Chapter 83: Like Old Times

NORA’S POV

The aroma of slow-cooked beef pot roast, caramelized onions, and roasted rosemary potatoes filled the small apartment above Sugar & Spice.

I sat at our round oak dining table, watching Mom set down a steaming ceramic bowl of buttered carrots.

The apartment was exactly as I had left it: the faded floral curtains over the window looking out at Main Street, the vintage radio humming softly with old acoustic ballads, and the familiar sound of autumn wind rattling the wooden window frames.

It was comfortable. Familiar. Safe.

"Eat, honey," Mom smiled, dropping into the chair across from me. "You look exhausted. Those university professors must be working you half to death."

"Just midterms, Mom," I laughed softly, spooning a generous helping of potatoes onto my plate. "Everything else is great. We raised over twelve hundred dollars for the Children’s Hospital on Friday."

"I know," Mom beamed with pride, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Denise called me from the diner on Monday and told me all about it. She said the entire hockey team was buying your pumpkin muffins like they were made of gold."

My fingers tightened around my fork.

The mention of the hockey team sent an immediate, traitorous flash of memory through my brain: Knox standing over our table in his purple athletic shirt, dropping a fifty-dollar bill into the jar, the rasp of his voice asking if I baked them for him.

Mom paused, studying my face with a mother’s sharp intuition.

"You seem different, Nora," she said softly, her gentle eyes searching mine. "A good different, but... distracted. Like your thoughts are somewhere far away."

"I’m just tired," I deflected quickly, offering a reassuring smile as I took a bite of roast. "Four hours of macroeconomics study sessions this weekend took a lot out of me."

"Well, you have four whole days to rest," she replied, letting the subject drop. "And Drew mentioned he’s picking you up tomorrow afternoon. He was so sweet when he dropped off the honey jars on Monday. It’ll be nice for you two to catch up like old times."

"Yeah," I murmured, staring down at my plate. "Like old times."

—

By five-thirty on Thursday morning, the bakery kitchen was in full swing.

The heat from the industrial deck ovens warmed the cool morning air. I stood at the long stainless-steel prep counter wearing my flour-dusted dark green apron, my chestnut curls pulled back into a messy bun.

I worked, measuring whole-wheat flour, kneading massive mounds of sourdough, and prepping the morning batch of cinnamon rolls.

The familiar physical work was supposed to clear my head.

Instead, every time I paused to wipe my hands on a kitchen towel, my fingers involuntarily brushed against the right pocket of my apron.

Tucked safely inside was the folded white paper napkin from Monday night at Rusty’s Diner: See you at the finish line tomorrow, Bookworm. — #19

My pulse thrummed in my throat.

Even now, surrounded by the peaceful, quiet routine of my hometown, my skin still remembered the heat of Knox’s large hands lifting me clean off the pavement outside the student union.

I could still feel the phantom pressure of his calloused thumb tracing along my jawline at the bus depot.

Four days, Bennett. Don’t stay away too long... I don’t like playing on ice when you’re not in the rink.

I closed my eyes, resting my hands against the cool steel counter, letting out a shaky breath that rattled in my chest.

Ninety miles of mountain highway. A four-day break.

And Knox Sheridan had followed me every single inch of the way.

—

At one-forty-five in the afternoon, the low rumble of a familiar engine sounded from Main Street.

I looked through the front glass window of Sugar & Spice to see a dark-green pickup truck pulling up to the curb. The driver’s door opened, and Drew Miller stepped out onto the sidewalk.

He wore a dark blue-and-gray plaid flannel shirt over a clean charcoal thermal, dark jeans, and brown leather boots. His golden-brown hair was neatly parted, his broad shoulders relaxed as he smiled through the shop window.

The brass bell above the door chimed as Drew pushed inside.

"Mrs. Bennett," Drew greeted with his polite, boyish charm, offering a respectful nod to my mom behind the pastry case. "Shop smells amazing as always."

"Drew, honey! It’s so good to see you," Mom beamed, handing him a warm cinnamon roll in a wax paper bag. "Take good care of my girl today."

"Always," Drew smiled, turning his warm hazel gaze toward me. "Ready to go, Nora?"

"Ready," I replied.

I untied my green apron, hung it on the hook beside the kitchen door, and grabbed my navy wool coat and leather crossbody bag from the coat rack.

I stepped outside into the afternoon. Drew jogged ahead, opening the passenger door of his truck for me politely.

"Thanks, Drew," I said, climbing into the warm, familiar cab.

