Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Lavender

Growing up in a small town, trust came naturally to me. It was almost expected that you would know everyone and anyone, which is why I didn't hesitate to accept the McFolleys' invitation for dinner.

As I sat at their table, surrounded by the warmth of family and the delicious smells of home-cooking, I learned that they were actually Genie's grandchildren. The same Genie who owned Kneady Kentbury Bakes, my favorite place in town. Memories flooded back of spending summers there, learning how to decorate cookies and indulging in their mouth-watering pastries.

I discovered that they were six siblings who had only recently found out about their grandmother. Three of them—McKay, Lou, and Paul—had already made the move to Kentbury while Sinclair had just arrived the day before. Though he didn't plan on staying long.

I was bursting with questions for all of them but held back, not wanting to intrude on their family reunion. Perhaps I would have a chance to ask them later on, after figuring out my own plans that don't involve help from the McFolleys. Surely someone in town would be kind enough to let me stay in their guest room until I could return to my apartment.

After dinner, the McFolleys kindly dropped me off at the Bed and Breakfast where I had made reservations. It was slightly unsettling how much they knew about me and my family, but it seemed par for the course in a small town like Kentbury.

I wonder if Ruby knows about them.

Are Knightly Harris and her still close?

I remember her coming to Lee's wedding and sending her a present when her little boy was born. There are so many questions, but maybe I'll ask her tomorrow.

Even though I know it's late and I should head to sleep after my shower, I can't resist the urge to go downstairs to the cozy living room. As soon as I step into the space, a warm and comforting scent of freshly baked cookies greets me, enveloping me in its delicious aroma.

The living room feels like a big, cozy hug. The fireplace crackles and dances, casting flickering golden light over the armchairs and sofa, making them look even more inviting. It's as if they're beckoning me to come closer, relax, and forget about my worries for a while. The whole room exudes charm, with its eclectic mix of old-timey photos and funky local artwork that add character and warmth to the space. I can practically imagine myself grabbing a mug of hot cocoa and curling up on the couch with a good book.

My eyes are drawn to the tray of cookies displayed on the coffee table, showcasing an array of flavors like chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and what appears to be snickerdoodles. My hand automatically reaches for a perfectly golden chocolate chip cookie, its edges slightly crisp but with a soft center that melts in your mouth. Just as I'm about to take a bite, my gaze lands on him —Sinclair McFolley.

He's leaning casually against the doorway with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand, watching me with an amused yet unreadable expression on his face. My heart skips a beat and I feel a rush of heat flood my cheeks.

"Good choice," he remarks, nodding toward the cookie in my hand with a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

I can't help but take a moment to really look at him. This is the first time I've seen him without his guard up. Sinclair is undeniably attractive, with an intense and smoldering look that seems to simmer just beneath the surface. His dark hair is effortlessly styled, as if he's just run his fingers through it, and his chiseled jawline could probably cut glass. Underneath his tight black t-shirt, I can see defined muscles and an impressive set of abs. I swallow hard, trying to push away the fluttery feeling in my stomach as I meet his piercing gaze.

But it's his eyes that truly capture my attention. A deep, mesmerizing blue, they seem to have a life of their own—seeing through the fa?ade and walls I have carefully constructed. I can feel myself getting lost in them for just a moment, before snapping back to reality with a mental scolding.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to stare," I say, trying to regain composure. But his presence is unsettling in a way I can't quite define. His tall form fills the room, emanating an aura of confidence and mystery.

"I guess I needed a little sweetness after everything," I confess, my voice betraying me as it softens. Taking a bite of the cookie, the warmth of gooey chocolate and buttery goodness spreads in my mouth, eliciting a small moan of pleasure.

Sinclair's response is equally breathy, his voice low and rough around the edges. "Sometimes, a little indulgence is exactly what you need to get through the tough times."

I nod in agreement, unable to trust myself to speak further. There's something about his words—a hint of understanding and shared experience—that makes me wonder if there's more to this man than meets the eye. But I quickly banish those thoughts from my mind; men are off-limits for now, especially after my recent breakup.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Sinclair speaks up again, his tone hinting at a deeper meaning behind his words. "I know what it's like to need a little escape from reality." My curiosity piqued, as I take another bite of my cookie, raising an eyebrow at Sinclair. "I thought you were going to stay in the lake house," I say, observing him with a curious gaze.

