Winter in Kentbury (Kentbury Tales #6)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Jenna

The highway stretches ahead, dusted in snow as I make my way to the wedding venue. The back of the van is filled with flowers arranged down to the last petal that are ready for the wedding taking place tomorrow. Winter isn’t my favorite season, but when I’m home, watching snow drift by the window from the warmth of my couch, curled up by the fire with a good book? I can appreciate it.

But on workdays, when I have to be out in it, driving across snow-slicked roads? Winter becomes my worst enemy. Today, it’s me against the biting cold, trying to pull off one of the biggest wedding orders the shop has ever had—and it’s for a town fifty miles away from Kentbury. The last thing I need is for the snowfall to mess with the timing.

“Dusting” might be generous, though. Snow is coming down faster now, blurring the road and stubbornly sticking to the asphalt. I squint through the windshield, wipers struggling to keep up as the flakes fall thicker and heavier.

I’m probably halfway to Silver Pines by now, but it’s hard to tell with the snow coming down harder by the minute, and I’m directionally challenged. A twinge of worry creeps in. This is starting to look dangerously close to snowstorm territory.

And just as that thought sinks in, the van gives a horrible, clunking noise.

“No, no, no . . . don’t do this to me,” I mutter, giving the dashboard a pleading look. “Come on, not today. Not now.”

But the universe seems to have a different plan. The van gives one last sputter as I steer it onto the shoulder, hitting the steering wheel in frustration as it rolls to a stop. This is the last thing I need, every time I try to get the shop back on its feet, something happens to knock me back down.

Business has been rough lately, and I feel like I’m letting my grandmother down. She trusted me with this place, and here I am stranded with the biggest order in jeopardy.

I turn the key again, hoping for a miracle, but all I get is silence. After a few more desperate tries, I give up and pull out my phone.

“Hello?” Meadow’s voice answers, faintly cheerful, like she’s already mid-celebration.

“Meadow, who’s your favorite person in the world?” I ask, trying to keep things light even though my patience is running thin.

“Uh-oh,” she says, instantly catching on. “What do you need?”

I groan. “The delivery van broke down a few miles out of town, and the snow’s coming down fast. I’ve got to get these flowers to the venue. Can I borrow your SUV? Or, even better, could you drive me? You know how bad I am in the snow.”

A sigh on her end. “Sorry, girl, I can’t. It’s Mr. Harris’s birthday, and we’re all out at the resort celebrating.”

Of course, she’s celebrating. I can practically picture her, cozy by the fire, enjoying the flowers I set up for the event earlier. And no, I’m not bitter—it’s just that ever since she started dating Raffa, Meadow’s practically become part of the McFolley family. Which means she’s tight with the Harrises too.

Every week, there’s another event, another birthday, another thing to celebrate, and while I’m happy for her, it feels like she’s gained a family. However, it also looks as if I’ve lost my best friend.

There’s some muffled talking in the background before she comes back on the line. “I could send Holden Miller to rescue you.”

Holden Miller? She has to be kidding.

“I’m not calling Holden,” I say a little too quickly, my voice sounding more defensive than I intend. “I’d rather walk these flowers to the venue in a blizzard.”

“Come on, Jenna,” she replies, sounding as though she’s speaking to a stubborn child. “What happened between you two was ages ago. He’s back in Kentbury now. You’re going to have to figure out how to get along with him. This town is way too small to avoid him forever.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve avoided him for six months, and I can keep it up for the rest of my life. No town is too small if you’re invisible, remember?”

Meadow lets out another sigh. “I get it,” she says. “But right now, he’s the only one who can help.”

I press my lips together, refusing to admit she’s right. “Are you absolutely sure you can’t make it out here?”

“Believe me, I’d be there if I could, but it’s impossible. It’s him or no one, Jenna.”

“Fine,” I mutter, clinging to the last shred of hope. “I’ll just call the car shop.”

She sighs again, her tone heavy with patience. “You could, but he’s the one on call. Landon’s celebrating his father-in-law with the rest of us.”

So if Landon’s there, his brother has to be, too, right? “And Holden doesn’t have to be there?”

“Probably not,” she says, her voice almost too chipper. “I just texted you his number. Call him. I have to go, babe. Good luck with the event.” And with that, she hangs up, leaving me to my predicament.

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Calling Holden is the absolute last thing I want to do, but I can’t let the shop lose this job. I can’t afford to. The car shop is my only option, but it doesn’t mean I have to call him.