The truck smelled of pine air freshener, leather, and the clean scent of Drew’s laundry detergent. It was the exact same scent from our high school study dates... comfortable, predictable, and completely safe.

Drew slid behind the steering wheel, shifting the truck into drive as we rolled down Main Street toward Oakhaven Lake.

"You look great, Nora," Drew said, glancing over at me with a warm, genuine smile. "Briar clearly agrees with you."

"Thanks," I smiled softly, looking out the passenger window as the small-town storefronts gave way to towering pine trees and red maple foliage. "How’s the bye week treating you?"

"Good," Drew replied, resting one hand on the top of the steering wheel. "Coach gave us three days off conditioning before we start prepping for the Boston game. It’s weird being home on a Thursday, but it feels great to breathe."

We stopped by the small lakeside café on the edge of town, picking up two large cups of steaming hot apple cider spiced with cinnamon sticks.

From there, we drove down to Oakhaven Lake Park.

The gravel parking lot was empty. The lake was perfectly still, reflecting the bright colors of the surrounding trees under the gray sky.

We walked side by side along the paved walking trail that circled the water, our boots crunching over dry fallen leaves.

"Remember junior year?" Drew laughed, taking a sip of his cider. "When we had that massive AP Chemistry project on titration curves and we sat on the bleachers by the high school track until eight at night because neither of us wanted to go home and do calculus?"

"I remember," I laughed softly, the memory bringing a quiet nostalgia to my chest. "You spilled hydrochloric acid on your favorite hoodie and panicked that your skin was going to melt off."

"Hey, the warning label said corrosive!" Drew chuckled, nudging my shoulder playfully.

Talking to Drew was easy.

There was no tension. No athletic board hearings, no vicious heiresses locking doors, and no cameras broadcasting our every move to thousands of fans.

Drew was gentle, kind, and attentive. He asked about my classes, listened intently as I talked about my honors thesis draft, and laughed at all the right moments.

It was everything I had spent two years in high school wishing for.

And yet, as we walked, a strange, hollow numbness weighed down my chest.

There was no electricity. No breathless static in the air. No wild, hammering racing of my heart that made my knees weak.

Walking beside Drew felt like reading a familiar book I had already memorized cover to cover. It was safe, but it lacked the spark that made the pages come alive.

We reached the long wooden dock that extended thirty yards out over the quiet lake.

The autumn wind rippled across the water, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

Drew walked to the end of the dock, leaning his elbows against the rustic wooden railing as he looked out across the glassy water.

I stepped up beside him, holding my warm cider cup with both hands.

"It’s really peaceful out here," I murmured softly.

Drew didn’t answer immediately.

He turned his body toward me, setting his cider cup down on the wooden post. His expression had grown quiet and deeply vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen since high school.

"Nora," Drew said softly, his voice dropping into a gentle cadence.

I looked up at him, my brow furrowing slightly. "Yeah?"

Drew took a half-step closer, his hands reaching out to gently clasp mine around my paper cup.

"I spent the last two years kicking myself," Drew confessed, his hazel eyes holding mine with raw, unmasked emotion. "I spent all of high school wanting to tell you how I felt. Every time we studied together, every time we sat on that track... I wanted to tell you that I didn’t just see you as my study partner. I saw you as the only girl I ever wanted to be with."

My breath hitched in my throat, my fingers tightening against the warm cup.

"Drew..." I whispered.

"Let me finish, please," Drew said gently, taking the cider cup from my hands and setting it on the railing beside his.

He stepped closer, his hands coming up to rest gently against my shoulders.

"When I saw you at the rink in Briar... when I saw you wearing Sheridan’s sweater and standing beside him... it felt like a knife in my chest," Drew murmured. "I hated that I lied to you about State. I hated that I gave you a reason to look at someone else. But we’re home now, Nora. No games, no campus drama. Just you and me."

He stepped in, closing the remaining foot of space between us on the empty dock.

"I want to try, Nora," Drew whispered, his eyes searching mine. "For real. Give us a chance."

My mind spun in wild, dizzying circles.

Give us a chance.

This was the safe harbor. This was the boy who had never made me feel like an outsider, who had never dragged me into billionaire family feuds or made my life a chaotic storm.

If I leaned into Drew, my life would be safe. Simple. Predictable.

Maybe if I kissed him, the spark would come. Maybe the quiet comfort would be enough to extinguish the dangerous, burning fire that Knox Sheridan had ignited inside me.

Drew leaned down slowly, his eyes fluttering shut.

I didn’t pull away.

I closed my eyes, tilting my chin upward, and leaned in as Drew’s lips pressed against mine.