Winter in Kentbury (Kentbury Tales #6)

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Holden

I slouch against the back wall of the Harris resort’s dining hall, sipping coffee that’s gone lukewarm while everyone else dives into yet another round of eggs Benedict and pastries. The place is buzzing, laughter and chatter echoing off the walls as if this breakfast were some major celebration.

I’d tried to dodge it, but Landon wasn’t having it. Family gathering, he’d said, insisting I’d regret missing it. And, of course, he brought Cassie along, my thirteen-year-old niece, all wide-eyed and determined. I didn’t stand a chance. That kid has a way of making me do just about anything.

So here I am, navigating through the endless morning chitchat, watching people cut into toast like it’s the kickoff to something life changing. Landon had made it clear—my attendance wasn’t up for debate. Apparently, “the whole family being here” was supposed to mean something to me.

He’d given me that look, the one that says there’s no way out, and said, “Holden, you’re family too. Come on.”

Cassie had nodded along, as if I were some lost sheep they’d finally managed to herd back into the pen. So here I am, listening to Landon talk next to me, his words mostly background noise as I stare into my mug, debating the merits of a quiet exit.

I catch snippets of Bishop talking about next year’s grape haul from Lysander Spearman—something about Cabernet or Rosé or . . . who the fuck knows. Just more chatter filling the room.

Then Meadow, Raffa McFolley’s fiancée, strolls up. “Landon, do you know who’s covering emergency road services today?”

Bishop whistles, giving Landon a knowing look. “Hope it’s not you, or my sister’s going to have your head if you leave now.”

Landon frowns, pulling out his phone. “Haven’t gotten any calls, but if there’s an emergency, I’ll have to cover it. My guys are off this weekend.”

Meadow holds up her own phone, brow furrowed. “My friend’s van broke down on the highway, and it’s snowing.”

It’s the perfect out, and I seize it immediately. “I can help,” I say a little too quickly, eager to make my escape. “Why don’t you give her my number so she can tell me where she’s stranded?”

Meadow taps away on her phone. “Perfect. I’ll tell Jenna to call you so she can give you directions,” she says, flashing me a grateful smile.

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. Jenna? As in Jenna Santos? Sharp-witted Jenna, with that sweet but fiery personality and the quick comebacks? The one who always hated snow with a passion?

Honestly, I’m surprised she’s even out driving in this. I was the one who taught her how to handle winter roads just before I left town. We spent time together until the night before I shipped out when . . . well, there’s no point in dredging that up.

The last I knew, she had a near phobia of snow—a lingering scar from a bad accident when she was thirteen. Her dad had hit a patch of black ice, and it ended in a crash that took everyone else in the car. She barely survived. I’m almost impressed that she’s managing the road today. But in a van? I set down my coffee and stand, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

Meadow’s still on the phone. I head toward the parking lot, and that’s when I notice it—snow coming down heavy and fast. Not just a dusting. It’s the kind of snow that piles up quick, turning from a light flurry into a full-on storm. I glance up, watching the thick clouds settle in. This is no weather to be stranded in, especially if her van’s in bad shape.

My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I look down at the unfamiliar number. I clear my throat and answer, keeping my tone strictly business.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief pause before a calm, detached voice answers. Almost like she’s bracing herself. “Holden Miller?”

“Yes. Who is this?,” I reply cautiously, assuming it’s either Jenna or maybe some telemarketer trying to sell me a life insurance plan.

“My name is Jenna Santos, owner of The Floral Nook,” she says, her tone cool, professional—like we’re strangers.

Seriously? Should I remind her just how well we used to know each other? Not that now is the time. She’s broken down in the middle of a snowstorm, and I’m sure she’d rather be anywhere else than making small talk with me. Before I can respond, she’s all business, her tone polished and distant.

“My van broke down halfway through a delivery, and I need . . . well, I’m not sure. A tow won’t do. I have to get to Silver Pines to set up for tomorrow’s wedding. Meadow gave me your number. She mentioned you’re on call at the auto shop.”

“Where exactly are you?” I ask, glancing at the snow falling harder with each second. From the looks of it, getting her van running out here in the open might be impossible.

“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,” she says, her voice tight, like she’s clinging to the formality to keep everything in check.

Of course she’s stranded, and with the snow falling like this, it’s only going to get worse. I pull my hood down lower and glance at the road, wondering how bad it’ll get by the time I reach her. “Send me your location via text.”

“Done. Do you think you’ll be able to help? Or I could try another shop in Silver Pines?” she asks, sounding almost reluctant, like asking me was a last resort.

“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” I reply, keeping it short.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she says, still in that stiff, formal tone.

I scoff quietly, masking it with a cough. “Don’t thank me yet,” I mutter, half to myself. “Not sure what I’ll be able to do in this snow, but I’ll do what I can.” I end the call quickly, not wanting to stretch this out any longer than necessary.

I slip the phone back into my pocket, watching the snow as it swirls around me, thickening by the second. It’s going to be a long drive, and with the storm moving in like this, getting Jenna to Silver Pines might be more than either of us bargained for.

This is going to be one hell of a drive.