A sheepish smile forms on his lips as he admits, "Well, we moved the mattress into the house so I could sleep there tonight. But we didn't have time to clean it because something—or someone—unexpected happened." He shakes his head, a wry smile playing on his lips.

The thought of Sinclair sleeping in a strange new place even if it was my childhood home brings a sense of comfort to my mind, but I quickly push it away. I can't afford to let my guard down, not with such a complicated and intriguing man as Sinclair.

"Why not stay with your brother then?" I inquire, my eyes never leaving his face.

Sinclair's gaze narrows and he presses his lips together before responding. "Honestly, I think he's dating someone and didn't want me there to notice." He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, "And before you ask why I didn't ask my sisters, it's pretty simple. McKay is in the honeymoon stage and I don't want to know anything about her sex life—or accidentally catch a live show. And Lou's children are a little too inquisitive for my taste. I can only take so many hours of their questions."

I smack my lips and let out a laugh. "That's impossible."

"Believe me, they're that curious," he insists.

"No, I mean your brother Paul dating someone and keeping it low key," I clarify. "If he was indeed seeing someone, the entire town would know. We're experts at figuring out situationships and spreading rumors." I give him a conspiratorial wink, feeling more comfortable with him now.

"Right, you're part of the town," he acknowledges with a nod. "But you still haven't told us why you left—" His eyes wander over my figure, lingering a little too long on my curves. "Better yet, what brought you back? Are you a teacher who takes long breaks during the summer?"

I glance at his mug, eager to change the subject. "Where can I get one of those?" I gesture toward it.

"Coffee?" Sinclair asks.

"More like hot water to make myself some tea," I clarify, feeling the hem of my shirt between my fingers. "I'm not much of a coffee drinker."

He nods, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking a step closer. "They have an espresso machine, but for what you want . . . I think I saw an electric kettle in the kitchen. I can show you if you'd like." His proximity sends a shiver down my spine and I nod eagerly, grateful for the distraction from our previous conversation.

My heart races and my palms grow clammy as I hesitate for a moment, considering the idea of being alone with him in the kitchen. The thought is simultaneously thrilling and nerve-wracking. But the enticing aroma of warm tea is tempting enough for me to accept his offer.

"That would be great, thanks," I say, trying to keep my tone casual as I offer him a small smile.

As we enter the kitchen, I can't help but let my curiosity get the better of me. "So why are you here in Kentbury? You really don't seem to fit the small-town mold at all. My guess is that you have a hedge fund company and suck souls for a living—while making yourself rich." I lean against the counter, crossing my arms as I await his response. Maybe if he's one of those slick suits, his attractiveness level will decrease from ‘scorch me with your body' to ‘I'd rather eat cardboard than be near you'.

"Ouch. Way to hold back."

I shake my head in apology. "Sorry, my mom raised us to be honest."

"I live in Boston and my job is . . . well, let's just say it partially involves what you just described," he confesses with a smirk, causing a dimple to appear on his cheek. Ugh, he has a dimple . . . Couldn't he have more flaws? I mean, he's already rich and successful. But that dimple is undeniably adorable. I can't help but feel a twinge of attraction to this version of him. He continues explaining adding a wink, "Without soul-sucking though."

"Do you have someone else handle that for you?" I tease playfully, lowering my voice to a suggestive tone. "Someone to do your dirty work." I bite my lip coquettishly, locking eyes with him and feeling a spark of electricity pass between us.

"Sweetheart, if there's any dirty work to be done, I can handle it myself," he replies with equal flirtatiousness, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Thankfully, he turns away and busies himself with finding the electric kettle and setting it up. He rummages through the cabinets, searching for a mug and tea bags for me. The domesticity of the moment feels oddly intimate, making me wonder what it would be like to wake up to this every morning.

No mornings, not this guy—or any. Come on, Lavender, you just went through a breakup, and now you're wondering if Mr. Blue-eyes-and-cute-dimple kisses as well as he looks.

"I see. So why are you here, Boston Boy?" I ask, my gaze lingering on his strong arms and broad shoulders as he works. "Somehow, I don't believe that you're doing it to save the children one summer camp at a time."

"Nice slogan. Though you're right, I came here because it seemed like a good weekend to avoid home." He shrugs.

"How so?" I tilt my head, leaning closer to him, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

"My ex-wife is getting married," he confesses, his voice a little strained, his eyes focused on the task at hand.