Then again, what other choice do I have? My grandfather would come if I asked, but dragging him out in this snow just to save the day feels wrong. Irresponsible.

Still, the idea of calling Holden feels impossible. He was my first love, the boy I thought I’d be with forever. He was a senior, just about to head off for the Air Force, and I was fifteen, ready to make it work, no matter what. But that wasn’t what he wanted. I was just another girl, another fling before he left.

There was never anything real between us—at least not to him.

I’ve tried to forget. To let him fade into some dusty corner of my past where he can’t get to me. But with him back in town, it feels like I’m living with a ghost that won’t leave. I’d rather never see him again, let him stay hidden in his vineyard like a hermit, and I’ll keep to my cozy corner of Kentbury.

It’s a win-win, right?

Sometimes, yes, I wonder what it would feel like to run into him as I am now, to have someone by my side and be able to look at him and say, “Look what you missed, Holden. But hey, thanks for the lesson.”

But that hasn’t happened, and it feels like whatever it is that makes a guy see “long-term” material in me must be missing. So instead, I settle for avoiding him, keeping the past neatly packed away.

I stare at the message thread on my phone, Holden’s number glaring back at me. I know I have to call him, or this delivery will never happen, but the thought makes my stomach twist. I had loved him so much, or at least as much as a fifteen-year-old girl can love anyone.

When I lost him, it was like my heart lost its pulse. Losing my parents had cracked it, but his rejection shattered the fragile pieces that were left. And ever since, I haven’t been able to love the same way.

But I put myself back together. It took time, but I did it. I’ve avoided him this long in a town as small as Kentbury. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to see him again though. I’m not sure how I’ll react when I hear his voice, or worse, when I look into his eyes and remember everything I tried so hard to bury.

Reluctantly, I tap his number and press call. My pulse pounds as the phone rings, each ring dragging on until I’m convinced he’s not going to pick up. Just as I’m about to hang up, his deep voice filters through the line.

“Hello?”

“Holden Miller?” I ask, forcing myself to sound detached, like he’s any other business contact.

“Yes. Who is this?” His voice is cautious, and for a moment, I feel like he’s peering through the phone.

There. Calm, collected. Strictly business, I explain the situation I’ve found myself in.

“Where exactly are you?” His voice is low, a little rough around the edges, and I let out a quiet breath. At least he doesn’t sound friendly, it’ll make it easier not to fall for him again.

“I’m somewhere between Kentbury and Silver Pines. Drive southwest, and you’ll see a big blue flower shop van—you can’t miss it,” I say, forcing my tone to stay light.

“Send me your location via text,” he replies, short and clipped. He explains how to do it, and I follow his instructions, biting my lip as I press send.

“Done. Do you think you’ll be able to help?” I ask, the words escaping me before I can stop them. “Or I could try another shop in Silver Pines?” I add, a little too quickly, hoping it doesn’t sound desperate and regretting I didn’t do that first.

“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” he mutters, sounding as if he’s already irritated. There’s no reassurance, no promise that he can actually help.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I reply, trying to sound like it’s no big deal, like I’m not relying on him for this.

“Don’t thank me yet. Not sure what I’ll be able to do in this snow, but I’ll do what I can,” he says, still gruff, then hangs up without another word.

My hands tremble as I set down the phone. This is fine. He probably won’t even recognize me. I was just a girl on the sidelines back then, someone easy to forget. Why would he care now?

I can do this. Professional, distant. Pretend we’re strangers and just get through it. Keep telling yourself that, Jenna. Because what’s the alternative? A full-on panic attack because the man who broke your heart is coming to help?

I try to steady my breathing, reminding myself this is just another minor crisis. Snow, flowers, a broken-down van. Manageable. But will it still be manageable when he shows up?

Maybe not. I’m not prepared for this, not now, maybe not ever. I’d heard rumors he was coming back to town after his service, but I hadn’t believed it. Not after the way he hated this place—and his family. Back then, I knew every detail.

Everything he liked, hated, every dream he’d shared in the quiet moments that made me think I was special to him. I memorized his stories, the complicated love he had for his brother Landon, his loyalty to his uncle, the man he loved like a father.

What a fool I’d been, spending hours listening to him talk, thinking he hung the moon and the stars. He probably doesn’t even remember half of it. I was just a kid with a crush who thought she was seeing something that was never there.

