In the Heart of Autumn: A River Haven

Novel (River Haven Romance Book 2)

Noelle Bensen
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Copyright © 2022 by Angela Doverspike

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright owner
except for the use of quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-7379942-3-7

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Content Editing by: Sugar Free Editing www.facebook.com/sugar.free.editing

Cover Design by: JD Cover Designs
Interior Design by: Sugar Free Editing

FIRST EDITION
For my best friend, editor, formatter, author coach, and my rock, Brooke. God knew I needed you.
He is never early. And He is absolutely never late.

Psalm 23
 Contents
A Note from the Author

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue

Acknowledgments
Coming Soon
About the Author
 A Note from the Author

To my readers,
When I first started writing this story, I wanted it to be of value to you. I wanted you to take
something away from this book. My hope was that by the time you finished, you’d have the
encouragement and bravery to leave whatever toxic relationship you might be suffering in. If you take
away anything from this book, know there is always a way out.
Break the chains. Break the cycle.
 One

L iam Darson slid his hands up the living room wall in a slow and steady manner. Continuing the
same movement down, he paused, his hands stopping next to the photo of his grandparents.
Exhaling, he concentrated on finishing the shoulder rep without hurry. This far into physical therapy
and there were still limitations on what he could do. He completed daily tasks with gentle and easy
motions, unlike what he’d been used to before the accident. He didn’t want to mess up his one chance
at recovery. Even though his career was over, he hadn’t quite accepted it yet.
He would miss fighting fires with his crew—his brothers. After fighting wildfires with them for
ten years, they became his family. When a tree fell and clipped his arm, they were the ones to drag
him to safety. When the doctor said he wouldn’t be able to return to duty, they were the first people he
told. While he did physical therapy in his living room, they remained on the front lines. Those brave
men would always be his brothers.
His phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled it out with his right hand and brought it to his
ear. “Hey, Mom. You just caught me at the end of my—” He heard sniffling. “What’s wrong? Are you
crying?”
“It’s your grandfather,” she said after a moment. Her muffled words sounded as though she were
speaking through a tissue.
Chills ran through his body. His mother’s tears had always torn his heart apart. He prayed a silent
prayer. Let no more grief come to my mother. But he had a feeling it was already too late.
He took a seat on the couch. “What about Grandad?” He feared the answer to that question.
Seconds stretched out like minutes.
“He’s gone,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Liam. Your dad and I wished we could’ve told you in
person.”
She gave him the details she knew so far. Liam listened with the heaviest of hearts.
If his grandfather could have chosen the time and place of his own death, he wouldn’t have been
far off from how it happened—in the mid-September fields, trimming his Christmas trees. Liam
wondered if he suffered in those final moments. Had he known what was coming?
Tears stung his eyes, but he didn’t let his voice waver. He had to be strong for her. It was the least
he could do at a moment such as this. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Mom,” Liam said, swallowing
the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I’m never around enough.” He clenched his eyes shut.
“You can’t be everywhere you’re needed, dear. We all knew the sacrifices of your job,” she said
between sobs.
When the call ended, he placed the cell phone on the coffee table. The commotion from the TV
and the squeal of his dog’s squeaky toy vanished as the news sank in. This was the last thing he
expected to hear. The last thing his tired mind, body, and soul could handle.
Guilt set in. Over the years, Liam made tough calls when deciding between his family and his
hotshot crew. Choices had been made. Sacrifices were part of the job description. He knew that when
he signed up.
How long had it been since he’d taken a trip to Vermont to see his grandfather? Too long. How
many celebrations and weddings had he missed over the years as he fought wildfires across the
country? Too many. The weight of the world seemed to rest on Liam’s shoulders. He swiped his hand
across his jaw and let out a deep breath. There was nothing he could do.
From the depths of his grieving came remorse. He should have been there to console his mother
when she learned of her father’s passing. This was a reality check for Liam—a glimpse into future
struggles he would have faced had he remained on this career path.
He slid off the couch with a thud onto the floor to find comfort from the only family he had in
California. Man’s best friend.
Shawndar was a black, long-haired beauty, with the same body type, ears, and hair as a golden
retriever. What kind of friend had he been to his dog while being away from home for months at a
time? No one waited for him when he returned from time in the field. No one but Shawndar. His loyal
companion deserved better. And so had his family.
Past decisions led him to this particular fate, but there was still time to change his destiny. He
made some calls and planned to take the next flight to Vermont, to the only place that ever felt like
home. Back to the mountains which whispered his name in the wind.
But there was one more phone call he had to make.
Paula.

LIAM SAT ON THE couch next to his girlfriend. Angry tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. It was a
weapon she often used on him.
“The mountains are calling you home? What a ridiculous thing to say. How can mountains call you
home? This is your home.” She sat back and pushed a strand of blond hair away from her cheek
before folding her arms across her chest.
He regretted his choice of words. Sentimental phrasing was wasted on someone with the
temperament of a hyena.
He gave her a moment while he gathered his thoughts. If he softened his voice any more for her
ever-changing emotions, his voice wouldn’t be heard. He almost laughed out loud at the irony.
“I’m sorry I have to miss the party,” he said, “but it’s my grandfather’s funeral. My whole family
is flying in from—”
“But this is such a huge birthday! I’m celebrating my last year in my twenties. I want you to be
there.”
She couldn’t be serious. A birthday party wasn’t more important than the death of a loved one.
He blinked and shook his head. Am I in the wrong here? “I don’t expect you to understand my
pain. I—”
“Well of course I don’t. It doesn’t make any sense!”
Bewildered, he stared into her eyes, searching for some hint of empathy. An ounce of
understanding.
He found none.
How did I let it get this far?
He felt nothing for the woman sitting across from him. She’d shown little sympathy when he’d
told her of his grandfather’s passing and had made a point to remind him he hadn’t been to Vermont in
ages—as though it held some weight in determining if he should show his face at the funeral.
Liam couldn’t stand another minute of this life with her. All her heartless words led them to this
point. He didn’t love Paula, and whatever she felt for him wasn’t love, either. The other L word,
maybe, but not love.
“Look, Paula, it’s time to realize we weren’t meant for each other.”
She shot him a glance, her dark eyes burning with pure hatred.
“We just don’t fit,” he continued, determined to get the words out before she could bite back.
“Neither of us can give what the other needs.”
Paula leaned over and placed a hand on his forearm. His skin crawled in repulsion. Her touch
was like sandpaper—rough and unwelcome.
“Liam, darling, we can try to do better.” She batted her eyes. Like cotton candy dissolving in
water, the anger melted from her face and a fake softness replaced it.
We? He couldn’t give her more than he already had, and he’d given her plenty. His needs weren’t
being met, but if he dared to say as much, she’d accuse him of being selfish and cruel.
“We can see a therapist,” she continued, “to work through our problems.”
He knew exactly how that would go. It would be one sided, just like everything else.
“What do you think? It’ll be a new start for us.” Her eyes pleaded with him. She was no longer on
the verge of hostility. Another one of her tactics.
Her shifting emotions gave him psychological whiplash, manifesting into a physical pain in his
tense neck. He rubbed at it with his hand.
You fight fires, man. Come on.
He had to put his foot down somewhere. It might as well start right there. It was time to do what
he should’ve done the first time she waved the red flags in his face. He met her eyes with an
unwavering stare.
“No.”
Her nails scraped against his skin as she pulled back. “What did you say?”
“I said no.” The less he said, the better. She didn’t need more ammunition and fuel for her fire.
Color drained from her face and shifted to a bright red as she balled her fists. “I can’t believe
you’re dumping me so you can go play on another mountain range.”
He clenched his teeth. He didn’t play on mountains. He risked his life to fight forest fires. How
did I end up getting involved with her? Oh, that’s right. She played the part of a damsel in distress.
Now I’m the one in distress.
“It’s bad enough you spent more time with your fire crew than me,” she pouted.
“Don’t bring my brothers into this.”
“You don’t have any brothers,” she said. “Not real ones, anyway.”
Heat crept up his neck.
She smiled. She knew that was the harshest thing she could say.
“Don’t say another word about them. I’m going to Vermont to bury my grandfather. You and I are
done. End of story.”
Paula rose from the couch and stormed out the door.
WHEN HE STEPPED OUT of the airport, pine-scented air met his nose. He was used to the aroma of the
mountains, but nothing smelled quite like home. His first home. Childhood memories flashed in his
mind before he even stepped off the curb—the good and the bad—and the funeral the next day was
sure to bring up even more.
He grabbed a rental car and started toward the attorney’s office. He was eager to see his family,
but the lawyer requested he meet with him upon arrival.
Why would an attorney need to see me? Grandad must have left me something.
The office was in the neighboring town just outside of River Haven, but it was still an hour from
the airport. When he finally pulled into the small lot, he’d had all the sitting he could stand after the
cross-country flight and the drive toward town. He strolled toward the large glass doors, glad to
stretch his legs. He pulled the door open, and a rush of leather-scented air encompassed him.
The attorney’s waiting area was small, dark, and rustic. Six chairs and two end tables made the
space feel more cramped than necessary. Paintings of scenic mountains, lakes, and rivers hung on
every available wall. Folks around there saw mountains in every direction. Their beauty outshined
the pictures on the walls by a landslide. What good was wall art when the view from any window, in
any direction, was better than a manufactured copy? But at least these mountains weren’t on fire.
He sat, feeling as though he were waiting to be called into the principal’s office. Sweat covered
his clammy hands, and his leg bounced up and down. He wondered how much longer it would be.
There was no one else occupying the seats around him.
“Mr. Darson?” The receptionist’s voice broke the silence of the tiny waiting room. “Mr. Walton
will see you now. Follow me, please.”
She led him down a short hallway and gestured for him to enter the attorney’s office.
“Ah, you must be Liam Darson.” The old fellow stood with a grunt and extended his hand. His
round belly divulged he’d had his fingers in too many cookie jars over the years. His gray hair and
wrinkled face revealed more of his age than his outdated office. More paintings of mountains. Big
surprise.
Liam shook his hand. “Yes sir, I am.”
“Please have a seat. Ezekiel was a good man. I’m sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting it. He seemed to have so much life left. The last several days
haven’t been easy for me.”
“He spoke highly of you and how proud he was of the service you do to protect this nation’s
forests. A wildland firefighter. By the looks of your stature and build, it must be a vicious job.”
“Yes sir, it is. Very.”
“My wife and I buy a Christmas tree from your grandfather’s land every year. A pre-cut one, of
course. I can’t bend over to do any sawing these days.” He chuckled as he placed a hand on his
oversized stomach. “I’m sure you have family to attend to, so let’s get right to it, shall we?”
Liam nodded.
“It was Ezekiel’s wish that I meet with you about this personally. He didn’t want you to find out
through a packet of papers in the mail. And if I may be completely blunt . . . I think he wanted your
feet here on Vermont soil.” The man took a deep breath, as though he were about to divulge the
secrets of the universe. “Your grandfather has bestowed his legacy upon you. The Merry Pine Tree
Park is yours, son.”
Liam’s eyes widened.
“Every time he sat in that same chair you’re sitting in now, he always said, ‘Trust in the Lord with
all your heart.’ He also said when the time came, you’d know which path to take.”
Liam knew the scripture he’d referenced. Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct
your paths.
The attorney handed Liam a manila envelope. “He never said what he meant by that. If he didn’t
offer an explanation, I didn’t press.”
Liam hesitated before taking the envelope held out to him. Words escaped him. What path is he
talking about?
The attorney studied him for a long moment. “He must have known something was coming, even if
you didn’t.”
Liam looked across the cluttered desk at the old man. What on earth could that mean?

