2. Mia

CHAPTER 2

Mia

B eing back in Maple Ridge after all these years away is like starting an exercise routine after taking several months off. It's painful. You don't want to do it. And yet, you know it will be good for you once you do. Your body has muscle memory. In no time, it will remember, and you won't be sore anymore.

But your brain and heart have muscle memory too.

Both are telling me it's too soon to be back in Maple Ridge.

And yet here I am. Because Mom and Dad need me. I wanted to come right away after I got word of Dad's stroke, but they told me to wait until they knew the extent of his condition. When it became obvious his recovery would be lengthy, I made the decision to return home.

The plan was to stay for only a few weeks. Enough time to get everything in order at Base Camp. But when I got here and saw Dad for myself, I knew I'd just signed on for the entire summer.

At least.

I knew I'd run into Jones eventually. But not my first day back in Maple Ridge. Seeing him in Brew Box this morning was like being confronted with my past. The beautiful. The ugly. And all the in between.

Jones is as handsome as he was the last day I laid eyes on him. Maybe even more so. He looks so grown up. With a stubbled beard, taut muscles, and hair that's longer now. But he's got the same blue-grey eyes I remember. They're kind and hold depth. More than most people around this town probably even know.

But I know.

It's the main thing that's kept me away for so long.

And it's too painful to witness. So, I try my hardest to not look in his direction while I sit in his bar across from his sister. I purposely chose the seat where my back would face the bar. If Jones is paying any attention to me, I don't want to know.

"So?" Rosie asks, brows raised accusatorily. "Where've you been?"

"Rosie," Cammie hisses.

"No, no, it's fine." I pick up my wine and take a sip and my throat puckers slightly.

I expected this question. I expected a lot of questions. But I guess I also expected Jones had told them why I left Maple Ridge.

I clear my throat. "Connecticut."

Rosie makes a loathing face. It's something I would expect from her. And despite her reaction, the familiarity is somewhat comforting.

"Why Connecticut? What the hell is there to do in Connecticut?"

"After my first year of college, I applied to the University of Connecticut. They have a much better economics program there. My aunt lives close to the campus, and she offered me free room and board. I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"And you couldn't have just explained that to us?" Cammie asks, hurt laced in her voice.

It causes a wave of regret to sweep over me. There must have been a million times I wanted to call both Cammie and Rosie. So many lonely nights when all I needed was a friend. But the connection to Jones was too much. Too painful. I needed to cut ties completely to heal.

Running my fingertips up the back of my neck, my heart begins to kick harder against my chest. "Jones honestly didn't tell you why I left?"

"He said you had a fight. That you broke up and your relationship ended badly," Cammie explains. "That's about it."

"A fight?" I find myself repeating feeling wounded.

A fight implies we disagreed. That we didn't love each other. That we were over.

But what happened to us wasn't by choice. I'd never wish that pain be inflicted on anyone, ever.

And I never stopped loving Jones.

Though there is some truth to her words. Our relationship did end badly. So much so, I haven't had a real relationship since. There was one guy, sometime after college. But he was ready to settle down, even proposed. That's when I knew I wasn't over Jones. And that maybe, I never would be.

"I mean, I guess you could say that," I finally agree.

I don't feel prepared to have this conversation with them tonight. Especially not at a bar on a random Wednesday surrounded by too many familiar faces.

"Having a fight with Jones was inevitable," Rosie chimes in, giving a little nonchalant shrug. "I mean, it's Jones. But ditching your girls? I definitely did not see that coming."

A lump slides up my throat and I push the words out, "You're right. There's no excuse."

"Well, lucky for you, you're here all summer so there's plenty of time to make up for it," Cammie says.

Her response is so Cammie , it somehow makes me feel better. At least for now.

I nod and take another sip of my wine, glancing over my shoulder without thinking first. Because I instantly get hit with a blow to the chest as my eyes land on Jones. Grown-up-Jones. Warmth pools between my thighs. After all these years, he can still turn me on with a simple glance.

