Jennifer Chastain
Brooke straightened the perfectly-aligned fork a microfraction next to her mom’s fall-themed plates. The table was set, the food warming in the oven.
She glanced out the large window in the family room, scanning the driveway for any sign of Ashton’s pick-up truck. A few dried leaves blew across the porch, dancing against the windows until they settled around the door. Bright orange pumpkins and colorful mums were arranged on either side of the entry. With one last sigh, she forced herself away from the window and back into the kitchen.
Another October. Another year older. Another shared birthday celebrated with her best friend. The past couple of birthdays had been awkward, neither one knowing what to say. Their mothers were best friends and she and Ashton had fallen into an easy friendship. But somewhere along the way, her affection had morphed into…more. Every year, it became more difficult to hide her feelings.
“Ashton’s here!” Her mom’s excitement only increased Brooke’s anxiety. “I’ll be right back.” The door slammed and Brooke stood alone in the empty house. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and exhaled.
“Honey, I’m home!” Ashton’s cheery greeting boomed throughout her parents’ old Victorian and warmed her from the inside out.
“In here.” Brooke’s heart thundered as if a thousand mixers were running at the same time. She schooled her features and slowly turned around.
“Saw your mom on my way in.” He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, a tender smile on his face. “Something smells good.” He grabbed her in a hug and held on as if he never wanted to let go. “Mmm, you smell good, too.”
She leaned into his hug, savoring the contact for a brief moment before she stepped back and swatted his bicep. His very firm bicep. Gone was the unkempt teenager and in his place stood a polished, confident, successful businessman. But his sparkling brown eyes were still full of mischief and her heart skipped a beat.
“I made all your favorites.” Get a grip, girl.
“Sauerbraten, spätzle and pretzel rolls?” Ashton quirked one eyebrow and removed his jacket, tossing it over a barstool.
Brooke laughed. “Of course, and there’s German chocolate cake for dessert.”
“I’m starved.” He snagged a peppermint drop from the bag on the counter. “So, what are our meddling mothers up to?”
Brooke snickered and grabbed a serving platter from the cupboard. “Oh, you know,” she waved her hand towards his parents’ house across the street, “probably plotting their world domination.”
His laughter rang out, a balm for her jitters. She should just enjoy their time together, regardless of how long he was home. She opened the oven and checked the entrée. “When do you leave?” She closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at him and see the pity in his gaze.
He cleared his throat. “Well now, that depends.”
She whirled around, her face warm. It had to be from the heat of the oven. “Depends on what?”
He leaned against the counter as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “You.”
“Me?” She bustled past him, a basket of rolls in her hands. She set the rolls near his place setting along with the whipped butter.
The old familiarity had faded to unspoken tension. Was he trying to let her down easy, tell her that he’d fallen in love? With his looks, women were probably falling over themselves to gain his attention. She smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her pants. Of course he had found someone else. She was just the curvy small-town baker.
He clasped her hands in a light grip. “Hey, what’s going on, Brooke?”
She stared at the floor, not wanting him to see the longing in her eyes. “Nothing.” She swallowed back her fear. “It’s been a long time between your visits,” she whispered.
“Too long, if you ask me.”
The air was charged with an underlying current, and she cleared her throat. “Well, you’re the one with the fancy job, jetting around the world.” She shrugged. “I’m the girl who owns the local bake shop in the same town we grew up in.”
“It’s not that.” He exhaled and let go of her.
“Then what?”
He tunneled his hands through his hair. “Haven’t you wondered why I only visit once a year?”
“It’s your birthday and your software company is growing.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me, Brooke.” An intensity swirled around them, a magnetic force drawing them together. “Truth is, I was afraid.”
She frowned. “You? Afraid?”
“Brooke.” His gentle smile enveloped her like an embrace. “Mom said if I didn’t do something soon, it would be too late.”
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “For what?”
“This.” He reached for her again, tugging her closer, his lips a whisper-soft brush against hers.
He tasted like peppermint, desire, and home. Brooke wrapped her arms around his neck, pouring all her emotions into him as he deepened the kiss. Her entire body was alive as if she’d been jolted out of a twenty-year stupor.
“Happy birthday,” he spoke against her lips.
“Wow.” She exhaled. “That’s the best birthday gift I’ve ever received.”
The front door opened, and their parents’ voices drifted into the kitchen. They broke apart.
“I think our mothers planned for us to be alone.” Ashton placed a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Knowing them, they probably did.”
He twined his fingers with hers and smiled. “Well, what do you say?”
“To what?”
“Me staying here. Moving my company back home. Dating.”
Joy bubbled up, and all she could do was nod.
Ashton swept her into his embrace as they swayed to their own music. “Don’t you know…” He twirled her around the room and Brooke sighed, resting her head on his chest.
“We belong together.” Ashton’s voice rumbled against her ear.
“Yeah, we do.” Brooke sighed. “Of course, we wouldn’t have figured it out with a healthy dollop of help from our moms.”
Jennifer is a member of ACFW, ACFW-NC, My Book Therapy/Novel Academy, and Blue Ridge Reader Connections. She was a finalist in the Touched by Love contest, sponsored by the Faith, Hope, and Love Christian Writers. Her contemporary romance and romantic suspense stories contain the themes of redemption, grace, forgiveness, and second chances. When not working full-time at the local university, she is a writing ninja, cramming in as many words as possible at night and on the weekends.
A hopeful romantic, Jennifer loves dark chocolate, Diet Coke, old movies, and a good rom-com.
Connect with Jennifer on Facebook, Instagram, Goodreads, or her website.
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