“So…” she began, feeling exposed. Maybe he would be just as nonchalant as Matty. Maybe he wouldn’t even think it was a big deal at all—
But Aidan was already backing away. “I should…” he said, gesturing vaguely. He was looking anywhere but at her, like she was suddenly radioactive.
Her heart sank.
“Right. Me too,” she said, fighting the flood of disappointment. She wasn’t sure what she’d been hoping for, but it wasn’t this. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime.”
Stella stood there on the porch, watching as he got back in his car and drove away. But something told her, there wouldn’t be another time.
There never was.
6
“She has a kid…” Aidan said again in disbelief. It was the morning after the festival, and he’d met Luke and Earl for coffee at the local bakery. But even after a night spent trying to process this unexpected discovery, Aidan still struggled to make sense of it. “I can’t believe it.”
Luke looked up from a cinnamon roll. “Sure, Matty,” he said, like it was obvious. “Cool guy.”
“Always has his head in a book,” Earl agreed, sipping at his coffee.
Aidan looked back and forth between them. “Wait, you guys knew about this?”
They stared at him blankly. “Everybody knows,” Luke said, looking amused. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“Well, it was news to me.” Aidan said, trying to wrap his head around it.
Stella Hartley was a mom. He would never have guessed. And not just recently, either. The kid had to be thirteen, fourteen, which meant…
He did the math and realized just what Stella had meant when she’d said the real world had gotten in the way of her teenage plans.
“I feel like an idiot,” he groaned, remembering how he’d frozen up on her doorstep last night. He knew he shouldn’t have bolted like that, but it had all happened so fast. One minute, she was looking dazzling there in the moonlight, making him forget all those reasons why he’d vowed to stay away. And the next? He was having a surprise reunion with that bookworm kid he’d met near the pond.
Stella’s kid.
Luke chuckled. “Have another morning bun,” he advised. “And maybe try paying attention in the future.”
Aidan did as he was told. He wasn’t sure why he felt so thrown by the news. After all, it wasn’t like Stella had lied to him. He’d never even thought to ask if she had kids. But why not? It had been fifteen years since he’d spent time in Sweetbriar Cove, of course plenty would have happened since then.
“So… What’s the deal with the father?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But from the amused quirk of Earl’s mouth, he wasn’t selling it.
“Never heard of him.” Earl replied.
“Ever?” Aidan asked, frowning. He’d figured on some recent break-up, or enlightened co-parenting deal; he definitely would have noticed a wedding ring. But this? “Stella raised the kid alone?”
“She wasn’t alone.” Earl said, over his coffee. “We all helped out.”
All the same, all the help in Sweetbriar Cove wasn’t the same as a real partner. Aidan’s admiration grew. He’d known Stella was smart and resourceful, but he couldn’t imagine what it took to bring up a child all on her own – especially when she’d still been so young herself when Matty was born. He wondered what had happened: Did she have family nearby? And what had become of the deadbeat dad? But he didn’t want to make a meal of it in front of his family, so Aidan let the conversation move on. Still, he found himself keeping one eye on the door, wondering if Stella would stop by for a morning pastry, or to catch up with her friends.
But, of course she didn’t. Why would she? It was 10:30 on a Monday morning. She had a job, and life to be busy with.
Unlike him.
Soon enough, Luke headed off to his workshop, and even Earl folded his newspaper and got to his feet. “Things to do, people to see,” he said vaguely. “See you for dinner tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Aidan agreed, and his grandpa sauntered off, leaving him alone at the table.
Aidan lingered a while longer. He thought about ordering another coffee, or even lunch, since it was beginning to be that time, but he realized that he couldn’t delay the inevitable much longer. It was time to get back to the house, and start making those calls he’d been putting off all weekend.
He paid the check and strolled back towards his car, already bracing himself for the humiliation ahead. Jovial small talk, self-deprecating laughter, and, yes, admitting that the rumors were true, he’d failed at his last job in a most spectacular fashion – before he pretended like nothing was wrong, and started asking for new job leads. Usually, he didn’t mind the bullshit; it was all part of the game. But maybe the past month away from his finance buddies had made him rusty, because Aidan was wincing at the thought of acting like it was business as usual.
But what else was he going to do?
He was just driving back through town, wondering if there were any other errands he could take care of when he caught sight of an old sign peeling at the side of the road.
Grayson’s Books.
Aidan pulled over, glad for the detour. He followed the sign down an overgrown path and through a creaking gate, and found the store half-hidden behind a massive blackberry bush. It wasn’t a store, not really, but an old cottage, and when Aidan stepped through the front door, he found a warren of sun-drenched rooms filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and stacks of old, dusty boxes. There was a man taking a nap behind the front desk – feet up, head tipped back – so Aidan left him to snooze in peace, and made his way deeper into the house.
There didn’t seem to be a system, he realized, as he browsed the haphazard collection of books. At least, none that made any sense to him. Cookbooks were stacked beside pulp romance novels, and dusty old classics teetered on the table with what looked like the complete series of Sweet Valley High. He found a box of old fantasy novels in the corner, and paused. These were like the ones that kid had been reading. Stella’s kid, he corrected himself. Matty.
He could buy a few…
Aidan stopped himself. He wasn’t going to get involved, remember?
He moved on to the back room, where he found a shelf full of nonfiction. There, buried between some old computer guides, was a whole trove of maritime books, everything from nautical histories, to local shipbuilding, and even a dusty book of boat designs, too. He guessed seafaring was big business on the Cape. He was just flipping through, curious, when a familiar voice made him turn.
“What are you doing here?”
It was Cassie, looking at him in clear surprise.
“What does it look like?” Aidan asked. He held up a book as evidence.
“Browsing… Isn’t that kind of inefficient?” she teased. “I would have thought you just ordered everything online, so you didn’t miss a moment’s work.”
Aidan didn’t want to explain why he had plenty of time to kill, so he changed the subject.
“What about you?” he eyed the stack of classic literature in her arms. “Since when do you read Tolstoy?”