But in an instant, the dreadful memory that's always going to be associated with Jones crashes into my thoughts and drowns out the lovely ones. We can never be what we once were. Because our relationship will always be tainted.

"Is that true?" Rosie asks, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. "You're staying all summer?"

"It looks that way. My dad is in way worse shape than my mom led on."

"Yeah, the stroke took a lot out of him," Cammie says.

"Every time I called home, Mom told me he was getting stronger every day. Dad and I have never been super close, but I should've figured he was worse than I thought because she'd never put him on the phone." An image of my dad springs to my mind. Him in his favorite recliner at home, unable to focus on the TV because the double vision is too severe.

"I haven't seen him back at the store since," Rosie says, waving down the waitress to bring us another round of drinks.

Regret twists in my gut. "I wish I would've come home sooner. I feel like a terrible daughter."

"Well, you're not the best daughter, that's for damn sure," Rosie says bluntly.

"Rosalie!" Cammie smacks Rosie in the arm.

Instead of making me feel worse, like that comment should, a bubble of laughter erupts out of me. I can't help it. It's like I've been waiting for someone, no not someone, for Rosie, to tell me exactly how it is. None of my friends back in Connecticut will give it to me straight. They're probably all too afraid to hurt my feelings. But not Rosie.

"No, she's right," I finally agree when I stop laughing. "Rosie, you're right. I'm a terrible daughter. I should've come as soon as I heard about the stroke. But you guys just don't understand…there's too much history. Too much I left behind."

"Well, you're here now," Rosie said, giving me a smile.

My heart swells and along with it, tears in my eyes.

"And that calls for a celebration." Rosie holds her nearly empty glass in the air.

"Yes!" Cammie chimes in, her smile so big.

"Okay," I say with a light chuckle. "But we can't celebrate too much. I'm officially in charge of the store tomorrow."

"So what? Cammie practically runs the hardware store and that doesn't stop her from throwing down with me on a Wednesday night. What good is it being a lady if you don't take advantage of it?"

I quirk a brow at her.

"It's Wine Wednesday. Half-price wine."

As if on cue, the waitress sets down three bottles of beer in front of us.

"These are on the house. A gift from the gentlemen at the bar," she says, gesturing her chin in that direction.

My gaze swings toward the bar hesitantly. But relief fills me when I find Maverick Mendes sitting at the bar, giving us a wave.

"Great, that means more drinks for us." Rosie picks up one of the bottles.

"Thanks, baby," Cammie hollers over the noise.

I nudge her arm. "I think it's time you fill me in on how that happened."

Cammie's cheeks blush. "It's pretty wild, right?"

"You and Maverick Mendes? Jones's best friend? Yeah, it's wild. Although, I think everyone knew you had a thing for him."

"Everyone but him," Cammie says.

"Last I heard, you were engaged to someone else."

"Ughhhh," Rosie groans, throwing her head around dramatically and rolling her eyes. "We're not talking about that selfish dick tonight. He didn't deserve Cams."

"Something tells me I don't have to hear the story to agree. Though, I'm not sure even Maverick is good enough to deserve Cammie."

"Maverick and I are perfect for each other."

"It's disgusting, but they really are," Rosie says, making a gagging gesture to me and we both laugh.

"Whatever." Cammie waves us off. "And can you believe it, this is Rosie happy. She's in the first real committed relationship she's ever been in."

"I can't believe it," I tease.

"It's more than that. This is it, ladies. He's the one."

"You seem pretty positive about that."

"I gotta be honest, he's the first guy who hasn't annoyed me enough that I don't want to spend every day with him. So I figured I better lock that tongue down."

Cammie chokes out a laugh.

"Wait, did you get married, Rosie?"

"Nah. Not yet, at least."

"Ooooo," Cammie squeals. "Are we talking bridesmaids dresses yet?"