Lost in my own thoughts, I don’t notice the truck pulling up until it’s nearly in front of me. It’s not a tow truck, just a big ass pickup, and as he steps out, I feel my breath hitch. My lungs seize, and for a second, I can barely move. He’s even more handsome than he was back in high school—broader, the years giving him an intensity that sends a pang through me I wasn’t ready for.

I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to stay focused. This is just business. Nothing more. I can handle it. Right?

As he approaches, I can’t help but take in every detail, each one hitting me harder than I’d like. He’s tall, solidly built, broad shoulders framed beneath a worn Carhartt coat zipped up tight against the cold. His hood is pulled low, shielding him from the falling snow.

Even from a few feet away, I can see his green eyes, intense beneath dark brows, and he’s sporting a thick, rugged beard now. My pulse thunders, almost loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I steel myself, stepping out of the van, bracing against both the cold and the emotions threatening to rise.

“Mr. Miller, I assume,” I say, as if he’s any other stranger. I ignore the past, pretend we never shared anything. Very mature. Or at least, I hope it comes across that way. I just need to survive the next half hour, then I can move on and never see him again. “Thank you for coming out here.”

Our eyes meet, and he stares at me for a moment longer than I’d like, as if he’s trying to piece together something he thought he’d forgotten. But he snaps out of it, clearing his throat, a hint of grumpiness woven into his tone.

“Hi, Jenna. It’s been a while,” he says, trying for a lighthearted tone that doesn’t quite stick. “If you wanted to catch up, you could’ve just called. Breaking down on the highway seems a bit dramatic for an excuse.”

His attempt at a joke stings, sharper than I expected. I’m right back there, a teenage girl with feelings she can’t quite hide, standing before someone who looks at her like she’s nothing more than an afterthought. But I’m not that girl anymore. I won’t let him see that part of me.

“Excuse me?” I retort, voice clipped and incredulous. “You think I’d risk my business just to—what? Catch up with some stranger? I didn’t break down on purpose, and I definitely don’t need to see you. I just need the van fixed so I can get on with my life.” I pause, trying to stay calm, but the words spill out a little sharper than I intended. “So, if you don’t mind, can we get this over with?”

The smile fades from his face, his expression darkening for a split second. I almost think I see a flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe irritation—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. We’re strangers now. It’s been nearly two decades. I’m not interested in small talk, or any kind of talk for that matter.

“I’m not going to be able to fix your van out here,” he says, voice edged with a gruff impatience as he averts his gaze. “The snow’s picking up fast. I’ll tow you back to town, and we can work on it there if that’s okay.”

My stomach drops. “I can’t go back to town,” I say, trying to keep the panic from creeping into my voice. “I have to get these flowers to the wedding venue. This order—well, it’s crucial for the shop.”

He looks at me, as if trying to decide if I’m serious. I hold his gaze, hoping he understands how much this means. The snow falls heavier, swirling around us, and I know if I don’t get to Silver Pines soon, I’ll lose any chance of making it at all.

“Fine,” he says at last, jaw tight. “I’ll hook your van up to my truck. I’ll try to get you there, but I’m not making any promises. If the storm gets worse, we’ll have to find shelter and wait it out.”

Relief and dread mix together as I watch him turn back to his truck, pulling it into position to hook up the van. I want to thank him, but the words stick in my throat. I settle for a quiet, “Thank you. I appreciate your assistance,” I say, hoping it sounds businesslike, neutral.

But as I reach for the van door, his voice stops me. “You’re going to ride in the truck with me, Jenna.”

“Don’t you need someone in the van to steer while you’re pulling it?” I ask, scrambling for a way out, any excuse to avoid being stuck in close quarters with him.

He shakes his head, the barest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “No. Get in the truck. You’re going to freeze out here.”

“Fine,” I mutter, unable to argue. “Let me just grab my purse.”

In the few minutes it’s taken him to get everything ready, the snowfall has thickened, relentless and heavy. A prickle of worry settles over me, wondering if we’ll make it to the venue on time.

He slides into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and pulls onto the highway without a word. His gaze is fixed straight ahead, as though whatever he’s thinking is locked safely behind a closed door. I turn to the passenger window, watching the snow-covered trees blur past as he drives, all while silently willing myself to focus on the road ahead instead of the past riding beside me.

But it’s easier said than done.