THE SMOKE THAT LINGERED in the Vermont breeze was different from that of a blazing mountain range.
It carried with it the smell of logs burning within someone’s fireplace, not the hot, angry fires that
consumed and devastated a forest. There was a difference.
He traveled along the winding wooded roads until he reached the town of River Haven. When he
pulled up to the old house, his mother waited on the front porch. Decades of grief accentuated the
lines on her face. She entered into his arms with tears in her eyes. It was never easy to see his mother
cry—a sight he couldn’t get used to. His stomach clenched and his heart burst every time. Hadn’t she
suffered enough? Now, to lose her father so unexpectedly seemed too unfair. It dredged up emotions
of a previous loss—a wound that would be forever unhealed.
As he entered his grandparents’ Craftsman-style home, memories of happier times flooded his
mind and forced tears into his eyes.
A wooden rocking chair still rested by the fireplace. He’d sat on his grandfather’s knee as a child,
listening to stories woven on the spot. A cracked Roseville vase sat on the old coffee table. He’d
broken it while playing long ago. His grandfather hadn’t scolded him. Instead, he helped him glue the
pieces back together, telling him it was like a jigsaw puzzle.
Memories of kindness and love.
Liam’s father and close family milled around the living room, eyeing him with anticipation as they
waited to hear what he’d been left in the will. No one said anything.
Besides money left behind for his mother and her sister, his grandfather had left him the house, the
land, and the business. Disbursements like this often tore families apart when jealousy and greed took
over. He wasn’t sure he wanted everything his grandfather left him, and he was willing to hand it over
to anyone that did, especially to avoid any bad blood between family. Though he knew in his heart
they wouldn’t harbor any resentment. It wasn’t their way.
He ran his hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Grandad left me his house and business,”
he finally said.
His aunt left the room and returned with a cake. Confused, he read the icing: Congratulations!
 “What’s this?” he asked, meeting everyone’s gaze.
His mother stepped forward. “We knew what Ezekiel wanted to leave you.” She smiled.
“You’ll make him so proud, Liam,” said one of his cousins.
“He couldn’t have left this place in better hands,” his aunt said. “You always loved the outdoors,
the mountains, and the trees. Instead of cutting trees down to save a forest, you’ll have a chance to
grow them.” Her eyes were glossy as she gave him a tender-hearted smile.
His father extended his hand. “This is your chance to move back to your roots. You never wanted
to leave. Your mother and I always hoped you’d return here, even though we couldn’t. The pain
of . . .” He pinched off his words.
“I know, Dad.”
Had a door just been opened to him? Was all of this God’s way of guiding Liam back to the only
place that ever felt like home? Everything happened so fast, he hadn’t the chance to take it all in and
consider his options.
What puzzled Liam the most was why it was willed to him to begin with. If his grandfather was so
proud of the career Liam had chosen, why force him to make this change? The timing, however, was
impeccable. His destroyed shoulder ended his career, and he had no plan for what to do after retiring
from his job as a wildland firefighter.
To be the owner of a tree farm, though? Liam could picture himself moving back to his roots, but
not being the proprietor of his grandfather’s legacy. He didn’t know anything about the business. Sure,
he could learn, but not before he ran it into the ground. And certainly not in time for the Christmas
season starting in two months.
He kept his doubts and thoughts to himself. His family had enough on their minds. How
disappointed would they be if they found out he didn’t want all that was given to him?
A lead cape hung from his broad shoulders, weighing him down. Returning to his childhood
hometown had hit him harder in the gut than he anticipated. Instead of feeling consoled, it was a
constant reminder of how much time he’d missed out on.
When he was a child, the entire family lived within fifteen minutes of each other in any direction.
After the tragedy, everyone left River Haven and scattered along the East Coast. They all tried to
outrun the grief.
He tried to stop thinking about it, but being back in River Haven made it impossible to avoid.
While working as a hotshot, his crew had been his brothers . . . but he’d had a real brother once. For
eight years, he’d been an older sibling. Eight years wasn’t long enough, but that’s all he’d been given
with Sean.
After Sean’s passing, his parents couldn’t handle the daily reminders of their loss. They moved
from town to town, but nothing ever felt like home. The memories followed, as did the pain.
A sense of longing to belong overcame him at times. Now, surrounded by family and old friends,
Liam confirmed these were the mountains calling his name. He’d finally be closer to his little brother,
who was buried next to the small-town church.
His career as a hotshot was over, and while he didn’t know what to do with the tree farm, he’d
work the land until he figured it out. At least until the end of the Christmas season. He’d return to
California to tie up loose ends—and retrieve Shawndar—then take the long, cross-country journey
back to River Haven.
He was home.
 Two

L eaves danced in the light breeze, swirling and twirling in the early October sun. Today, Charlotte
Bennet felt especially inspired as she strolled through the festive fall town, greeting friendly faces
as they passed. A smile sprang onto her face as she watched a bundled-up child cling to his mother as
the wind nipped his little cheeks. The tyke clearly wasn’t as fond of the chill in the air as Charlotte.
The smell of wood burning in a fireplace drifted through the air as the bell in the church tower
rang for all to hear. Cornstalks and bales of straw leaned on every lamppost. Pumpkins sat along the
sidewalks, doorsteps, and storefront window displays. Off in the distance, the mountains lined the
skyline in every direction. It was a beautiful morning, with crisp leaves crunching under every
satisfied step.
River Haven was as charming as a town in a romance novel.
The season of change was upon the tiny town, with the leaves fluttering and sun rays peeking
through the clouds. Autumn was Charlotte’s favorite. As the season approached each year, she
wondered what changes life would send her way before the year’s end.
She held a pumpkin spice latte in one hand, with her laptop satchel hung over her right shoulder. It
was a perfect day for a writer to find a bench in the park.
She glanced both ways as she crossed the cobblestone street, and as she entered the park, she
pondered that very thought. When she came to her treasured spot, she smiled to herself when she
found it vacant.
Perfect, she thought. She set her latte on the bench overlooking the river and pulled out her laptop.
Birds tweeted and chirped above her. Among them, the familiar caw of a crow reached her ears
—a sound Charlotte associated with her favorite season. She could spend her entire life reliving
October through December, but as much as she loved to daydream, there was work to do.
Upon opening the laptop, she waited for the amiable tone as it awakened. A sigh escaped her as
she glanced at the surroundings. She was completely content. She stretched out her fingers, as if to
prepare them for the tasks that lay ahead. Readers eagerly awaited the relationship advice given in
her blog.
It all started as a way to vent her thoughts during her divorce five years ago, but people soon
became enraptured by her way of thinking. Followers flocked to her blog, seeking relationship
advice. It was her best kept secret because no one knew the identity of Autumn’s Wisdom, and that
was how she liked it. She didn’t need the praise or notoriety. She only wanted to help others.
She knew wisdom came from experiences, learning from mistakes, and learning from those who
are willing to tell of theirs. She often said, “What you allow is what will continue.” Those words got
her through a tough year in her life. She wrote it on a scrap piece of parchment paper and kept it
tucked away in her satchel’s pocket. It wore down over the years, as she would always flip it through
her fingers when one of her readers reminded her of herself.
The laptop was on and ready to go. She read the first question.

Dear Autumn’s Wisdom,

I feel foolish for even having to type this. I can’t go anywhere or do anything without my
boyfriend being suspicious and asking questions about everything I do. I go to the grocery store,
and he wants to know who I saw and who I talked to. Nothing I do or say is good enough.
Young and Afraid

“Poor girl,” she said to herself, “but this one is straightforward.”

She had to maintain a balance. Direct, but not too bold. Enough to empower. And she never
suggested anything she wouldn’t do herself. There was never any malice; the advice given was to
help the victim, not seek revenge on the way out. She gathered her thoughts and placed her fingers on
the keyboard.

Dear Young and Afraid,

I believe you already know the answers you seek. You’re scared and feel like one wrong move
could cost you so much, but what you allow is what will continue. If you want to see a change in
your life, you must make the modification yourself. You must teach people how to treat you, and
whatever you allow him to do, he will continue to do. He’ll keep the same pattern going. Patterns
do not lie. Positive change cannot come from someone who doesn’t see an issue with their actions.
It’s not your responsibility to change him. Break the chains. Break the cycle. And get out.
Autumn’s Wisdom

Although advice was often easier to give rather than to follow, it didn’t make it any easier for her to
break it to someone who was hurting, confused, and alone. Charlotte knew how hard it was to break
the cycle. How hard it was to drown out the voices sharply laced with guilt. How hard it was to make
the arduous changes. It was a monumental step to leave a life behind while hoping a better one waited
on the other side of the door.
All you have to do is close the door on your way out.
Autumn’s Wisdom was her way of saving others from making the mistakes she made, but she’d
also written a book about her painful marriage and divorce. Charlotte never expected to become a
writer, but when she sat down to write about her brief marriage, lengthy divorce, and struggle to fight
the chains of narcissism, the words flew from her fingers. How her book grabbed the attention of
people around the country was something she couldn’t have imagined. Women related to her story.
Her book offered understanding to those who didn’t understand what was happening in their own
situations.
She attached her name to the book, but Autumn’s Wisdom? That was her little secret.
 She scrolled down to the next submission. This time, it was a man seeking guidance. Charlotte
had a soft spot for the men who wrote to the blog. They were often overlooked as victims in a bad
relationship, and she appreciated it when they sought help.

Autumn’s Wisdom,
I don’t know if you get many guys writing in for help, but I think a woman’s perspective would
be helpful. I broke up with someone recently. She didn’t take it well. I feel horrible. I feel like I
should help her through this breakup, so I can’t ignore her or block her. I wanted to end it for a
while, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it because she always has a crisis around every corner. I
couldn’t leave her in the middle of a problem. I’m going through a lot myself, and she’s not
understanding of that. Even though it’s over, I still drop what I’m doing to talk her emotions down.
How can I help her?
Mr. Confused

Dear Mr. Confused,

I do get men seeking help and advice now and then. I welcome them! Thank you for writing in.
When you say you feel horrible, is she trying to make you feel horrible? If so, it could be a
deliberate attempt to keep you on the hook and feeling guilty. She wants you to “want” to help her.
But after several weeks, I’d think she’d be more accepting of the end. It’s commendable you want
to help your ex-someone, but helping will only delay the inevitable. You don’t need to be mean, but
you should be firm. State exactly what you want to happen, and don’t back down from it. She’ll use
emotions as a manipulative tool, as you know, but you have to do what’s best for you at this point.
Rip the Band-Aid off.
Autumn’s Wisdom

