out of my car and the warmth of the sun heats my face as I step out onto the street.

It’s the start of peak tourist season in Heartwood, so it’s busy out here today.

People are milling about on the sidewalk, a cluster of them congregating at the front of the grocery store.

I can’t see past the crowd to make out why.

I shut the car door and turn to face the café my best friend owns. Thistle + Thorne , the little wooden sign dangling from the overhang reads. I promised Poppy I’d come to see her the second I arrived.

The warm, earthy scent of espresso beans is strong as I open the door, and another momentary jolt of guilt leaves me winded.

In leaving Heartwood all those years ago, I left her behind, too.

My best friend since we were little. But if she’s still holding onto any resentment, it doesn’t show on her face when I step inside, and her big brown doe eyes light up when she spots me.

“Ahhhh!” She squeals and runs around the counter to throw her arms around me. I could wrap mine around her twice, if not three times—she’s like hugging a tiny bird. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“I missed you so much, Pops,” I say, pulling back from our hug and holding her face in my hands to look at her.

She looks good since I last saw her on FaceTime—largely the same, except with a freshly cut dark brown bob that lands below her ears, and a new piece of jewelry in her nose, a thin gold hoop in her septum. She fucking rocks it.

Whatever pain was radiating from my heart has now dissipated, replaced by the swelling joy of being in the presence of my favourite person. Her eyes are watery as she pulls me into a hug again, and I squeeze her a little tighter this time.

“What can I get for you?” Poppy asks when we finally separate, and I follow her back to the counter. She rounds the corner and ties on her apron. “Let me make you a special drink, on me.”

“I can’t stay long. I have to get to my meeting soon,” I say, checking the thin gold watch around my wrist.

“Please, I want to caffeinate you for your big day.” Poppy won’t give up until I tell her what I want.

“Okay, maybe a flat white?”

“Got it.” Poppy disappears behind the espresso machine for a second, bending down to pull out some milk from the mini fridge under the counter.

When she reemerges, she hits a button on the large machine between us to start pulling the espresso shots.

Steam hisses, and then she’s pouring the hot milk over the espresso, concentrating as she makes a cute leafy design in the foam.

While I wait, I glance around the café—there aren’t many people here, everyone seems too interested in whatever is happening at the grocery store—but like the rest of the town, Thistle + Thorne hasn’t changed since Poppy’s aunt had ownership.

The same two wingback chairs are positioned by the window in a cozy conversation space. The same local artwork and photography decorates the walls in mismatched frames. It’s cozy and quaint, and so much a staple of Heartwood.

“Here,” she says, passing me the paper cup. “Come and sit for a minute while the café is quiet. I can’t believe I’m talking to you face to face.”

As I pick up my cup, the warmth of the coffee seeps through the paper and heats my hands. Poppy calls for Ethan, the high school kid she hired so she could manage both store fronts—the café and the adjoining plant shop next door—to cover the till.

She unties her apron, hangs it on a hook behind the counter, and gestures to a small table with two chairs by the window.

“Okay, first things first, how long are you here for?” Her wide, doll-like eyes are trained on me, like she’s taking in every inch of me.

FaceTime hasn’t cut it over the years, and although she’s come to visit me in Vancouver on occasion, I’ve avoided coming back to Heartwood like I’ve been avoiding the plague.

“Until the end of summer. And then I’ll be going back to Vancouver, hopefully to a big fat promotion.” A flutter ripples through my chest as I picture it, accepting the offer and immediately texting the Miller family group chat the update.

I make it sound easy, like the promotion is going to be mine for the taking, but the reality is more bleak.

I want the principal engineer job so bad I can taste it—but so do a lot of other structural engineers at my firm, including the son of one of our founders, Brody.

He’s sitting pretty in the back pocket of my boss, Rick; they have their own boys club, and it makes my skin sizzle.

That prick thinks the job is his birthright, and I’m going to prove him wrong. My hope is that the project I’ve taken on in Heartwood will set me apart. I sip my flat white, and my dark red lipstick leaves a mark on the plastic lid.

“I hate to talk about the elephant in the room … the reason you haven’t been back,” Poppy starts, her tone re served, almost hesitant. “What are you going to do if you run into Hudson?”

The mention of Hudson’s name makes my pulse quicken, an old, instinctual physical response, like muscle memory.

Hearing about Hudson used to rankle me, get under my skin.

It used to stir up so much anger and resentment.

I spent years of my life fantasizing about seeing him, imagining what I might say to the boy who broke my heart.

Some days I just envisioned myself giving him an open-handed slap across the face.

It seems so childish now. It all happened so long ago.

This time, I don’t feel the urge to collect every single detail about his life and ruminate on what it means—he could be happily married with kids, and it wouldn’t bother me one bit.

“Honestly, I have no idea how that interaction would even go,” I admit to Poppy with an indifferent shrug. “It might be best if I avoid him. I can be the bigger person about this. It’s behind me now.” My chin lifts as I shift my coffee cup in my hands. “I have risen above.”

“Right,” Poppy says, her eyes squinting at me. She’s punctuated the word, but I know she wants to say more.

“Come on, out with it,” I coax.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head slightly as her eyes cast downward, her dark brown bob swishing above her shoulders.

“I just think it’s going to be impossible to avoid him.

It’s a small town, Wren. You must know you’ll see him eventually.

And what happened between you two … it would be hard for anyone to let that go. ”

“Well, I have,” I say. My words have a mildly deceitful ring to them, but I hope Poppy doesn’t pick up on it.