"Gag. Stop it. You know I'm gonna let you choose the dresses. I don't care enough about that shit."

"Yay." Cammie claps her hands.

"He must be something, he's got you wearing cowboy boots," I point out, my attention focused on her feet.

"Shut up. They're easier because of the horses."

My eyes widen. "Wait. You have horses? Where?"

"Six. And we're driving out west near Grand Junction to look at two more. Nico and I put up a barn and fencing near Gigi's cabin. We've been fixing up the place with plans to move there permanently eventually."

At the mention of Gigi's cabin, a twinge in my gut has me sitting in anguish. "I'm so sorry to hear about Gigi. She was an amazing woman."

Rosie is serious for the first time all night. "She was. And thank you."

After a few moments, I change the subject when I finally get the nerve to ask about the topic that's been festering in my mind during the years since I've been gone. "I gotta say, I'm kinda surprised you and Jones never got together."

"Ha ha ha!" Rosie barks out. Until she reads my expression and realizes I'm being serious. "Oh, shit…for real?"

"You two have always been close. You used to tease each other. He has a nickname for you." I shrug a shoulder. "I guess I just assumed."

"First of all, and I mean no offense, but…gross. Second, Jones and I have always been more like brother and sister. There's never been any feelings from either of us. Sorry to disappoint you, but our story was never going to end like Cammie and Maverick's with the brother's best friend trope."

Relief fills my tension-filled shoulders.

"And third," she continues. "Jones has always been off-limits. He's your guy."

The way that sounds, your guy , sends a million different kinds of feelings to implode inside of me. I guess in my mind, he has always been my guy too. But years ago, I had to let him go and come to terms that he was no longer mine.

Now that I'm back in Maple Ridge, and I know he hasn't been claimed by another woman, all these weird longing and possessive feelings bubble up in me. I've got no right. But even still, I find myself letting jealousy snake around me the longer the young women flirt with him at the bar.

I pick up the full bottle and press it to my lips, tipping back the bitter brew. It's been a few years since I've drank beer. Lately, I sip on a glass of red wine after a long day. But it doesn't stop me from nearly draining the bottle without coming up for air.

"Better pace yourself, Wine Wednesdays can be dangerous," Cammie warns, like the mom of the group.

Some things don't change.

It reminds me of her mom. And how I wasn't here when she and Jones lost her a few years ago. I wanted to come back for the memorial. But I just couldn't. My grief over my own loss was just too much.

"Don't discourage her, Cams. Drink up!" Rosie says.

After two glasses of wine, one beer, and a shot of some amber-colored liquor, Rosie has somehow convinced me that singing karaoke is the best idea we've ever had. Who am I to argue? Buzzed-Mia is now in control.

It's been a while since I've seen Buzzed-Mia . I've missed her. She's fun and carefree. She doesn't think about grief or the things she's lost.

While Rosie and I belt out the lyrics to Shania Twain's The Best Thing About Being a Woman —very off-key, might I add—Jones's eyes don't leave me. It should bother me, but I'm letting loose for the first time in a long while. So instead, it makes me feel sexy and powerful.

Buzzed-Mia doesn't care if I'm flirting with fire.

Tomorrow, when I'm just me again, Hungover-Mia , I will care. But right now, nothing can touch me or take away how alive I feel.

The alcohol must be hitting me harder than usual since I don't drink a lot these days, because I find myself hooking a finger in an invitation for Jones to join me on the karaoke stage. He shakes his head in reply, no trace of expression on his face.

I should give up. I don't want to embarrass myself. But something is nudging me to keep trying. I motion with my hands and mouth, get up here .

"C'mon, Jonesy, don't make this smokeshow beg," Rosie urges in the mic.

A hint of a smile plays on his mouth, and he drops his head in what I hope is abandonment.

After what feels like forever, he tugs the towel from his shoulder, tosses it onto the bar, and proceeds to the stage.