The mouse hovered over the send button. Would he think her insensitive?
I think he has a white-knight complex going on. He wants to help. He wants to save.
She pulled her finger from the touchpad, reached into the front pocket of the satchel, and pulled
out her sacred quote. Her thumb rubbed over the faded ink.
What you allow is what will continue.
Her advice was accurate and true. It was up to them to follow it or ignore it. If only someone had
been waiting in the wings with advice for her, she might’ve been saved from a world of pain.
She fingered the piece of paper, took a deep breath, and clicked send. The rest was up to Mr.
Confused. Tucking her quote back into its safe spot, she wondered if the man would write to her
again. There was a lot for him to think about; he may have questions after gaining some perspective.
An hour of replying to various questions passed. The chill in the air lingered, but she didn’t mind.
Charlotte loved this spot in the park. It was a place she could leave the world behind while watching
the gentle flow of the river. On the far bank, rolling hills showcased their fall foliage.
She smiled. The colder it got outside, the warmer she felt inside. She got to her feet and took
another sip of her sweet pumpkin beverage. She took several steps forward and placed her hands on
the ornate wrought iron fencing that lined the edge of the park, separating it from the river. A small
breeze picked up and blew her chocolate hair away from her shoulders and into the wind. Her dark
purple scarf fluttered over her brown leather jacket as she zipped it up just a bit more.
It was nearing eleven o’clock, and the desire to warm herself called to her. Or maybe it was the
thought of another latte that willed her to move from her favorite writing spot. Regardless, her laptop
needed to be charged soon, and she had plans to meet her best friend for lunch. As she packed up her
things and breathed in the scent of the season, she soaked in the view one more time before setting her
sights on Cozy Coffee Café.
Throughout the picturesque park, older folks walked together along the curving pathways. A
younger couple posed and smiled for an engagement photoshoot. Charlotte slowed her pace. The man
held the woman’s hand. A sparkling ring twinkled against her finger as he leaned closer and placed a
kiss against her rosy cheek.
The sight of them tugged at Charlotte’s heart.
The chance at having a husband and her own family seemed to have passed her by. She’d made
attempts at finding love after divorce, but relationships meant pain and struggle with no promise that
heartbreak wasn’t in store down the road. Unwilling to fall into the same miserable circumstances
which permeated her marriage, she ended the relationships at the first signs of those bright red flags.
One liked seedy nightclubs and scantily clad women. Another refused to try anything she enjoyed
while forcing her to do his favorite activities. And the third . . . he’d been the worst of all. Much like
her ex-husband, Eric, he’d made snide remarks about her fashion choices and hairstyles.
But had she completely blocked out the desire for a husband? She didn’t miss her previous one—
not by a long shot—but she missed the sense of family.
It’s just not meant to be.
The phrase was all too familiar. It repeated in her mind like a broken record. Single and childless
when approaching thirty wasn’t where she pictured herself, but dating, marriage, and dating again
hadn’t worked and was no longer an option. She’d accepted her fate to end up as an old maid writing
blogs on a bench in the park.
The sun hid behind a cloud as she approached town. The breeze picked up, adding another layer
of chill to the air. Charlotte crossed the street and headed down two blocks until she came to the café.
Once inside, the store owner greeted Charlotte with a wide grin. The rich aroma of freshly ground
coffee filled the interior of The Cozy Coffee Café.
Charles had started the café when he was in his early twenties, after he and his wife left their
southern roots. He put his heart and soul into it. He was in his late sixties now and still going strong.
Nothing seemed to slow him down, not even his graying hair. His wife prepared the food in the back,
and he joyfully took care of his customers. He was a socialite, and everyone who met him enjoyed his
friendly demeanor and southern drawl, however misplaced the latter was in Vermont.
Charles kept with old-style charm and simplicity in his store. The original wide wooden plank
flooring—aged and worn—gave a warm appeal. The interior walls donned old red brick. Charles
never wanted to cover up the allure the brick brought.
Charlotte browsed the menu for the day—a limited selection of basic sandwiches, sides,
homemade desserts, and specialty drinks. However small the menu, the food was good, and the
customers were loyal.
“Well hello, Miss Charlotte. What a fine morning this is! Did you come for my cinnamon latte, or
did you already get your pumpkin spice from Mrs. Berry?” He gave a little wink, teasing her. Charles
and Mrs. Berry were friendly, pretend rivals, each wanting to have the most popular seasonal drink
amongst the townspeople, no matter what the season.
 “Good morning, Mr. Charles,” she said with a nod and a chuckle, enjoying his friendly banter.
“You know I can never make up my mind. I had Mrs. Berry’s latte earlier, and now I’ve come for
yours. Maybe today will be the day I finally decide whose is best.”
“Oh, I’ll be sure to add a little extra cinnamon, then. Perhaps even a pinch of cocoa. We’ll see
who has the best latte now!” He winked again and turned to prepare her hot refreshment.
The little booth next to the window was hers every time it was vacant. The cozy spot had an outlet
—perfect for juicing up her laptop. She unpacked her things and continued responding to her readers.
Charles strolled over to her booth. “I believe I’ve prepared the best cinnamon latte in the whole
town, Miss Charlotte.” He placed the steaming drink in front of her, and she cupped the mug in her
hands.
“I suppose that’s true, since you’re the only one in town with a cinnamon latte.” She looked up at
him with a cheeky smile and took a sip.
He fidgeted as he waited for her verdict. “How is it? Does it suit you?” His dark, kind eyes were
wide with anticipation.
“I think it’s wonderful! I can taste the chocolate, and it adds another layer of flavor. It’s splendid!”
She meant every word. It was delicious.
“Well, thank you. I’m so happy you like it! So what do you say? Does this mean mine is preferable
to Mrs. Berry’s?” He waited for her answer this time.
“I’d say today you are most certainly the winner.”
Happy, he nodded in approval.
“But if Mrs. Berry kicks hers up a notch, I’m afraid you’re both back in the running,” she said,
pretending to be serious.
Placing his hand over his stomach, he let out a belly laugh. She always managed to brighten his
day with her playful humor.
He touched the table with the tips of his fingers, and speaking with a laugh still in his throat, he
said, “Let me know if you need anything else, Miss Charlotte.” He walked away with a noticeable
bounce in his step.
As he slipped behind the counter, Raven bustled through the door. The wind tousled her sleek
black hair as the door closed behind her, leaving her long locks in disarray. Charlotte’s childhood
friend rushed over with a wisp of fresh air on her clothes.
“Guess what just happened!” She released an exaggerated sigh and whipped off her coat. Before
Charlotte could reply with a witty remark, Raven answered her own question. “Some guy ran into me
while I was on my way here, and the stack of envelopes I had in my arms flew everywhere. How
rude!”
Raven was an emotional creature, with bouts of irrationality. Charlotte knew to seek more
information before feeding into her depiction of the events. Charlotte was anything but an enabler.
“Did he say he was sorry?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he help you pick up your envelopes?”
“Yes.”
“Was he polite about it?”
Raven rolled her eyes. “Yes, he was polite.”
“Then that’s all you can ask for. It was an accident. Don’t be so hard on everyone.”
Raven came to her senses, as she usually did after a teaspoon of Charlotte’s quiet wisdom. “I hate
it when you’re right all the time,” she said with a half-smile. The dark cloud over her brown eyes
dissipated.
“I know you do.” Charlotte offered an amused smile.
Charles placed some sandwiches in front of them. Admitting defeat was a hard pill for Raven to
swallow, so she gobbled up her sandwich instead. They chatted about the vet clinic where Raven
worked until they’d finished eating.
“Anyway, what’s new with you?” Raven asked. “How’s your second book coming along?”
“Seems to be a little slow going this time. Fiction is harder to write than fact. I’m taking a break
for a few days so I can figure out how I’d like the story to progress.”
After publishing the book about her painful marriage, she thought she’d try her hand at a
contemporary romance novel. There were times she wondered why she’d chosen to take on the
monumental task of writing about something she wasn’t sure she’d ever had: love.
“Now I’m working on A.W.,” Charlotte whispered. “I’ve had several days’ worth of blog
questions to respond to today.”
Charlotte’s parents and Raven were the only ones who knew she was the brains behind Autumn’s
Wisdom.
As the women finished their sandwiches, leaves tapped against the windowpane and captured
Charlotte’s focus.
Raven studied her for a long moment. “For someone who loves the season of change, don’t you
think it’s all a bit ironic?”
With an inquisitive brow, Charlotte turned back to her friend. “What do you mean?”
“Oh gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you love autumn and wonder what change will come, but
you aren’t willing to welcome that change? Or how about the fact you refuse to let another guy into
your life? What changes are you expecting when you won’t let them happen?”
Charlotte sat silent. She felt as though she’d just been scolded. The tip of her finger skimmed
around the rim of her mug as she struggled to find the words. She inhaled a deep breath through her
nose. “I’m hap—”
“Please don’t start that,” Raven said, cutting her off.
Charlotte kept her eyes on her drink. “Where’s this coming from?”
Raven let out a slow breath and softened her tone. “You walk around like everything is fine, but
really, you want something more. You’re so closed off, though.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I know what I’m saying feels a bit harsh, but it’s coming from a place of concern.” She studied
her. “Charlotte,” she said, “you’re afraid everyone is like your ex-husband. But you’re wrong. You’re
always telling your followers to make the changes they want to see in their lives—to break the cycle
—but you don’t do any of those things for yourself. You think you’re so happy and content, but I’ve
seen the way you look at married couples or any couple holding hands. You want a husband and a
family.”
Silence filled the air between them.
“I’m your best friend. I can see what you don’t say. And you don’t say a lot.” Raven paused.
“You’ve had five years to heal, and in that time, you even tried dating. Most didn’t go well, including
that last jerk who—”
“You see, I have tried. Dating and marriage must not be for me,” she said, trying to assure her
friend . . . and herself.
“You always wanted marriage. You always wanted to have kids. A couple of bad apples can’t
change that. By the time you’re ready to admit you want those things, I’m afraid it’ll be too late.” She
stood and began to pull on her coat.
“Where are you going?” Charlotte asked.
“It’s time I get back to work. It’s also hard for me to see you like this today.”
“Like what?”
“Single, alone . . . and wishing for more.” She buttoned up her coat, looked down at Charlotte,
and placed a soothing hand over her friend’s. “Think about it.” She turned for the door.
“Watch where you’re going this time!” Charlotte shouted after her.
Raven turned back with a smile and waved her off.
Charlotte nibbled on her bottom lip as she stared at the door. Thoughts raced through her mind.
There couldn’t possibly be truth to what she said. How could she think I’m unhappy? I don’t need
to take my own advice. I’m not in a relationship.
With her elbows on the table, she placed her hands over her face. Her heart pounded in her chest.
She separated her fingers and peeked through as she heard Charles approaching.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked.
“No. Thank you, though,” she said as she rubbed her forehead with her hand.
“I couldn’t help overhearing . . .” His voice trailed off, and she looked up at him. “If I may, can I
speak out of turn?”
“Of course, Mr. Charles.”
His face pinched up once more before he spoke. “Be careful with being too content.” He gave her
an understanding smile and patted her arm before turning and walking away.
She slouched in her seat. Perhaps there was some truth to what Raven had been saying—
something Charlotte hadn’t admitted to herself.
 Three

