sick with humiliation at the pity she saw float through them. She didn’t want his sympathy, or anyone else’s for that matter. She wanted to break free, to start over. To live a life where she could be so many more things than this town had allowed her to be.
“Too much,” Scott said quickly, and Emily gave him a brief, tight smile. He knew the things people used to say about her family. It hung in the air, in the leaves of the maple trees that lined Main Street. It triggered family dinner conversations and prompted Sunday prayers. It was a name spoken in whisper, with lowered eyes and a shake of the head. Those poor Porters.
Emily shook herself from the darkening thoughts. “Well, I’ve just put on some fresh coffee and there’s plenty of pie. Feel free to wait here, if you’d like.”
He hesitated, shifting back on his heels. “Why not?” he suddenly said with a shrug. His eyes softened their hold on hers, causing her pulse to skip a beat.
“How about a slice of pie?” she asked nervously, squeezing her fists to keep her hands from shaking. “There’s strawberry and cream, pecan, apple crumb—oh, we have a lovely cherry here,” she offered before she could stop herself. She hadn’t even remembered until now that it was his favorite.
“You know me well,” he said with a sigh, sliding into a seat at the counter.
Emily offered him a small smile in return, then, her heart heavy, turned her back to him to plate the pie, paying careful attention in getting the first wedge just right. It was tricky, but she’d learned the knack through practice. Long before her father had died on a construction site when she was just a little girl, Sunday pie had been a ritual in her household, and she still took comfort in his memory every time she pulled one from the oven. No matter how rough the week had been, there was always some reassurance in the time-honored tradition. Pie could bring comfort in a world that could be cruel. It was something to be shared. It brought people together. In the most difficult of circumstances, she liked to think it helped keep them together, too.
“Here you go,” she said to Scott now. “I made it this morning, so it’s fresh.”
“You always made the best pies, Emily Porter.” He grinned, and his eyes shone bright on hers until he caught the heat in her expression and looked down at his plate.
She sucked in a breath. “So,” she said briskly. “What brings you back to town?” It certainly wasn’t her. He’d made a promise—dozens of beautiful, hope-filled promises—and broken each one right along with her heart.
“My dad asked me to help oversee the construction of the library.” His jaw twitched and he scratched at a day’s worth of stubble. “Well, Lucy asked, actually.”
“Lucy mentioned once that you were in construction, just like you’d always planned.” She frowned at the thought. Why couldn’t he have stayed in Maple Woods and taken over Collins Construction, the family business? It was a fine company, well respected by the town. Her own father had proudly worked there.
Scott paused. “My father isn’t up to the job at the moment.”
Emily nodded. Scott and Lucy’s parents had never been warm to her, but she’d decided a long time ago not to take it personally. Her father had worked for Mr. Collins for more than fifteen years before the accident on the job took his life when she was eight years old. It had been human error, the police had said, his own negligence in failing to put the emergency brakes on the excavator that rolled down the slope and killed him. Mr. Collins had been there that day. He’d dealt with the police, and as a courtesy to the family he had helped cover the funeral expenses, but he had been tense around her family in passing ever since.
“Sticking around for long?” She held her breath, waiting for an answer she knew deep down wouldn’t make a lick of difference.
“Only as long as I have to.”
Emily held his sharp gaze and then lowered her eyes with a slow nod of her head as her heart began to tug. He was still the same old Scott. The same charming guy with dreams beyond Maple Woods. And she was still the same old Emily, still living in the same small town, still waiting for life to really start.
Well, it was time to do something about that.
* * *
Of all the people he had hoped to avoid in this town, Emily was at the top of his list. So he supposed it made sense that she was the first person he ran into. The one girl who had crawled under his skin and remained there. No matter how much he wanted to resist her, to turn his back and leave, he just couldn’t.
He rested an elbow on the counter, grateful for its barrier. If it wasn’t there, keeping them apart, he wasn’t quite sure he would have been able to refrain himself from greeting her with a hug, to feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, to hold her close and know that she was real and that she was okay. That no matter what had happened, what he had done, that she was all right.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way with them. They’d had plans—plans he’d intended to stick to—until that horrible summer night, his last night in this town, when his entire world came crashing down around him and Emily was lost to him forever.
Swallowing hard, he allowed his gaze to roam over her as she repositioned the pie plate on its stand and swept some crumbs off the counter, her glossy chestnut waves cascading over her shoulders. He couldn’t peel his eyes from her. His high school sweetheart—the girl who interrupted his dreams and haunted his waking hours was standing right in front of him, looking more beautiful than ever.
But time hadn’t changed one thing. Emily was still off-limits.
“So what have you been up to all this time?” he asked, even though he didn’t want to hear it confirmed. Emily had always had dreams. Dreams beyond this small town. Dreams that hadn’t come true.
“Oh, not much,” she said. “I worked at the diner before this, but you might have known that.”
His stomach twisted at her words. Emily was the smartest girl he’d known back in school. She should be running a restaurant of her own, not waiting tables. She should have gone to college, pursued her passions—opportunities she would have had if her father had lived. If his father hadn’t deprived their family of insurance money that was rightfully owed to them as a result of the tragic accident. If Scott hadn’t been on that construction site at all the day that Mr. Porter...
“No,” he managed. “No, Lucy hadn’t mentioned it.”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before she pulled back and leaned against the far counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ah, well, I suppose you and Lucy have better things to talk about than some girl you used to know.”
The hurt in her tone sliced through him, but the pain in her eyes was his true punishment. He’d earned it. He’d deserved it. He’d take it.
“You were more than some girl, Em.”
She lifted her eyes to his, holding his stare for a beat, and then shrugged.
“Well.” He sighed, “I should probably brace myself for the gossip mill.” He gave a tight smile and set his fork on the edge of the empty plate. “If Lucy knew I was already in town and hadn’t come to see her yet, she’d probably never forgive me.”
“Probably for the best,” Emily said softly. “It looks busy over there today. I won’t be surprised if she’s kept longer than she wants to be.”
Scott stood and reached into his pocket for his wallet but Emily frowned and held up her hand. “No, please. It’s on the house.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, frowning. Take the money, Emily. Take what is owed you, what you should have had a long time ago. Take what my family stole from you. “It’s your opening day. I want to help.”
But Emily was adamant, shaking her head. “Lucy would never forgive me,” she insisted, falling back on his own words, and he knew she had him there.
“I guess