My stomach flip-flops. I drink him in. All legs and muscle and manly. A humming sensation builds between my legs, and when he spins his hat backward, I practically have an orgasm on the spot.

Damn he is one fine looking specimen.

Rosie hands him her mic as he steps up to join me. He gives me a look that's unreadable.

"You got me up her, better make it count," he says with a little growl.

I choose a song, and when the music begins, Jones slides me a look. I don't know what I was expecting, but it punches me in the gut. There's hurt shadowing his blue-grey eyes that are also burning with love and confusion. Because I feel all the same things when I look at him.

He starts singing the lyrics to I Remember Everything by Zach Bryan and Kacey Musgraves. When he does, he doesn't take his attention off me. It sets fire to my skin and at the same time, the pit of my stomach aches. I have the urge to simultaneously sob against his once familiar, comforting chest, while also kiss those pursed lips.

It surprises me when I'm able to form the words and sing the lyrics when it's my turn. As I do, Jones is unable to hide the emotions as they hit him. His eyes water and it forces mine to do the same. I wonder where fun, Buzzed-Mia went because this part is not fun. The alcohol was supposed to prevent me from thinking of Jones and thinking about all we lost.

Not just time. Not just the years. But our baby girl.

Aster.

Sweet Aster. Who wasn't big enough to breathe on her own. Who wasn't strong enough to live on her own.

But who was a part of us. A part of Jones and me. And when she left us, I didn't know how to be us without her.

The song ends and my head pounds. I swipe the tears from my cheeks. Jones gives me a look that shows he understands. But suddenly resentment bubbles its way through the surface of sadness and pain. Grief has no process. It's not linear. It rears its ugly head in different emotions and ways.

Tonight, at this moment, it chooses indignation. And I find myself wanting to take it out on Jones. I don't want to carry this pain or burden alone. Keeping it a secret has been killing me.

"Interesting song choice," Jones mumbles to just me.

But I respond into the mic. "That was a perfect song choice for two old lovers, don't y'all think?"

The crowd cheers.

"Hey, sweetie, why don't we get some water," Cammie whispers.

I ignore her and continue. "Especially two old lovers who now hate each other."

Jones glares at me. "Oh, c'mon now, honey, I wouldn't say we hate each other." He tries to play it off, forcing a smile toward the crowd. "I'd still take you home tonight."

"Now why would I want you to do that? You might end up knocking me up again."

"Shit," Jones grumbles.

"And I don't think either of us wants to go through losing another baby," I blurt, stumbling over the word baby .

Jones's scowl turns into a cold, haunting look. Something I don't know I'll ever be able to shake from my memory. It sends a shiver shooting down my spine.

"I guess you decided we're going public with that shit."

My lip quivers and another tear slips out my eye from the corner.

All this time I had assumed Jones told everyone about the baby. About Aster.

But the realization that maybe he hadn't. Maybe he never told anyone . It's too much. It causes my stomach to upturn and acid to crawl up my throat.

I give him an impish look and rest my hand flat against my stomach. I should tell him I'm sorry, but instead, I shove the mic at his chest and stagger off the stage.

"Sweetie, you okay?" Cammie braces me with an arm around my middle.

I shake my head as an acidic taste pools in my mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Yes! Now it's a party," Rosie says, a wide smile on her face.

"Alright, I've got her," Jones grunts, suddenly next to me, and swapping places with Cammie. "No one's making a mess in my bar."

The room spins while Jones hoists me up into his arms and I have no choice but to cling to him. He's solid and safe. Something I haven't felt in too long.

"Maverick, watch the bar," Jones calls over his shoulder.

He carries me to the back of the bar where there's a door followed by a flight of stairs. He takes them easily all while holding me tight against his chest. His woodsy scent is seductive. The whooshing in my head lessens once we reach the darkened upstairs apartment. It's cool and quiet.

"Jones?" I whisper into his neck.

"Shhh, I've got you, Peaches."