T hethrough
feel of the misty morning air was familiar to Liam’s soul. It was the kind of morning that soaked
to his bones. He stood on his grandparents’ porch with his coffee, enjoying the
breathtaking view of his new front yard. Fallen leaves and blades of grass dripped with dew. Soon
the sun would shine, turning his land into a field of glistening diamonds.
This sight had been captured in his mind since childhood. Weekends and summers spent with his
grandparents, rising early with them to spend the entire day outside. For the first time since he was
ten, he felt like he was finally home.
He sighed. This was the last place his family was whole. Memories crowded his mind, and he bit
back the sting of tears. He and his brother played tag in these same woods, weaving between the
spindly pines as they laughed and ran. They baked cookies with their grandmother in the kitchen
which now belonged to Liam. Two young boys, one of which would never grow up.
He took a swig of his coffee, swallowing the pain with the robust black blend.
Headlights appeared at the top of the driveway. The car rolled down the hill, gliding through the
mist. Dave was the first of his tree farm crew to show up. Although, crew wasn’t the proper
description. He wondered if he’d bond with his inherited workers like he had with his men as they
fought forest fires.
He doubted it.
The middle-aged man strolled up the steps and stopped in front of Liam. “Hey, boss. Ready for
another day in the fields?”
“Sure am,” Liam said with a halfhearted smile. “I’ll grab my coat.”
It had only been a week since he moved into his grandparents’ house, and less than that had been
spent in the fields so far. The thought of keeping the tree farm made him weary.
There was a lot to learn about his grandfather’s business—more than he thought, and certainly
more than he remembered. His head spun as Dave explained how to prepare for Christmas: making
changes, staging a new display area, setting new prices, planning new fields of trees, and going over
new safety guidelines.
As they strolled through the rows of various pines, Dave discussed the differences amongst the
species, their scents, needle retention, and which trees could bear the weight of heavier ornaments.
Bits and pieces came back to Liam as he remembered the days his grandfather walked him through the
same rows, divulging all he knew about his passion. The overwhelming amount of information
cultivated the urge to run to the nearest real estate office and sign papers to sell that instant.
The acreage alone was a lot to take in. The thought of running this place into the ground and
failing his grandparents was too big of a pill to swallow. It sat in his throat like a thick lump he
couldn’t choke down, no matter how hard he tried. The tree park would be in better hands with a
businessman. He found comfort in knowing it would only be this season. Or until he could sell the
business. For now, at the very least, the land and business needed to be maintained.
A few hours into the morning, Dave gave him a reprieve, sending him to the hardware shop in
town for more burlap, lumber, and screws. But first, Liam had another stop to make. He found a
parking spot big enough for his dark blue F-250 and walked a block to New Leaf Business Broker.
Feeling hopeful, he stepped inside. A short, stout woman greeted him and showed him to her desk.
While the woman situated her papers and clicked around on her computer, he took his vibrating
phone out of his pocket. The name across the screen sent a wave of panic shooting through his chest.
Paula. She hadn’t stopped pestering him since he arrived in Vermont. He tried to reason with her, but
he couldn’t get through to her. For the last few days, he’d been sending her calls to voicemail. This
one was no different. He shoved his phone back into his pocket as the realtor turned her attention
toward him again.
“You’re looking to sell The Merry Pine Tree Park?” She leaned in as she asked the question,
piercing him with her gray eyes.
Liam gulped. “Yes.”
Intimidation wasn’t a word in a hotshot’s vocabulary, but this wasn’t a fire blazing through a
forest. This lady’s tone said she wasn’t going to go easy on him.
“I know your personal reasons are none of my business, yet I can’t help but ask why you want to
sell.” She stared at him over her black-rimmed reading glasses, ready to scrutinize his reply before it
left his lips.
“Well,” Liam began, trying to sound confident and unshaken, “I just moved back. I was a wildland
firefighter. My grandfather left me the business, but it’s not what I’m looking to do.” The words
coming out of his mouth sounded selfish in his ears. “I have no idea how to run a tree farm,” he
added, hoping the innocence would help his case.
“There are plenty of people around here who would love to help you learn, Mr. Darson. The
people of Vermont are protective of what they love and are loyal to, and the tree park is an integral
part of this community. The town certainly won’t like you selling it to someone who doesn’t have ties
to this town.”
Liam felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. “I haven’t lived here since I was ten. That was twenty-
five years ago.”
“It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away when you’re a native. Your family started this
business, and that’s a tie that binds, Mr. Darson.” She cleared her throat and closed her eyes. When
she opened them again, they had softened. “I apologize. Forgive me. That aspect is not my business.”
Liam forced himself to meet her eyes. He wasn’t familiar with being weak.
She offered a thin smile. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can, but offloading the business and the
part of your property it rests on won’t be an easy sell. Tree farms aren’t exactly a hot commodity out
here when people can go cut down their tree anywhere. Your grandparents were lucky—blessed—to
have earned such patronage from the town.”
She wasn’t making this any easier for him.
He sat taller in his chair. His grandad always said if he ever met a bear in the woods, he should
make himself look bigger than he was, and Mrs. Kopa was as close to a bear as he wanted to get. “I
get what you’re saying, but this is what I need to do.”
She nodded, gathered his information, and told him she’d be in touch.
He turned to face her before leaving her desk, mustering up the remaining dignity she hadn’t taken
from him. “I’d like for you to keep this quiet.” His voice was firm and steady. Probably more than
necessary. He didn’t want to be responsible for the town’s uproar.
She wasn’t fazed. “Yes, and I can understand why.”
Another blow. “Thank you, Mrs. Kopa.”
“Oh, and Mr. Darson?” She waited for his undivided attention. “Think about what I said?” She’d
taken back the reins.
“Yes ma’am. I will.”
Relieved to be out of her office and away from her scrutinizing gaze, he took a breath of fresh
autumn air. And he thought the attorney’s office was like going to the principal? He huffed out a puff
of laughter and tried to clear his mind before his next stop—another place of memories.
He made the short walk to the center of town and pushed open the door of The Tool Barn. A bell
above the entryway jingled. The familiar scent of lumber and autumn cinnamon tickled his nose,
bringing back distant memories of trips to this very store.
He loved coming to The Tool Barn as a kid. He and his brother, Sean, would patiently follow
their father through the aisles, anticipating the moment they would reach the checkout counter. The old
man that owned the shop kept a box of little plastic finger puppets beside his clunky cash register, and
if the boys were well behaved, he’d let them pick one as their father paid. He also slipped them each
a quarter for the gumball machine out front. Remembering these moments was equal parts pleasant
and painful.
A man several years younger than Liam stood behind the counter in ripped black jeans and a hood
that popped out over his denim jacket. He looked up with a warm, shop-owner smile. “Hi, can I help
you with something?”
“Hey. I’m looking for these.” He offered the list Dave had given him.
The man looked over the paper and back at Liam. “Sure, I can help you. Are you new around
here?”
Liam laughed through his nose. “Is it that obvious?”
He extended his hand. “I’m Evan Remington, the new owner. Well, more like the manager. For
now.”
“Nice to meet you,” Liam said with a nod. He clasped Evan’s hand, his head so filled with tasks
that he’d forgotten to offer his own name. “What happened to the gentleman who worked here twenty-
some years ago?”
“He’s my grandfather,” he said with a slight puff of his chest. “He scaled back quite a bit. You
could say he’s semi-retired. He’s been enjoying all the fishing he’s missed over the years.”
“Ah, well it seems both our grandfathers have entrusted us with their businesses.”
Evan quirked a brow. “Are you . . . are you Liam Darson?”
How could he possibly know that? “Guilty.”
“Oh man!” His smile was so wide, Liam could’ve inspected each of his white teeth. “We were in
elementary school together. You were a couple grades ahead of me.”
How was Liam supposed to remember a younger blond-haired little boy from two decades ago?
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
“Eh, that’s okay.” He shrugged. “The town’s been buzzing about you, though. The new owner of
Merry Pine Tree Park, right here in my store. Everyone’s sorry to hear about your grandad. Mr. Zeek,
we called him. He was always tinkering with something. Came in here a lot. He’s been talking about
you for years, so we’ve all been waiting to meet you and welcome you home since his passing.”
Words escaped Liam. They’ve been waiting for me? As if they knew I’d be the one taking over.
He wrinkled his eyebrows as he looked away, thinking. He was tempted to ask more questions but
hesitant to learn the answers.
“We’re all glad you’ve decided to stay and save the tree park,” Evan said with a grin.
Liam’s eyes darted back to Evan. “S-save it?”
“Why, sure! Save it. Keep it going. I don’t think the town would look at it the same if it wasn’t run
by you or your family.”
So I’ve heard.
Evan paused to watch Liam’s speechless expression. “That place is a landmark . . . an icon,
even.”
Liam braced himself on the counter. He hadn’t realized how famous the tree park had grown over
the years. The town is so loyal to my family’s farm. It’s special to them. Part of the identity of the
town. He tried blinking away the reality as it stared him down, but it wasn’t going anywhere. They’d
probably run me out on a rail if they knew I wanted to sell it, especially to an outsider.
“You okay?” Evan asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just a lot to take on all at once.” He wasn’t about to break this poor guy’s
heart with his plans to sell. “I need some air. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll gather the items from your list.”
A gust of wind threw leaves in Liam’s face as he stepped outside. He took a seat on the nearest
bench. It creaked under his weight—and the weight of the town that now seemed to rest on his
shoulders. Not only would he be letting down his grandparents, but also the entire community.
He scraped his hand across his jaw. This was my grandparents’ legacy. I’d be selling their
legacy. Guilt nibbled away at him.
His phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out, and every muscle in his body clenched when he
saw Paula’s name across the top of the screen. Again. His finger hovered over the green icon. He’d
ignored multiple calls from her already.
Rip the Band-Aid off. That’s what the advice blogger had said, and that’s what he’d tried to do,
but Paula wouldn’t leave it alone. Maybe I should just let it go to voicemail . . .
“Hello?”
“Liam, I’ve been trying to call you. Why haven’t you been answering?” Her voice dripped with
honey, and he could almost see the faux pout she wore on her lips as she spoke. “I want to talk about
things. Can we meet up for lunch?”
“Meet up? I’m across the country. And there’s nothing to talk about. I moved to Vermont, and
you’re in California. I’m not going back. It’s over, Paula.”
“Funny you should say that.”
The playful lilt in her voice froze the blood in his veins. He knew what she was going to say
before she spoke the horrific words into existence.
“I took a plane to Vermont. I should be in River Haven in a couple of hours.”
 Four

A light storm rolled through the mountains. Rain pattered against the bedroom window while
thunder gently rumbled. Charlotte’s eyes fluttered, struggling to open as the pleasant sounds woke
her. She rolled over and pressed herself into her pillow with a satisfied sigh. There was no hurry to
rouse from the comforts of her bed after a restful night’s sleep.
When Raven’s firm words surged into her mind, returning to sleep no longer felt like an option,
anyway. Did Raven really think she was unhappy? Resisting change? She wondered if her words had
any veracity.
And Mr. Charles . . . his words reverberated the loudest. Be careful with being too content. Was
being content the same as settling?
If she lay there any longer, she’d end up dwelling and overthinking. She forced herself to get up.
She pulled on some leggings, fuzzy socks, and a soft, oversized sweater. Perfect for lounging. She
went to the kitchen and pulled out the perfect mug for mornings like this. It read Autumn Skies &
Pumpkin Pies. A smile filled her face as she poured hot coffee and a hefty dose of cream into the mug.
The window bench in her living room overlooked the trees and the river. Cushions and comfy
pillows consumed the sill. Situating herself in the nook, she watched as the stormy winds sent a
cascade of colorful leaves from the trees. The repetitious tapping of rain against the windowpane
usually brought her comfort, but joy eluded her this time, and she could no longer pretend she didn’t
know why.
Regardless of what Raven and Charles thought, Charlotte’s life was simpler without a man. She
didn’t have to worry about arguments and breakups. Sacrificing herself for her husband had sent her
down a road leading to a divorce.
Never again would she be blind. Naïve was no longer a word that described Charlotte, but
something in Raven’s words niggled at her soul.
Am I reluctant to change? Have I already sealed my destiny?
She was afraid to look too deep for the answers. Her determination to be left unbroken drowned
out any desire for the companionship of marriage, but was fear and lack of trust really all that held her
back? Raven made it sound so simple. Like black on white. Within that grayscale image, however,
Charlotte saw another color: waving red flags.
WHEN THE STORM ENDED by mid-afternoon and the sun began a game of peekaboo behind the clouds,
Charlotte made her way to town. Torn between going to Berry’s Delights for a wild berry scone or
Cozy Coffee Café for a warm sandwich, her stomach chose the latter. She swung her satchel over her
shoulder and headed out.
She enjoyed the five-block walk from her apartment to the café. Children played on the
sidewalks, hopping up and down their dwelling steps and splashing in the puddles. When she spotted
a young couple cozied up on a bench, she didn’t begrudge them their happiness.
Good for them, she thought as she entered the café. I wish them joy. She made the choice to live a
solitary life to protect her heart, and nothing Mr. Charles or Raven had to say would sway her mind.
For the most part, Cozy Coffee Café was a quiet corner of town that day. Several patrons
occupied the tables inside, some in pairs and some by themselves—just like Charlotte.
Lots of people are happy without a partner, she thought.
One couple, however, didn’t look too pleased with each other. Their voices rose above the rest of
the light chatter. Charlotte took notice of the man’s pinched face. He opened his mouth to speak, but
the blond cut him off. Though her back was to Charlotte, her abrupt and animated movements clearly
dominated the conversation.
Was that a vein popping out on the man’s throat?
She cut her eyes away. It’s not my business, but it’s an example of what I’m happy to avoid.
Charles’ face lit up with a grin as she approached the counter. They exchanged their friendly
greetings and seasonal remarks, and she placed her order. Her usual spot was open—the booth by the
front window. As she settled into her seat, her mind whirled with thoughts about her book and her
blog. Her contemplations finally settled on Mr. Confused, the man with the relationship problem.
I wonder if he’ll write in again. What will his next problem be?
When Charles brought over her warm Rueben sandwich and a cinnamon latte, her mouth watered.
“Everything smells wonderful, Mr. Charles. Thank you.” She smiled up at him.
He tapped the edge of the table as he meandered toward the couple whose heated discussion had
grown into an argument. They hardly looked up.
That’s odd and a little rude, she thought to herself as she consumed her warm sandwich. This
wasn’t the place to display interpersonal problems.
When she finished, she broke out her laptop to see what new queries waited on her blog. There
was one from the man who wrote to her a few days prior.

Autumn’s Wisdom,
I wrote to you about someone I broke up with. Your words hit me in a profound way, and I saw
what I had to do. I’ve tried having conversations with her over the phone (she doesn’t live nearby).
I told her she has to let go, heal, and move on. Before I finish, she always accuses me of not
caring, not listening, and trying to abandon her during this difficult time. So what did she do? She
hopped on a flight and showed up out of nowhere. I’ve agreed to meet her for lunch in a public
place. I’ll continue to be firm and hope things sink in.
Respectfully,
Mr. Even More Confused
Empathy filled her heart until it bubbled over and spilled into her soul. This was a bigger problem
than this man realized. She knew what it felt like to be powerless. Her mind drifted.
She remembered standing in her kitchen, pleading with her husband to see how his family’s
actions affected her. They’d invited Eric to a family dinner but instructed him to leave Charlotte at
home. It was only for close family, they’d said. Manipulation. Brainwashing. Bullying. Driving a
wedge. Trying to divide and conquer. She tried to empower her husband so he could protect the two
of them, not realizing he was just as bad as the rest of them. He held his deceitful mask in place,
keeping her fooled until the silver band around her finger chained her to him.
She pulled herself from her thoughts, shaking her head. This isn’t about me anymore. I’m safe. I
need to help this man. He knows something isn’t right with her, and he’s known it for a while. But
she has her claws in him.
The man couldn’t read his gut instincts. Charlotte knew to heed those warnings with absolute
certainty. Maybe this man needed a brief lesson on intuition.