"Let me guess. She's the love of your life, and you were hoping you'd patch things up with her." My words tumble out before I can stop them. A sudden thought occurs to me—what if he's going through the same thing as I am? Is that why there's this strange connection between us?

"Or . . . she cheated on you, and she's marrying the affair partner." I grimace, feeling a pang of empathy for this stranger who seems to share a similar pain as mine.

He frowns and shakes his head, a look of surprise crossing his face. "Not at all. We've been divorced for eight years or so. It's just accepting that I failed at something."

"I'm not following," I state, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Certainly you realized it was over the moment the divorce decree landed in your inbox, right?"

Sinclair nods and grunts something unintelligible as the kettle whistles, breaking the awkward silence between us while he begins to prepare my drink.

We make our way back to the cozy living room, Sinclair balancing a tray with two steaming mugs. The scent of his freshly brewed coffee fills the air as we settle into our respective seats—me in the plush armchair and him on the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The soft glow of the fireplace casts shadows on his face, making him look all the more intriguing.

"Are you here because your ex cheated on you?" he asks, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He cradles his mug in his hands, his undivided attention fixed on me.

I take a moment to collect myself before responding with a simple, "Yes and no. "

"Yes and no?" he echoes, curiosity lacing his tone as he takes a sip of his drink.

I trace the rim of my own mug with my fingers, contemplating how much to reveal. But I find myself opening up to him about my business—the one that I built from the ground up. The one that my ex-boyfriend now wants to take away from me. "And then there's the whole ‘what am I doing with my life' thing," I add with a sigh.

"You're young," he says, a hint of envy in his voice. "You have plenty of time to figure it out."

"Of course," I agree half-heartedly. "But when your boyfriend breaks up with you because he claims marriage and children aren't for him, only to turn around and propose to someone else . . . it makes you question yourself."

Sinclair grabs a cookie from the plate between us and takes a bite as he mulls over my words. Chocolate chips dotting his lips when he finally speaks, "He's the problem."

I tilt my head, curiosity getting the better of me. "Why did you get divorced?"

He swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before responding with a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'm emotionally unavailable, married to my job, Daddy's little pet . . . take your pick."

"You were the problem?" I ask incredulously.

"Apparently you need more than a ring and a house for a marriage to work out," he sighs, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I tried to make her happy, you know. Anything she wanted, she had it. "

I lean forward, mirroring his position with my elbows on my knees and my mug in hand. "But did she have your heart?"

A deep, hearty laugh escapes from him, carrying a rich tone that echoes through the room. His eyes crinkle at the corners, shining with genuine amusement. "So I'm supposed to cut open my chest and give her my heart?"

I roll my eyes, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Okay, I get why she left you."

"Do you? Please explain." He leans forward, his expression curious.

"You weren't in love with her," I state matter-of-factly, taking a small sip of my tea. "Why marry her then?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, but there's a hint of sheepishness in his smile. "My parents liked her—she fit well into my plans."

I shake my head, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Okay, you have more problems than I do. A summer in Kentbury won't be enough to cure you."

Sinclair throws his head back, a deep belly laugh escaping his lips as he shakes with mirth. He looks at me with a wide grin and bright eyes full of humor. "You're worse than Paul."

"The one who you think is secretly dating someone?"

"Yep." He nods emphatically, a knowing smile on his lips. "Paul has a thing for bringing people here to show them how good the maple syrup is, but then he tries to change your entire life. "

"Kentbury is magical like that."

"Is that why you came?" Sinclair narrows his eyes inquisitively.

I nod again, wrapping my hands around the warmth of my mug for comfort. "Yep. Life was much simpler when we lived here—I need a little bit of that magic before I have to go back to reality."

"I hope it helps, but if it doesn't, my brother is a great lawyer and would be happy to help you out pro bono," he offers.

"Why would he do that for me?" I ask, feeling a glimmer of hope.

He shrugs casually. "It seems like you could use a break and as much as magic and fairy tales sound lovely, sometimes we need something practical and real to help us out."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," I reply gratefully.

As we sit together, the crackling warmth of the fire wraps around us like a cozy blanket. In this moment, I feel a glimmer of hope igniting in my chest. Could it be that our unexpected detour to Kentbury is exactly what we've been searching for—a way back to ourselves?

Perhaps he'll discover that there's more to life than just work and making money, and as for myself, maybe not having to worry about losing my business is a small step toward finding contentment.

The idea of a fairy tale "happily ever after" seems overrated now, and perhaps embracing singledom is truly the path to happiness.