Page 4 of The Hang Up (Lilac Harbor #3)

FOUR

Holden

I tell myself I’m going to Clay & Cupcakes for the pastries.

That it’s been a long week, and I’ve earned something sweet.

That maybe I’ll grab one of those raspberry scones Lena makes, the ones that melt in my mouth and remind me of Sunday mornings in high school when she’d bake a dozen because she knew they were my favorite.

But that would be a lie, and a weak one at that. Because the truth is, I want to see her. Even if she barely looks at me. Even if her words are clipped and her eyes are colder than Lake Michigan in winter.

I park a few blocks down and walk the rest of the way. It feels less desperate somehow. Less like I’ve planned this. Like maybe I happened to be walking by and decided to pop in for a treat.

I know it’s pathetic, but she’s worth it.

The bell over the door jingles as I step into the warmth of the bakery, the scent of sugar and cinnamon wrapping around me like a memory I can’t shake.

Lena is behind the counter, her back to me as she slides a tray of cupcakes into the display case. She’s wearing one of those cute aprons with little cupcakes on it, her hair tied up in the same loose bun she always wore in high school. She looks messy and beautiful and completely her.

My chest tightens at the sight of her.

God, I missed her.

She turns when she hears the bell and freezes for a fraction of a second when she sees me. It’s barely noticeable, but I catch it. The little hitch in her step. The way her hand curls tighter around the tray.

Then she pastes on a polite smile, one that doesn’t meet her eyes, and straightens.

“Welcome to Clay & Cupcakes.” Her voice is smooth but distant. “What can I get for you today?”

I swallow hard. “Morning. I, uh… just came by to grab a few pastries.”

She nods, already moving toward the counter.

“We’ve got scones, muffins, cupcakes, and Danishes. Everything’s fresh.”

“I’ll take a raspberry scone,” I say quietly.

Her hands don’t falter, but her eyes flick to mine for half a second. My stomach kicks against my ribs at the contact.

“Anything else?”

I should say no, take the damn scone and go, but I’m not ready for this moment to be over.

“Maybe a muffin,” I add. “Whatever’s your favorite.”

That gets a pause. Her brows lift slightly, like she’s trying to decide if it’s worth responding. Finally, she says, “Blueberry lemon.”

“Then I’ll take one of those, too.”

She boxes up the treats in silence. I try not to stare, but when she brushes flour from her cheek with the back of her hand, I freeze.

She always used to do that. Every time we baked together, she’d get flour on her cheek and pretend not to notice until I kissed it off.

My hands curl at my sides, itching to reach out and touch her. Brush my fingers over her jaw and remind her of who we used to be.

But I don’t because I lost that right.

She snaps the lid closed and slides the box across the counter.

“That’ll be seven-fifty.”

I dig out my wallet and hand her a ten. She gives me change without a word.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice rougher than I’d like. “It’s good to see you.”

She doesn’t reply. Just gives me a tight, angry smile and turns away, effectively dismissing me.

I walk out with my tail between my legs and pastries I don’t even want.

I don’t know what I expected. That she’d suddenly be warm and welcoming? That a muffin might remind her of the love letters I used to leave in her locker?

I’m such an idiot.

I turn the corner and spot two familiar figures heading my way on the sidewalk. Auden and Arlowe are a block away, their heads bowed, deep in conversation.

They see me at the same time, both of them slowing. Arlowe tilts her head, and Auden’s eyes narrow slightly. They’re not unkind, but they’re not thrilled to see me either.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat. “Got a minute?”

Arlowe glances at Auden, then shrugs. “Sure. What’s up?”

I scratch the back of my neck, feeling like I’m back in tenth grade, asking someone’s older sister for advice. “I just… I know Lena’s your friend. And I don’t want to overstep. But I’m trying to make things right with her, and I wondered if you two might be able to help.”

“Help?” Auden echoes.

I nod. “Just… I don’t know. Tell her I’m not trying to mess with her. That I want to explain. That I still care.”

They both go quiet.

“She knows,” Arlowe says after a minute.

“She does?” I ask, my eyebrows rising.

“She’s not stupid. She knows why you’re back. She knows you’re trying,” Arlowe reveals.

“Then why won’t she talk to me?”

“Because you hurt her,” Auden says flatly. “She’s not over it, Holden. And maybe she shouldn’t be.”

Her words are like a slap. Not because they’re mean, but because they’re true.

“I just…” I exhale. “I need to make her understand why I left. What I was thinking. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting her.”

“She doesn’t need protecting,” Auden says, voice cool. “She needed someone to stay.”

That lands like a punch to the gut.

“I know,” I whisper. “I know that now. I just need a chance to say it. Once. Then she can slam the door in my face forever if she wants to.”

Arlowe studies me for a beat. Then she sighs. “We’ll think about it.”

That’s not a yes, but it’s more than I expected.

“Thanks,” I say. “Really.”

They nod and keep walking.

I head off in the opposite direction, shoulders heavy.

By the time I reach Wade’s place, I’ve replayed every word of that interaction a dozen times. I’m emotionally wrung out, and it’s not even noon.

Wade opens the door before I can knock. “Let me guess. Didn’t go well.”

I grunt and push past him, collapsing onto the worn leather couch in his living room. “She sold me a muffin,” I mutter.

“Progress,” he deadpans.

I shoot him a look. “She didn’t even smile.”

“Did she spit in the muffin?”

I blink. “I don’t think so?”

“Then I stand by what I said. Progress.”

I roll my eyes. “I talked to Auden and Arlowe.”

Wade whistles and drops onto the recliner across from me. “You’re making the rounds today.”

“I asked them to help me talk to her. Not sure if it worked.”

He shrugs. “Can’t hurt. Those girls are tight. Their loyalty is locked in. Auden has already warned me about getting involved.”

“I know,” I say, dragging a hand down my face. “But I need to find a way to explain everything. To apologize for leaving. To tell her what I was thinking.”

“And then what?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Say she listens. Say she forgives you. Then what? You move back in with her? Propose? What’s the plan, man?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just want a shot. One real chance to make it right.”

Wade nods slowly. “Well, you better come up with something better than muffins.”

I stand and stretch, the weight of the day pressing on me. “Yeah. I was thinking about what you said, about writing her a letter.”

“Good. Do it,” he says with a nod.

“Are you going to help?”

Wade snorts. “You don’t want my help. I’m not good with words.”

He’s right. Wade is a man of few words. He’s loyal, though, and a good guy. I’m lucky to have him as a friend.

I give him a mock salute and head out, climbing into my truck and driving the familiar backroads to my place.

The second I roll open the doors to the woodworking shop, the tension in my shoulders eases.

This place always feels like home. Like peace.

The scent of pine and sawdust greets me, warm and comforting. I move to the workbench and run my hands over the smooth surface. My latest project, a maple bookshelf I’m crafting for a client, is half finished, the wood clean and waiting.

But today, I don’t reach for the tools. Instead, I grab my notebook.

I sink onto the stool and stare at the blank page, the pen heavy in my hand.

What do you say to the girl you left behind? How do you explain the worst decision of your life?

I start writing, letting the words come.

Lena,

I know I’m the last person you want to hear from. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I need you to understand why I left. Why I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done…

I write for an hour, maybe two.

I pour it all out. The fear. The guilt. The grief of losing my grandfather. The pressure I felt to become someone worthy of her. The belief that I needed to prove myself before I could come back and build a life with her.

The realization, too late, that I already had everything I needed.

I sign it simply.

Forever sorry,

Holden

I set the pen down and stare at the page.

It’s not perfect, but it’s honest.

Now all I have to do is find the courage to give it to her… and hope she reads it.