Dear Mr. Confused,

Everyone always says to listen to your heart, but if you feel something lurking under the
surface, the best thing to do would be to listen to your gut. She deliberately puts blame on your
shoulders, hoping you’ll always be the one making up to her. That will be her reward. Temper
tantrums are a form of control. They’re attempts to impersonate strength. Controlling people are
good at manipulation. They take no responsibility for what they say or do because they prefer to
put blame on someone else. You’ll try to fill her up while she drains you emotionally. What you
allow is what will continue. My advice for you is to be cautious. The longer you wait, the more
difficult it becomes. You can’t save everyone.
Sincerely,
Autumn’s Wisdom

By the time she finished her response, only she and the arguing couple remained. The disturbance had
chased everyone else away. Her efforts to pay them as little attention as possible came to no avail.
Her eyes still wandered back in their direction. Even when she kept her gaze on her laptop screen,
she found herself bending an ear their way. It was a wonder she managed to fire off a logical response
to Mr. Confused in the wake of their commotion.
The man at the table kept trying to interject himself, but the woman left no room for his words in
their one-sided conversation. Charlotte overheard accusatory phrases from the blond as she lay the
blame on thick. The woman was relentless and teetered on the verge of ruthlessness. No matter how
much she bulldozed her partner, however, he remained calm.
I sure hope he doesn’t snap. She shook her head. Relationships are so complicated. There
always seems to be a struggle. Someone always ends up getting hurt. By this point, Charlotte
debated whether to stay. This wasn’t an ideal environment for thinking and writing. If this couple
doesn’t finish up soon, I’m going to have to find a quieter place.
Her fingers rapped on the keyboard while her brows furrowed. The disruption was costing
Charles the peace his little café brought to others . . . and his customers. Charlotte groaned. No matter
how long this nonsense went on, it was temporary. Attempting to block it out, she focused on her
work.
I should’ve brought earplugs.
Before she could achieve concentration, the argument pulled her attention once more. A chair
scraped across the floor and clattered onto its side. Charlotte whipped her head toward the
commotion. The woman towered over the man, with her small fists balled at her sides.
“How dare you abandon me at such a difficult time! You’re heartless!” She snatched up her glass,
tossed the liquid into the man’s face, and spiked it against the table, shattering it to pieces. Without so
much as a glance backward, she stormed out.
The man on the receiving end of the verbal pummeling sat in complete shock. As were Charlotte
and Charles. Water dripped from his face and slid down his slack jaw. No one moved a muscle for
what seemed an eternity while silence hung in the air like dense fog. Tangible. And almost visible.
Charlotte’s heart thudded in her chest. The public display of disrespect and humiliation was
unacceptable. Though the couple had disturbed the peace, her heart went out to the man. He hadn’t
retaliated in anger, which piqued her interest further.
After the shock wore away, Charles scurried over and started apologizing. For what, she wasn’t
sure. He had nothing to do with the scene that broke out before them. The poor old dear probably
never had anything like that happen in his café and didn’t know what to say or do.
Charlotte rose from her booth and hurried toward the two disheveled men. “Mr. Charles,” she
said in a soft voice, “why don’t you go get some towels so we can dry this up and a broom to clean
the glass before someone gets hurt?”
The look in his eyes thanked her for the relief. “Yes, Miss Charlotte.”
She looked down at the soaking wet man and her heart sank. His eyes gazed ahead without seeing.
He looked defeated. Torn. Broken. And still very much in shock.
She placed a hand on his shoulder to stir him from his trance. “Sir, are you all right?”
He looked up at her with big, soulful, brown eyes. Familiar eyes, though she couldn’t place
where she’d seen them before. She’d sworn off men, but she couldn’t deny he was handsome.
“I-I’m all right. I apologize for . . . that.”
She leaned in closer. “You have a cut above your eye. It’s bleeding.” She intercepted his arm as
he raised his hand to feel his brow. “Don’t touch it. I’ll have Charles get the first aid kit.”
His eyes shot back to hers when their skin connected, sending a shock wave through her body. She
squashed whatever butterfly briefly fluttered in her stomach.
Charles came back with a broom and a few hand towels. He offered one of the towels to the man
and one to Charlotte and began sweeping the glass from the floor.
The man dabbed at the table.
“I’ll clean that. You dry yourself off. You’re soaking wet,” Charlotte said tenderly. “And Mr.
Charles, we’ll need a first aid kit too, please.”
The soggy man stood and patted down everything from his head to his knees. Charles brought back
the kit, set it on the table, and continued sweeping up the glass.
Charlotte opened the small red-and-white box. “Do you mind if I help you with your cut?”
“You don’t have to,” the man said. “I’ve caused enough problems. I’ll help clean up and get out of
your way.”
“I think your face needs to be cleaned up first. Will you sit?”
When the man hesitated, Charles chimed in. “When a pretty lady asks to tend to your wounds, you
should let her.”
Charlotte and the man exchanged glances, and heat rose into her cheeks as he took a seat. She
pulled a chair in front of him, and he widened his knees as she scooted closer. After pulling on a pair
of rubber gloves, she began to clean his cut with antiseptic.

HE WINCED WHEN THE liquid met his gash. She apologized.

The stinging sensation occupied his attention only briefly before her perfume wafted into his nose.
Cinnamon with a touch of cloves and a hint of ginger. He inhaled her scent and relaxed in his seat.
While she focused on his forehead, he took the opportunity to observe his makeshift nurse. The
shade of her sweater brought out the remarkable color in her eyes. Green around the center, with a
dark limbal ring skirting the outer edge of her irises. A petite nose accentuated her pretty face. Her
soft lips held a tint of pink. He shifted his eyes away from her when the desire to find out just how
soft her lips were flickered through him. He swallowed and considered closing his eyes, but he didn’t
want to miss a single glimpse.
There was a gentle tentativeness to her movements as she worked. Though her hands were gloved,
he felt a sense of comfort each time her fingers brushed against his skin. The feeling grew in his
stomach. When was the last time he’d been cared for? Nurtured?
She exhaled, letting the air out through her nose. The warmth of her breath caressed the skin
between his collarbones, sending a sizzle through his body. He made a conscious effort to keep his
breathing steady.
Focus on something other than her.
But he couldn’t. Silky waves of brunette hair fell past her shoulders, trailing down to her—
“It isn’t too bad,” she said. “The bleeding looks worse than it is. You should still get it looked at,
though.” As delicately as she could, she placed a Band-Aid over his battle wound. “There, I’m all
done.” She looked over his face for other marks, completely unaffected by him.

A CUSTOMER CAME IN as the bandage was placed and the first aid kit closed. Charles stepped away to
wait on the new arrival, leaving Charlotte and the man to themselves.
“Thank you for cleaning me up,” he said. He still sounded defeated. “I prefer to drink my water,
not wear it. Especially when there’s ice in it.”
Charlotte managed a half-smile at his attempt to bring himself out of whatever hole he’d fallen
into with the water-thrower. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a long breath. She took a
moment and studied him. He looked troubled. And so alone. She pulled back when she felt that faint
tug at her heartstrings.
For Charlotte, even a speck of emotion toward a man was like a virus. Normally, her defense
system annihilated the foreign invader, leaving her unaware there was a breach. Why was this man
different?
“If you’d like,” she said, “you can sit over there in the dry booth with me.” She didn’t want to feel
anything toward him, but she wasn’t cold-hearted.
 He looked down at his hands, and she tilted her head to better see his face.
“It’s okay. I don’t want to cause more trouble,” he said.
“You’re still soaking wet, and it’s chilly outside. Stay a while and dry out. But I don’t want to
push.” She stood from her chair. “You look like you have a lot to think about. I’ll be over here if you
change your mind.”
When Charles finished waiting on his customer, the man went over to him and apologized for the
disruption. Charlotte listened and deemed his apology sincere. As he turned around, she cut her eyes
back to her laptop screen and pretended not to notice as he walked toward her booth.
“Does your offer for company still stand?” he asked with a hopeful smile.
“I believe my offer was for the dry half of my booth, but I can offer company as well.” She smiled
back and gestured for him to sit.
His styled dark brown hair, chiseled jawline, and short facial hair would’ve made any woman’s
eyes go googly, but Charlotte kept her eyeballs in place by sheer determination. She did, however,
notice how well he dressed. The open collar of his taupe button-down shirt showcased how well the
color complimented his skin.
“I want to thank you again for helping out with the mess I caused and for fixing me up.” He
touched his fingertips to the Band-Aid.
“If I recall correctly—and I had a front-row seat—you weren’t the one who caused a scene by
throwing ice water and smashing a glass. Why are you taking the blame?”
“I provoked her,” he said.
She blinked. “I don’t know what would warrant that kind of response. Anyone who takes part in
public humiliation is only showing their own ignorance.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“And besides,” she continued, “you look too innocent and defeated for someone who did the
provoking.” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I’m interrogating. It’s none of my
business. I’m here to offer company, not to question you.”
“No, it’s okay. I think anyone would be curious about what just happened. I’m not even sure I
know.” The skin between his eyebrows wrinkled as he shrugged his shoulders. He winced with the
motion.
“Are you hurt somewhere else?” she asked.
He shook his head with a slight smile. “No, it’s an old injury.”
“Let’s take things in another direction, shall we?” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, of course. I’m Liam Darson.” He extended his hand across the table. “And you’re Miss
Charlotte, according to that nice, forgiving man over there.”
She laughed and shook his hand. “Charlotte Bennet. And yes, he’s a dear old friend.”
“You and Mr. Charles know each other well, so I’m assuming you live pretty close by. Is this a
regular spot for you?”
Charlotte was accustomed to men wanting to get to know her for all sorts of reasons. Polite
conversation. Romantic interest. She’d effectively built a wall to keep out the latter. That wall had
thwarted Cupid’s arrows for the last several years, and she had no intention of lowering her defenses
any time soon.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to answer a few harmless questions. “Yes, I live nearby. I grew up in
River Haven. This is a usual spot for me.” She felt her answers were robotic, but Liam hadn’t done
anything to merit her short responses. She tried to allow a teasing smile to light her face. “I didn’t
realize I made it so obvious. Do you live around here, or are you just passing through to break some
hearts today?”
He laughed. “I moved back here about a week ago to take over my grandparents’ business. I
haven’t been to town much, but I make special appearances to give people a water show in the middle
of a quiet café such as this.”
“Well, that was quite the show. I’m just glad I wasn’t sitting in the splash zone. I was on standby
for cleanup.” Her eyelid decided to wink at him without warning. Oh my gosh, did I just wink? Why
did I wink? Am I flirting? She shifted in her seat. She wasn’t trying to be flirtatious. It
just . . . happened. Naturally.
How something like that slipped through her sturdy wall, she wasn’t sure. There must’ve been a
crack. Last time she checked, her wall was as solid and thick as Fort Knox. His words sank in as she
searched for a different subject. “Wait, did you say you just moved back?”
“Yep. I lived around here when I was younger. My parents and I moved away when I was ten.
When my grandfather passed away last month, I learned I had inherited The Merry Pine Tree Park.
Just in time for Christmas.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stared off.
“I’m so sorry about your recent loss. Everyone in this town loved Ezekiel. I lost both of my
grandparents when I was young and spent most of my life without them. But you can carry on their
traditions. He left you a great gift. The tree park means a lot to the people around here. I don’t know a
single person who doesn’t get their tree from there.”
“I appreciate it. It’s just a lot to take on all at once. I have no idea what I’m doing, but the park has
good workers.”
Whatever home he moved away from—whatever life he had—he gave it up to live out his
grandfather’s wishes. A commendable endeavor. The tender smile easing onto her face brought out
her dimples. When she saw a twinkle in his eye, she looked away.
A thought wiggled through her mind. “We must’ve crossed paths at some point all those years
ago.”
“Yeah, probably so. I’m guessing I’m a few years older than you, though. I’m thirty-five.”
Now we’re exchanging ages? What’s next, phone numbers? If he was hinting for more info, he
wasn’t very subtle about it. She bit her cheek. There’s no harm in simply stating my age. If I don’t
answer, it’ll look like I’m hiding.
“I’m twenty-nine. I was maybe five or six years old when we cut down a Christmas tree on your
farm. Although, I do have to say, it was the last time.” She paused for dramatic effect, and he raised
his eyebrows in anticipation. “We picked the tree that was infested with bugs. And soon after, so was
our house. Millions of tiny bugs covered everything! I don’t remember much of the cleanup—I was
too young to understand what was happening—but I remember my mom being so upset. My dad
picked up the tree and chucked it out the front door, decorations and all!”
They broke into simultaneous laughter. Liam put his hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry about the
devastating bug infestation my family brought upon your household.”
As they wiped the gaiety from their eyes, they regained their composure.
Charlotte caught a glimpse of Charles poking his head out of the kitchen doorway, clearly
appreciating their enjoyment of one another. She felt like a guppy in a fish tank.
Liam leaned back in his seat to give his lungs more room to expand. “So, what do you do for
work?”
She thought it was kind of him to keep the conversation going when the awkward lull showed its
ugly face. She didn’t enjoy talking about herself to begin with, and she didn’t want to lead him in a
false direction.
 “For one, I wrote and self-published a non-fiction book. It gained more traction than I ever
thought it would. I’m working on another one—a novel this time. I’m also a silent partner at Racquet
and Whack It, the local tennis and fitness facility.”
Liam coughed out another laugh. “Wow, that’s a great name.” He smiled and nodded in approval.
“You wear two hats.”
Well, three, but the third is a secret. “I inherited a little money and invested in a business I can
collect profits from while also playing tennis any time I’d like. I’m a tennis instructor there, too. I run
clinics throughout the year, and I give private lessons on the side.” Why was she divulging so much
information to a stranger? She closed her mouth before she could reveal even more about herself.
She looked at her watch and her eyes widened. “Speaking of tennis, I have to go! I have a lesson
in forty-five minutes, and I still have to run home to change.”
She shoved her belongings into her satchel. Liam could only watch as she scrambled to her feet.
Standing up, she slipped on her black leather jacket and grabbed the strap of her satchel.
“Wait!” Liam blurted.
She paused and looked down at him.
He hesitated a moment longer. “Will I see you again?”
Considering they now lived in the same town, the odds of running into one another were high. But
she figured that wasn’t what he meant.
He searched her eyes and waited.
She put on her aviator sunglasses and smirked. “I guess we’ll have to see.” In one move, she
swung the satchel over her shoulder and took off.
She didn’t notice her keepsake quote fluttering to the ground as she left.
 Five