“And I’m here to focus on work, and spend time with you.

I won’t have an opportunity to run into him.

” My plan is weak at best; one poorly timed trip to the grocery store could be the end of it.

My phone chimes from inside my purse, and I pull it out to check my texts.

My boss has been checking in incessantly about this meeting, asking whether I’m prepared—micromanaging at its best. I’m the only one at VanTek who seems to have someone always breathing down their neck, and I know being the only woman at the firm has something to do with it.

But it’s not Rick texting me, it’s my mother.

MOM

Can you pick up some vegan whipped cream on your way home? I’m making a special dessert for Claire and she’s a vegan now.

I don’t hide my eye roll—I don’t need to in front of Poppy. She knows all about my sister Claire and the way my parents treat her like she’s God’s gift to the earth. I turn my phone around to show Poppy the message rather than explaining, and Poppy’s expression flattens.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She scoffs. “Claire was over last week. It’s like a local celebrity coming to town. Jesus. A special dessert?”

“Yep. Classic Brenda Miller treatment for you. It’s always about Claire.

” I don’t hide the disdain in my voice. This isn’t about whipped cream.

The whipped cream is a symbol, it represents all the ways my parents have treated Claire as the obvious favourite in the family.

“Want to come for dinner tonight? Put on a long, dark wig and pretend to be me? I doubt they would even notice.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Pass. I’d rather have every hair plucked out of my head one by one than sit there and listen to your parents gush over Claire.”

“I’ll have to tape my eyeballs in place, so they don’t roll right out of my head.

” I flip my wrist over and check the time again.

“Shit, I better get going if I’m going to hit the grocery store and make it to my meeting.

I doubt I’ll have time to go after. Unless I want to be late.

” Being late to a Miller family dinner is like a suicide mission.

Poppy grimaces, wrinkling her nose.

“What now?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t go to the grocery store today if I were you.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” I click open my phone and add ‘Get Vegan Whipped Cream’ to the bottom of my to-do list. Right after, ‘Avoid Ex’ and ‘Get Promotion.’

“If your plan is to avoid Hudson”—There’s that pesky racing pulse at his name again—“then I would rethink your plans. Today is the firehall boot drive.”

I snap my eyes back to Poppy, and my mouth opens in a silent ahh . I’ve heard through the grapevine over the years of Hudson’s involvement with the firehall. Not to mention, his antics at the boot drive to raise the most money.

Last year, Poppy asked me if it was okay if she baked some pies for him, because he was letting passersby pie him in the face for ten bucks. He’s never changed. He’s still playing games, still in the same place as he was when I left .

Meanwhile I’ve put in blood, sweat and tears to get to where I am today. It does sort of soothe my bruised ego to think I can revisit my hometown having made something of myself.

“I can hit it on the way home. Hopefully they’re gone by then.

Being late to dinner is probably still better than running into …

him .” I pull out my compact mirror and my favourite lipstick to touch it up.

Rival Rouge . It’s always made me feel powerful, even on the days I feel anything but. I figure I could use that energy today.

“Good idea,” Poppy agrees.

When I walk outside again, my primary goal is to make it to my car before I get spotted. The grocery store is on the opposite corner to Thistle + Thorne, and that will put me within Hudson’s eyeline, if he’s still there.

The crowd on the street corner makes sense now and, judging by the number of people still gathered there, he’s there too. I’m nearing my car when my phone vibrates from in my purse. It better not be fucking Rick .

I keep my head down so as not to be noticed and pull out my phone to see that it’s not my boss, but my mother’s name lighting up my screen again.

MOM

Could you also check to see if they have vegan pie crust? Mine has butter in it.

Ugh. I don’t have time to get everything on her list. Especially not if she keeps adding things and making changes to it.

Anything else while I’m there?

Nope, that’s all. Thanks, honey. Your sister will love this.

I throw my phone back into my black leather Hermès tote.

The bag was a splurge, a treat to myself for landing the promotion— when I land the promotion.

I may have been pre-emptive with it, but I figured it would motivate me to work harder.

I dig around for my keys, and when I reach for the driver’s-side door, I can’t help but look across the intersection.

The small crowd that was previously milling about has dispersed slightly, and it’s impossible not to notice the fluorescent yellow pants on a very shirtless Hudson Landry.

And that half-naked-Hudson is staring right at me.

His clear blue eyes flash with recognition when he sees me, and he holds my gaze for as long as my eyes are locked on him.

What in the Magic Mike …?

He’s officially resorted to stripping for money. For the food bank. It’s all the confirmation I need that Hudson is the same reckless, immature boy who broke my heart.

Fuck, but he looks good doing it. Ten years have done a number on Hudson’s body—my eyes rake over the bulging muscles manhood and years working as a firefighter have graced him with.

He’s physically nothing like the boy I remember, yet even from here I can still see those dimples in his cheeks.

The ones I would gently press my thumb into before I kissed him.

The ones that made me melt whenever he smiled at me.

Those dimples were my kryptonite. And then they cracked my fucking heart in two when he dumped me .

Fuck Hudson Landry. And fuck his adorable dimples.

I have a job to do here, and I will not be interacting with him. Even if it means I have to hide out in my hideous childhood bedroom the entire summer.

My car door slams shut with more force than I intend, and the tires screech as I pull away. I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead of me, determined not to look at his rippling abs, perfectly framed between red suspenders.

Because looking like that? I can forget avoiding him. He’ll be a permanent fixture in my thoughts.