She knew even before it hit him square in the face that her aim was perfect. And he knew it, too—she saw his expression dissolve into one of frozen shock just before the pie slammed into him, dead center, knocking him slightly to the left. Bright red filling oozed from the sides of the flimsy pan as it slowly slid down his nose. Scott swiped at the cherries and bits of crust that clung to his face, his eyes wide and confused, and for a moment, Emily almost felt sorry for what she had done. But then she remembered. He was no friend of hers. And she had nothing to apologize for. That was his department.
The crowd was laughing now, but Emily wasn’t amused. Blindly muttering something to Lucy about going back inside to man the counter, she wove through the throng of onlookers, ducked into the empty storefront, and pushed past the swinging door to the kitchen. And only then, only when she was sure no one would ever see or ever know, did she allow herself to cry over Scott Collins.
Chapter Three
Scott pulled his car to a stop and shut off the ignition, sighing as he leaned back against the smooth leather headrest. The evening sunlight reflected off the windows of his parents’ house, making it impossible to see inside. He felt an odd sensation of disbelief that he had once lived here at all, much less that he had spent the first eighteen years of his life knowing every inch of the house by heart, thinking of it as home. Still one of the prettiest houses in all of Maple Woods, time was obviously posing a challenge for its upkeep: white paint peeled from various corners of the siding; grass was sprouting up through a few cracks in the brick path leading up to the center door; the yard needed weeding and the bushes needed to be pruned.
Lucy’s car was parked at the top of the driveway, and Scott couldn’t fight the twinge of resentment he felt toward her. She had won—dragged him here against his will. She didn’t understand the circumstances that had kept him away, but why the heck couldn’t she just respect his wishes? Wasn’t he doing enough for her already?
Scott gritted his teeth. It’s now or never. He pulled on the latch and thrust the car door open, closing it behind him with quiet force. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode up the cracking path to the faded green door, wondering if he should knock or just try the handle. Hesitating, he knocked twice, peering through the slender window that framed the door for any sign of activity inside. Seconds later, an older woman with gray hair and a plump middle entered the front hall. When she saw him through the glass, she stopped walking and her hand flew to her heart.
His mother.
Instinctively, he pulled back from the window. He ran his fingers coarsely through his hair. The last time he had seen her she was an attractive woman in her late forties. Now she was sixty. Rationally he knew it had been a long time. He just hadn’t realized the toll the years had taken on her.
The door flung open and his mother’s bright blue eyes locked with his. Blinking back tears, she leaned forward and grabbed him, squeezing him tight to a body that still felt familiar.
As soon as he could, he pulled back, standing uncomfortably in the door frame, allowing her gaze to roam over him with nostalgic appraisal, as though she had just stumbled upon a once-cherished childhood toy in the attic. He hated this. He hated this. He had thought he had cut off his feelings a long time ago—that he would be strong enough to deal with this reunion if it ever came—but the ache in his chest proved otherwise.
“It’s so good to see you,” his mother said breathlessly, and Scott managed a weak smile.
“The house looks nice,” he offered, stepping into the hall. He glanced around. Everything was exactly the same. Every painting hung on its same hook, every chair sat planted in the same position. Yet somehow, it was all different.
“Ah well, I’ve been meaning to get someone out here to take care of the yard now that...” she trailed off and inhaled sharply, closing the door behind him and then smoothing her hands over her skirt.
Scott balled his hands at his sides. “Is Lucy in the kitchen?” he asked, following the smell that was wafting from the back of the house.
Lucy was standing at the big island in the middle of the room, tossing a salad. Her eyes were unnaturally bright when she smiled. When she said hello, her voice was a notch higher than usual. It was then that he realized she was nervous. Well, she was the one insisting on this awkward arrangement. He wasn’t sure why she thought it would be easy. For any of them.
“I see you’re all cleaned up,” she observed.
Scott shrugged. He had hoped to avoid thinking of Emily for just one night, but that was impossible. Being here in this house only stirred his emotions to the surface. “Keep tossing pies at me and I’ll never get into the office to get the library project under way,” he warned.
“Don’t worry,” Lucy replied. “That’s it for the promotional stunts. But between you and me, I think you were a bigger hit than the mayor would have been.”
“Glad I could help.” He glanced around the room. “Where are George and Bobby?”
“George’s at the diner. Bobby’s studying for a test tomorrow.”
Scott nodded. Topic closed, the room fell silent again. He released a heavy sigh. “Where’s...”
“Dad?” Lucy lifted an eyebrow. Tight-lipped, she returned her attention to the salad. “He’s upstairs.”
His mother appeared in the arched doorway that led to the dining room. “He’s so pleased to know you’re here,” she added.
That makes one of us.
Scott rolled his shoulders, pushing back the resentment. He was angry at his parents—angry to the bone—but damn it if a part of him didn’t ache when he thought of them. It was easier, with time and distance, to just focus on the bad—on the event that had severed his ties with them for good. But all it took was one hint of his mother’s smile, the lull of her voice, to make him wish with all his might that things could have been different, that he could have just loved his parents and let them love him. That he didn’t have to look at them and be reminded of everything that had been lost instead.
He set his jaw and turned to the window, looking out over the backyard that stretched to the wood. Tulips had sprung up around the edges of the house providing a cheerful contrast to the situation within.
“Your father won’t be able to come down for dinner,” his mother was saying as she pulled three place mats from the basket on the baker’s rack. “We’ll take some soup up to him after he rests.”
They wandered silently into the dining room, his mother taking her usual place at the head of the table closest to the kitchen, he and Lucy sliding into their childhood seats on autopilot. Scott unfolded the thick cloth napkin and placed it in his lap. “Looks delicious, Lucy,” he said as she handed him a plate with a large steaming square of lasagna.
“Lucy’s been keeping us well fed,” his mother said through a tight smile. “More food than one person can eat, really,” she continued, her voice growing sad. “Have you been over to the office yet?” his mother continued.
It both amazed and saddened Scott that his relationship with his mother had come to this: polite, stilted conversation. As though there was never a bond between them—not a shared love, not a shared life, not a shared secret.
He took a bite of the lasagna. “Not yet.” He forced his tone not to turn bitter when he said, “Given Dad’s commitment to the company, I think it’s safe to assume everything is in place for the library project and I can just take over where he left off.” A heavy silence fell over the room.
Lucy bit on her lip and then asked tentatively, “Why don’t you