K notty pine covered the walls from floor to ceiling, the rich patina displaying the effects of its age.
Picture frames dotted the shelves. Old photos showcased the farm from its beginnings to now—
his grandparents standing in an open field, a smile on their faces; the very first tree harvested from
their land; the community gathering to support a local business as families browsed the selection of
pines.
Liam hadn’t moved his grandfather’s possessions. Everything was just as he’d left it. It was a
beautiful and rustic home, and he could hardly believe it was now his.
He sat at his grandfather’s desk in the office, rubbing a strand of his hair between his fingers.
Paula had flown all the way out to Vermont to convince him to move back home, but Northern
California wasn’t where he wanted to be anymore. When that didn’t work, she tried to persuade him
to let her stay with him and start anew. He didn’t want that, either. A future with her wasn’t anything
he envisioned. Had he ever seen anything more with her?
He’d suggested they go to a quiet café, hoping it would keep her calm and reasonable. Instead, his
refusal sent her into a psychotic rage, and she’d doused him with ice water. A modern-day equivalent
to being tarred and feathered. She always seemed to be an emotional mess. That was a language he
didn’t speak.
Hopefully that’s the last I’ll see of her. I don’t know how she could keep coming back if I keep
pushing her away.
Regardless of Paula, there were bigger problems to face. He had to sell The Merry Pine Tree
Park. Running a business—especially a tree business which was only in season for a month-and-a-
half a year—was not his forte. What would he do for the rest of the year? How much care could a tree
need? He knew how to stop wildland fires from spreading, but how to grow pretty trees for people’s
living rooms was a different story.
An image of his grandparents’ smiling faces flashed through his memory. They’d been so proud of
the land. He remembered running through the trees as a child, hiding within the copse of towering
pines as if their green boughs were castle walls. There was a lot to explore as a kid in the hills and
mountains of Vermont.
A small lump formed in his throat. He’d let everyone down if he sold the park. This wasn’t his
dream.
But what was?
Lost in the maze of his mind, the events of the day played over and over until it landed on
Charlotte. As if life couldn’t be any more confusing, it added a pretty woman into the mix. The
cinnamon scent of her perfume still hung in his nares.
 The leather chair squeaked as he leaned back and flipped the tattered quote between his fingers.
The one Charlotte dropped. He’d read the quote a dozen times. What you allow is what will continue.
Could she be Autumn’s Wisdom? Why didn’t she mention her blog during our conversation?
Although the worn piece of paper wasn’t concrete proof that Charlotte was the blogger, it would be
an outstanding coincidence if she wasn’t. But he felt it in his gut that she was, and hadn’t she said to
trust gut instincts?
The chances of meeting the one person he’d written to in a blog . . . he couldn’t wrap his head
around the odds. There’s just no way.
He let out a heavy sigh and studied the paper fragment lying on his desk, reading the words over.
What you allow is what will continue. He frowned. But two different people with the same quote?
He took the paper in his hand again, and his eyebrows came together. It was worn. She’d held on
to it for a length of time if the tattered edges were any indication. It must be important to her—a
keepsake, perhaps. If he didn’t give it back, she would wonder where it went and possibly feel the
loss of something important to her. Throwing it away was simply not an option. It wasn’t his to get rid
of. If he ran after her when he first picked it up, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. Maybe there’d
come a time when he could give it back.
The more Liam thought, the more questions arose and the more he wanted to know about
Charlotte. What did she say her last name was? Oh, what is it? He rubbed his temples, puzzlement
leading into frustration.
Bennet. He snapped his fingers. That’s it. Charlotte Bennet.
Why he couldn’t stop thinking about her and why he wanted to know more about her, he wasn’t
sure. He didn’t halt his thoughts to figure out the reason. Though there were more important things to
worry about, none of them seemed more pressing than the green-eyed beauty from the coffee shop.
Liam couldn’t stop picturing the way Charlotte looked while tending to his cut. He looked back on
how she took charge of the upheaval, and how she calmly spoke to Mr. Charles. Closing his eyes, he
remembered the scent of her perfume. She smelled like autumn, and it drove him wild. She’d seemed
unaware of her allure as she sat across from him in the booth. Personable, engaging, and witty. He
loved witty.
He stirred in his seat.
The fact was, Liam couldn’t think of another time anyone had given him a more appealing first
impression. Mulling everything over in his mind, curiosity overcame him. He sprang forward and
turned on the computer. Author Charlotte Bennet, he typed in the search bar.
There she was. Her picture. And her book.

WHEN CHARLOTTE CAME HOME from her tennis activities that night, the scene and conversation from
the café replayed in her mind. What was the big deal? She’d witnessed a humiliating display of
immaturity and helped a man in distress. Life goes on. Simple as that.
Still, her mind raced. Her pulse picked up its pace every time he wandered into her thoughts. Eric
was the last man to make her feel this way, and any feeling that reminded her of him—good or bad—
she chased away like a dog guarding its homestead.
She went about the apartment, thinking and muttering to herself. I’m not interested. I don’t need a
man to disrupt the balance. Life is easier when it’s predictable. I’m happy and content.
There was that word again. Content.
She shook her head. Besides, relationships need a lot of time and energy, which I don’t want to
sacrifice. I will not be tempted. And I definitely don’t wish to join the drama with the water-
thrower.
Doubt crept in through the cracks of the sturdy walls she’d built. Not one man had cracked the
brick barrier.
So how had Liam?
Who said anything about a relationship, anyway? I don’t even know if he was interested. She
stopped pacing. But he asked if he’d see me again. That means he wants to.
Letting out a groan, she plopped onto her couch and curled up with an autumn pillow. She lay
there for a time, trying to relax and settle her mind. Still, it continued racing. Maybe I’ll check my
blog. Focus on someone else. She wondered if the man had replied.
There was no message from him, but there were other pleas to respond to. She opened the first
one.

Hello, Autumn’s Wisdom,

I struggle with trust. I’ve been lied to and cheated on. Men use their charms, and I fall right
in. Every time. How do I break the cycle? I see what I do, but I’m blind while it’s happening. Why
do I keep doing it?

Blind One

This was a simple enough fix. Charlotte wiggled her fingers and placed them against the keyboard.

Dear Blind One,

The first step is identifying the problem, which you’ve done. The next step is to make changes.
You must set boundaries. Let no one cross them. Make a list of qualities you need in someone and
settle for nothing less. Also, look at where you find these men. Do they set an example of integrity?
What values do they hold? Charm can be fake. Watch their actions and their patterns. Let them
prove who they are first. Take small steps. Trust is earned, not given, and should never be
demanded.
Sincerely,
Autumn’s Wisdom

For a short time, blogging took her mind away from earlier events. She’d been so wrapped up in other
people’s problems, she’d forgotten to eat dinner. It was too late for a big meal, so she shuffled into
her little kitchen and poured some cereal into a pumpkin-shaped bowl. Sitting at her table for two, her
thoughts drifted to her past.
A dinner with Eric. They’d just purchased new furniture for their dining room. Charlotte had her
heart set on a quaint country table with bench seats. Eric overruled her, saying her taste in furniture
wasn’t as refined as his. Saying she’d learn to choose more wisely now that she’d married into such a
fashionable family. Those had been early days, when his mask was starting to slip. The beginnings of
the snide comments and holding things over her head.
I was fooled for so long. I spent four years of my life devoted to someone, only to realize it was
fake. He wasn’t real. His love wasn’t real. His personality was a façade. He and his family were
wicked people. It took four years for his mask to come off, to reveal what was hidden underneath.
Four years. God, how can I possibly love again? How do I even begin to start?
Distraught, she pushed away her half-eaten bowl of cereal and rested her face in her hands. She
didn’t want to run into Liam again, but now that they lived in the same small town, the probability
was higher than she wanted to admit. She sighed and decided she would lay low for a while and steer
clear of the café.

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS , Liam went to town several times in hopes of running into Charlotte. He
wondered if she was hiding from him, but dismissed the thought. Figuring she was probably a
creature of habit, he strolled into Cozy Coffee Café around the same time they’d previously met.
Charles grinned as Liam walked in. They greeted and clasped hands.
Liam leaned his hip against the counter and offered a casual smile. “Mr. Charles, if I were to ask
you where Charlotte might be when she isn’t here, theoretically, of course . . .” He paused. “Would
you tell me?”
“When you were little, you and your brother would come in here asking for a strawberry
lemonade. Now you’re asking for information about a pretty lady. My, how the times have changed.”
Charles displayed another wide grin. “When she’s not here, she likes to go to Berry’s Delights. Do
you know where that is? Down past the next light, in the same building where the little drug store used
to be.” He pointed to show the way.
Liam tapped the counter with his hand. “Ah ha! Thank you. Have a nice day!” He headed out the
door.
He should’ve been at the farm, learning the business, but that wouldn’t matter after Christmas.
There were others on the land who knew what they were doing and would get them by for the next
two months.
Everyone had a smile and nod for him as he made his way down the sidewalk. This place was
nothing like the large town he came from in California. There, everyone kept their eyes down, never
acknowledging the people they passed. His time away had shown him just how much he missed the
friendly nature of this place.
He spotted a hanging sign above a doorway. Berry’s Delights. He wiped the sweat from his palms
and opened the door.
The bakery smelled of sweet treats and had a frilly, feminine, floral atmosphere. It was larger than
Charles’ café. A chubby lady wearing a hot-pink apron stood behind the counter. She seemed to run
the place, and the embroidery on her apron backed up his theory.
 “Excuse me,” Liam said, snagging her attention. “Do you know if Charlotte Bennet is here today?”
Mrs. Berry’s eyes lit up as though she might devour him like one of her baked goods. “Charlotte?
Sure. She’s back there in the farthest corner.” She pointed without taking her eyes from him. A
mischievous look grew on the woman’s face as she looked him up and down.
He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Charlotte. She sat in the back corner with her various
supplies sprawled out in front of her, oblivious to his presence.
“Is she drinking anything she might need a refill on?” he asked.
A slow smile slid onto her face. “Yes, she ordered a hot beverage, and she’s probably almost
done with it. She’s been here a while.”
“I’ll have two of whatever she’s drinking.” A pang of excitement sprang forth inside him, and he
didn’t think to ask what the drink was or order something he’d like.
As he waited, he attracted the attention of every female within sight. He shifted his stance under
their gazes, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t used to female perusals. There were times he
spent six months with twenty men who worked and ate together, climbed mountains, and battled
wildfires. Female company was unattainable for half the year, and when he wasn’t out fighting fires,
he hadn’t exactly turned heads in a large California town.
Once the drinks were in hand, he headed for the farthest corner, just like the chubby lady said. All
eyes sprang to him as he passed through the back half of the café. All but Charlotte’s.
He sauntered up to her booth. “Thought you might like a refill.”
She jumped and looked up at him. Her mouth hung open for a second before she tried stifling a
smile. “How did you find me?” She pursed her lips, still trying to fight back the pleasure blooming on
her face.
He shrugged. “I had inside information.”
“You asked Charles, didn’t you? And he told you? I thought he was on my side.” She placed her
hand over her heart, feigning offense.
He slid into the seat opposite her. “Well, apparently he’s on my side. He must like me.” His
rascally grin gave away his satisfaction.
“You certainly left a lasting impression.”
“On him or on you?”
Charlotte leaned back in her seat and folded her arms, one eyebrow raised. She nodded toward
the drinks. “What are those?”
Realizing he didn’t know, he stumbled for an answer. “I bought us some . . . hot drinks.” The
statement almost sounded like a question.
She teased further. “I can see that they’re hot, Mr. Darson. You don’t know what you ordered, do
you?”
“Okay, fine.” He held up his hands. “I don’t know what they are. Although, by the smell of them,
something with pumpkin.” Kind of like your perfume. He slid a beverage in front of her.
She took it in her hands, then brought it to her lips. She peered at him over her large mug before
taking a sip. He attempted to keep still beneath her stare as she interrogated him without words. She
took another sip and stayed quiet.
The silence lasted too long. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “You know, the lady behind the
counter also told me you were here.”
Her mouth fell open again. “I guess I’ll have to do a better job of hiding next time.”
Liam sat puzzled, unsure if she was joking. Maybe she really was hiding? She’s sitting here in
the farthest spot from the door. What if I overstepped? He began to worry he looked like a stalker.
 “Well, I better be going,” he said as he started to get up.
She blinked. “You’re leaving already?”
An ounce of relief came with her question, and he offered a small smile. “I don’t want to bother
you. Just wanted to drop off a drink,” he said, still testing the waters.
“You’ve already bothered me, so you might as well stay.” She relinquished a hint of a smile. “You
haven’t even touched your drink. But what will your girlfriend think if she walks in and sees us sitting
together?”
“She’s not my girlfriend anymore and hasn’t been for several weeks. And I’d hardly call her one
after that wrecking ball of an incident. We haven’t spoken since that night.”
“Did she ever apologize to you?” He shook his head, and she continued. “Unfortunately, people
like her find nothing wrong with their unacceptable behavior. When someone isn’t capable of
apologizing, they see no need to change. Hopefully that was the last time you have to deal with her.
You just can’t help some people.”
Yet again, he found her words profound. Just like in her blog. “I suppose you’re right. Can’t save
everyone.”

HIS GAZE MET HERS , and a butterfly fluttered in her stomach. This time, she couldn’t squash the
feeling as his familiar brown eyes stared back at her. She was lost in them. As the sun began to shift
through the curtains, so did Charlotte’s feelings. She began to see Liam in an unexpected light.
His dark brown hair had a modern flair. He sported a navy blue, collared pull-over sweater with
a short zipper in the front, dark denim jeans, and a nice pair of work boots. One thing Charlotte
always observed about a man were his hands. Liam’s were strong and hardworking, yet they had a
gentleness to them. His nails were short and neat. His masculine, three-day stubble made him look
ruggedly dashing and went well with his woodsy cologne.
Was he wearing it when we first met? I didn’t notice it. Whatever scent it was, she loved it. The
single butterfly turned into a swarm.
Through the thickness of his sweater, his muscles made themselves known, calling her attention.
The sheer breadth of him towering over her when he first stood at the table threw her off guard. How
did she miss the size of him a few days ago?
She hadn’t experienced such attraction for a man in so long that she nearly forgot what it felt like.
The twisting, tightening, and tugging in her stomach were unfamiliar.
She shifted in her seat. Discomfort crept back in—fears which flooded her mind. What’s
happening? The last time she felt such a powerful attraction, she fell head over heels, was swept off
her feet, and it all ended in divorce. Charlotte knew to listen to her gut and not her heart. A heart
could be easily misled. But the only thing telling her no was fear. Not her gut. Not her heart. And fear
was not of God.
THE LOOK OF APPREHENSION grew increasingly evident on Charlotte’s face. He wondered what was
going through her pretty little head. What was she keeping behind those beautiful and mysterious
green eyes? What was her story?
It was possible he was receiving mixed signals. He reviewed the last several minutes in his head.
When I approached, she looked shocked to see me, like she really was hiding. And skeptical as she
studied me. But when I got up to leave, she seemed to want me to stay. And now, her face looks
distrusting. Am I reading all this right?
He had to know for sure, so he threw out the only question that could clarify things. “Do I make
you uncomfortable?” he asked. “Because it really isn’t my intention. And if I do, or if you want me to
leave, I can handle the honesty. I don’t want to overstep.” The last thing he wanted was to make
anyone endure his unwanted presence.
She stared down at her mug and picked at the napkin beneath it.
The pause built like a wave until he was sure it would crash down and suffocate him.
She looked up and searched his eyes. “Yes.”
His heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
“But not in the way you’re thinking.” She paused again, her eyes breaking away.
He examined her face, hoping it would reveal something he could understand. A struggle swarmed
behind her eyes. He waited.
“I don’t like to talk about what I’ve been through.” Her gaze stayed downcast. “I’m not trying to
be rude. I’ve just been through a lot, and it’s hard for me to open up. The last man in my life . . . he
wasn’t very kind to me. I hope you can understand.”
Liam’s heart broke for her. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her and explain that he wasn’t
like the man who caused her so much pain. But words wouldn’t be enough. He didn’t need to know
the details to understand that much.
“That’s fair. You don’t know me, so you have a right to be careful.” He cleared his throat and
gathered his courage. “I heard the yearly Fall Festival is coming up this weekend. Maybe we could
use it as an excuse to hang out and get to know each other. I don’t know many people in town, so it
would be nice to have a friend to enjoy it with.”
Charlotte bit the edge of her lip and stared into his eyes.
 Six

R aven“It’s
paced the floor in Charlotte’s living room. “You’re going on a date?”
not a date, Raven.”
“You’re meeting a guy, so it’s a date!”
“That doesn’t make it a date,” she said as she sat on the couch.
“I can’t believe you’ve been talking with a guy and didn’t tell your best friend.”
“Raven, that’s not even remotely true. Were you listening to anything I just explained? He bumped
into me twice. Once at the café and again the other day at Berry’s. I explained why I’m uncomfortable
and hesitant, and he was incredibly gracious and understanding about it. More than I could have
hoped for.”
“And that’s when you asked him on a date?” she exclaimed.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He brought up the Fall Festival. He wanted to know how I felt about
meeting him there. I told him you and I were going, and I said he could join us. All right? Not a big
deal.” Charlotte stared at Raven, hoping she wouldn’t get emotionally hyped up again.
Raven’s face softened. Having been by Charlotte’s side through the thick and thin of her marriage,
divorce, and the brief dating experiences that followed, she knew the difficulties she’d faced over the
years. She understood Charlotte’s reservations. Even if Raven was prone to her own emotional
misunderstandings, it didn’t mean she didn’t have a deep understanding of her friend.
Raven sat down on the couch and put her hand on her friend’s knee. “You’re right. This is a good
thing, Charlotte. Baby steps. A nice guy wants to get to know you. It doesn’t hurt to give someone a
chance. You’re cautious, smart, and experienced. You always tell your followers to listen to their
guts, so listen to yours, whatever it’s saying. You also say what you allow is what will continue. If
you allow yourself to stay closed off, that’s what will continue. Now for my own personal piece of
advice. It’s okay to leave your wall up in the beginning, but at least take out a brick so you can see
through it.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but chuckle at her friend’s logic. But she was right. Nothing would change
if she didn’t try. “You know, you’re much easier to talk to when you’re calm and rational.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Raven shrugged. “But at least you keep me in check, and we balance each
other out.”
“Well, let’s hope your future husband can fill my shoes.”
Raven wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe there will be cute guys for me to scope out at the festival.”
“You mean flirt with?” Charlotte corrected. “I would think most guys who go to a Fall Festival
are with their girlfriends.”
“Bubble burster. What are you going to wear today? Let’s pick out an outfit for you!” She took
Charlotte’s hand, dragged her into her room, and started rummaging through the closet.
Charlotte propped herself up on the fluffy pillows piled against the headboard.
Raven looked at her. “Don’t get too comfy. You have clothes to try on.”
Raven put together flirty, fun-looking outfits. Charlotte kept rolling her eyes whenever she came
up with a new look. “I just want to look seasonal and sensible. Leather jacket, scarf, jeans. My
usual.”
It was Raven’s turn to roll her eyes. “Ugh, how boring.”
“Then you wear something fun and flirty tonight.”
The girls continued to pick out clothing and accessories. They laughed and giggled like they used
to when they were children playing dress up.
Raven found some items to borrow, and after getting Charlotte squared away with an outfit, she
went home to get herself ready.

CHARLOTTE WRUNG HER HANDS as she approached the Cozy Coffee Café nearly a half hour early. She
thought a friendly chat with Charles would soothe her nerves while she waited for Raven and Liam to
show up around four. She took a spot at the coffee bar.
“You here for the festival, Miss Charlotte?” Charles asked. He wore his usual smile.
“Yep, just waiting on two friends to show up.”
“Miss Raven and Miss Gemma, I assume.” He pulled out a white rag and began wiping the
counter.
“Gemma and Levi will bring Ella at some point, but I’m meeting Raven and someone else.”
She hadn’t said Liam’s name, but judging by the knowing twinkle in his eye, she didn’t have to.
The sudden urge to hide beneath the counter engulfed her.
“It’s a gorgeous day for the festival,” Charles said. “You three lucked out.”
Her leg bounced on the rung of the bar stool. She attempted to dry her clammy palms by fanning
them under the counter. I hope Liam doesn’t try to shake my hand. Her heart pounded in her chest.
She pressed her fingertips to her brow as she drew in a deep breath. I need more air.
Rummaging through her purse, she pulled out a compact mirror and looked at her reflection as she
turned her head from side to side.
What a nervous wreck I am. I never should’ve let Raven do my makeup. I never fix my eyes this
smokey and dark. Why did I let her? Now it looks like I’m trying too hard. I’m not trying at all. She
snapped the lid shut. I’m just building a friendship, right? She released a slow breath. Right.
The hinges on the café door squeaked. She turned toward the sound, unable to stifle the smile on
her face when she spotted him. Confusion flickered inside her. Was she more relieved or nervous
he’d arrived before Raven?
He returned her smile with an even bigger one, lighting up his entire face. The swarm of
butterflies that had taken up residence in her midsection fluttered back to life. His manly cologne
wafted into her nose, nearly knocking her off the stool.
His outfit was more laid back than their last meeting. Dark jeans hugged him in all the right places
and led down to casual boots. The light brown jacket with pockets and buckled straps sat on top of
his broad shoulders and accentuated his physique. This man had taste. His rugged jawline emphasized
his masculinity.
Charles stood at the counter with Charlotte when Liam walked in, breaking the initial awkward
greeting predestined by her sweaty palms.
“Nice to see you again, sir,” Liam said as he grasped Charles’ hand. He turned to Charlotte and
smiled. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Goodness, is that the best I could come up with?
He took a seat at the corner beside her. He held her gaze as both parties seemed unsure of how to
proceed. He fidgeted with the last button on his jacket, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He was
nervous, too. She wondered how a woman as skittish as she could make a man like him nervous.
“It’s a nice day for the festival,” he said after clearing his throat.
“I was worried it might rain, but it looks like the clouds have cleared out.” She struggled for
something more to say, but the entrance door swung open and diverted her attention.
Raven came toward them, a confused look on her face. “I recognize you. You’re the guy that
knocked into me and sent my envelopes flying.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Liam replied. “I should have been watching where I was going. I had a lot
on my mind.” He offered a sheepish smile.
“I see you two have already met,” Charlotte said, relieved she didn’t have to give the dreaded,
awkward introduction.
Raven’s eyes widened. “You know him?” she asked, pointing her thumb at him. “This is the guy
you told me about? Mr. Handsome?”
A rush of pink warmed Charlotte’s cheeks. “Yes, Raven, this is Liam. And I didn’t call him that.”
Liam let out a laugh, and both women looked at him. “Tell me, Raven, what else did Charlotte say
about me?”
“Nothing much. Just that she thought your eyes were—”
“Okay,” Charlotte stepped in before any more of her dignity could be blown away with the autumn
breeze. “I think we can get going now.”
Liam laughed again. “Oh, this should be a good evening.” He opened the door, and they started the
two-block walk to the park entrance.
The festival had fallen on a crisp, sunny day. The leaves had shifted into bright reds and deep
yellows. The mountains in the distance presented their colored foliage with honor. A light breeze
whispered across their cheeks as the three friends walked the harvest-embellished sidewalks along
the storefronts.
Gentle Glow, the local candle shop, had its door propped open, letting out a flood of fragrances.
Charlotte and Raven stopped as soon as the scents hit their noses. They peered through the door,
chattering to themselves like two children window shopping at a toy store.
Charlotte turned to Liam, her face gleaming with happiness. “Don’t you just love the aroma of
autumn?”
He said nothing while the look in his eyes said everything. Her heart fluttered at the adorable way
he watched her. Not a look of lust, but a look of endearment and affection. Before that look could
sweep her away, she continued walking toward the festival.
The park bustled with people. Vendors and craft booths stretched as far as they could see. Liam
let them lead the way.
“Ohh,” Raven squealed. “Look at that Halloween booth.” She nudged Charlotte’s arm and veered
off, leaving Charlotte and Liam together. She knew not to follow. Raven wasn’t after the Halloween
table so much as the cute guy standing beside it.
 “Raven likes Halloween . . . and guys,” she pointed out. “I’m more of a lover of the season.”
His lips curved upward. “I’m beginning to realize that. Fall is my favorite season too.”
His eyes landed on something in the distance. She followed his gaze to a wood carving event. Her
good friend, Levi Hudson, stood over a large hunk of wood, expertly carving a bear from the block of
cedar.
“Let’s go over and I’ll introduce you,” Charlotte said. “I believe Levi sources some of his
materials from your tree farm.”
Liam nodded and followed her to the exhibition area. Sawdust flew in a shower around them as
the chainsaw shaped the wooden animal. The expert transformation from tree trunk to sculpture held
Liam’s gaze.
A fluff of blond hair above a powder-pink coat drew Charlotte’s attention. “Gemma!” she called,
waving her friend over.
Gemma shuffled toward them and gave Charlotte a warm hug. In her hand, she held a leash
attached to a scruffy black puppy.
“I see you and Levi finally got the dog you’re always talking about,” Charlotte said with a laugh.
She crouched down to greet the little fur ball, who wiggled and squirmed under her affection. “You’re
just the sweetest little thing.”
“That’s a good-looking pup,” Liam added. He leaned over to let the black blob sniff and lick his
hand.
Charlotte stood and turned to Gemma. “How’s the second pregnancy going?”
“This little fellow is wearing me out.” She patted her stomach. “He’ll come out with muscles like
his father if he stays this active till the end.”
“Where’s Ella?”
“She’s somewhere around here with my dad. I think they’ve gone to ride the ponies if you can
believe it. Grandkids have a way of softening hard hearts.” Her brown eyes shifted to Liam. “And
who is this? I don’t think I’ve seen him around before.”
Charlotte smiled. “You’re beginning to sound like a River Haven native, Gemma. This is Liam.
He’s come to take over The Merry Pine Tree Park.”
“Is that so?” a deep voice said from behind them. Levi strolled forward and placed a hand on
Gemma’s back while keeping his eyes on Liam. “I’m sorry to hear about your grandad. He was a
great man.” Bits of sawdust and wood covered his dark hair. He reached out a large hand toward
Liam. “I’m Levi Hudson. Guess I’ll be in touch soon. I count on Mr. Zeek’s lumber for my
woodworking business. Some of the finest pine to come out of Vermont.”
Liam nodded. Charlotte didn’t miss the pained look in his eyes. Grief mixed with . . . nerves?
What did he have to be nervous about? Perhaps it was meeting all these new people.
“We’d better find Raven,” she said to Liam. She turned to Levi and Gemma. “It was nice seeing
you two. And the puppy.”
As they made their way past the vendors, Charlotte paid particular attention to his interests. She
found herself studying him in all manners, looking for any peculiar indicators. There was a lot to be
said through mere observation. Sometimes even more so than spoken words.
Better to know them up front than find out later.
She was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
A stunning display of jewelry stretched across several tables. Charlotte’s eyes grew large, and
she veered toward it. Liam stood next to her as she pointed out the beautiful pieces.
“You won’t find craftsmanship like this anywhere else. These are works of art.” Her fingers
grazed a silver bangle with stamped pine trees running across its center.
He held up a dainty silver necklace with a tiny orange rhinestone in the center of a pumpkin
pendant. “I think this suits you.”
“Ah, a man with taste,” she said as she giggled. “You’re getting to know me pretty well. I’m
attracted to pumpkins and shiny things.” She lifted another pretty piece. The lady behind the table took
notice and came to tell her about the jewelry, further occupying her. After looking everything over,
they moved on.
“Why didn’t you buy anything?” he asked.
“All the jewelry was beautiful,” she said, “but I prefer not to buy something I don’t need. I enjoy
the artistry more.”
As they walked along, Liam stopped to sniff the air. “Do you smell what I smell?”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows.
“That’s the smell of cooking kettle corn. Let’s go find it!” He darted off through a clearing behind
the booths, taking the quicker route.
“This guy is either really hungry or really loves his kettle corn,” Raven mumbled beside her.
Charlotte nearly jumped out of her skin. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
She didn’t care why he bolted off. In her mind, it was a simple pleasure for him. He’d taken off
like a child running after an ice cream truck.
I think it might be fun getting to know him. He has a playful nature. A feeling of warmth filled
her inside and out.
They followed after him.
“I never really cared much for kettle corn,” Raven said. “Charlotte loves it, though.”
Liam nudged Charlotte’s arm. “I’ll get us some then.” He winked and stepped up to the man at the
kettle.
Raven looked at Charlotte. “So, how’s it going? I saw you two getting all chummy at some of the
stands.” She shoved some cotton candy into her mouth.
“He’s been so sweet, and he shows an interest in everything I like, but I have this anxious jitter
that won’t go away. He seems too good to be true.”
“It’s not like you have to decide tonight whether to marry him. Just get to know him. You’re the
only one putting pressure on yourself.” Raven pulled off another pinch of cotton candy and leaned
closer to Charlotte. “Would you look at that backside, though? What a hunk he is. I wish I saw him
first.”
“You did see him first,” Charlotte reminded her.
“Oh yeah. That’s right.”
“You were too busy being mad at him.”
“If you don’t snag him up, it won’t be long before someone else does. Look at the attention he’s
getting.”
Charlotte glanced around. Women in all directions stole glances at Liam. He seemed unaware.
When he rejoined them, he held the open bag of kettle corn toward Charlotte. “I thought we could
share.”
Raven let out a groan and walked off with her cotton candy.
“I know a place we can sit and get away from the crowd. The spot is over here, by the river.” She
pointed, and Liam followed beside her.
THE SUN BEGAN ITS DESCENT , shining just above the tree line across the river. The water’s surface
glistened as it made its passage southward. A thin veil of clouds stretched across the horizon in
golden and purple hues. They walked to the ornate iron railing overlooking the water.
“This is beautiful,” Liam said. His gaze drifted up and down the riverbank. He listened to the
gurgle of the river a moment longer and turned to Charlotte. Her chocolate hair blew in the gentle
breeze.
“This is my favorite place,” she said, still facing the river. “I come here to write or when I need
to clear my head or find inspiration. I have several favorite spots around town. In Charles’ café, I’m
content. In my apartment, I’m happy. But here . . . here is where I find peace.” She turned her green
eyes toward him.
He was close enough to see the flecks of gold around her pupils as the sun filtered through her
eyes. Her face was written with grace. As he studied every distinct feature, it only made him want to
be closer to her. The desire to pull her into him and wrap his arms around her was almost too much to
resist. But he knew it wasn’t what she needed. Not yet. And it wasn’t what he needed, either. He’d
just escaped Paula’s clutches, and he had enough to figure out with the tree park. Still . . . those pink,
supple lips were hard to resist.
She hadn’t broken eye contact, as if she were studying him right back, taking her own mental
notes. The pulse in her neck beat under her delicate skin. When she wet her lips, he found himself
wanting to do it for her.
When his eyes dipped down to her mouth, she broke through her daze and looked around. “We
could sit here on the bench. How’s the popcorn?”
His eyes followed her movements as she sat. Settling down beside her, he rested his arm behind
her, across the back of the bench. He wanted her to feel close to him without touching her. The least
he could do was try to provide her with a gesture of safety and protection. What was going through
her mind?
What I would pay to know.
The breeze turned into a gust, tossing leaves over the pathway. Their legs rested side by side from
hip to knee, sending a series of sizzles shuddering up his leg. Now he’d really love to know what she
was thinking. She didn’t see the small smile on his face when he heard her inhale.
She must like the way I smell, too.
He held the bag of popcorn toward her. “It’s best when it’s still warm.” He wiggled the bag,
sending the fluffy kernels tumbling over each other.
She reached her slender fingers into the bag, keeping her eyes away from his. He tried not to stare
as she slid the snack past her lips. Her beautiful, plush, perfect . . .
Just be her friend. That’s what she needs right now. It’s what you both need.
“It’s very good,” she said, “and you’re right. It’s much better when it’s warm. Especially on a
chilly day like this.” She adjusted the purple scarf around her neck.
“Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?” He began to slip out of his coat, but she placed a hand
on his arm.
“No, no,” she said with a smile. “I’m fine. My coat’s warmer than yours, anyhow. We’ll have to
get you some better attire if you’re going to survive a Vermont winter.”
 He laughed. It seemed he always laughed when she was near. When was the last time a woman
brought him so much joy?
She took another handful of popcorn. “Did you live in a big city?”
“Not really, but it wasn’t as close knit as this place. I’ve missed this little town.”
“There’s no place like home.”
She relaxed at his side, and they sat in the comfort of each other’s company. There was so much
he wanted to know about her. Questions ran through his mind like a stampede of horses. He had to
remind himself to go at her pace. He searched his mind for a safe topic.
“Do you think Raven is okay? Should we go find her?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s fine. She’s probably flirting with any single man that might be wandering around the
festival.”
“You seem like polar opposites. How did you two become friends?”
“We’ve been friends since childhood. We practically grew up at each other’s houses. She has
good intentions, but she’s a pessimistic romantic.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked, amusement in his tone.
“She can be flirtatious, but she’s pessimistic about anything working out. I’m not even sure she
wants it to sometimes. She’s a fickle one. I try to keep her grounded and lead her out of harm’s way as
best I can.”
“I can tell you’re a good friend to her. Not many people are as calm and collected as you.”
“It’s funny you say that because just earlier today, I told her I hoped her future husband could fill
my shoes.”
He laughed, and she allowed a shy smile to light up her face. Adorable dimples appeared on her
cheeks, melting his heart.
“You look great tonight, by the way,” he said.
“Thank you. I don’t usually look like this. This is what happens when Raven gets hold of my
closet and makeup. She tore apart my room today while trying to dress me up like a living doll. This
is tame compared to some of her other suggestions.” She rolled her eyes.
“You can tell Raven I said she did a good job.” Liam searched his mind for a neutral topic, but
deeper questions nagged at him. He wanted to know more about Charlotte. He wanted to know
everything. “So how are you still single?”
As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them. Her cheeks weren’t just pink. They were red
as roses. And had she pulled away from him? The shift in her posture was minimal, but it created
immeasurable distance between them.
Her lips parted, but she slammed them shut again, reconsidering whatever she planned to say.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Liam said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s a valid question. I just don’t know what to say. When I wrote about my past in my book,
it was easier because my audience wasn’t right beside me. They were faceless.”
Liam lifted the bag of kettle corn in front of his face. “How about now? Any better?”
She released a precious giggle. “No, it’s not that simple.” She relaxed again. “I wish it was. I
wish I could just spill everything out and be done with it, but it’s difficult.”
Liam nodded. He understood difficult. There were topics he found hard to discuss as well.
“There’s no rush to tell me everything today. It’s probably best if you don’t, because it means we’ll
have to hang out again so I can learn more.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” she said with a laugh. “Well, what do you say? Should we walk
around more?”
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