Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

“Astonishing,” Burt said.

“No . . . no, not quite.”

“Remarkable.”

Betty’s frown deepened.

“Extraordinary.”

She grinned. “Extraordinary! Yes. Yes, it is. Oh, wait until you see.” And then she pressed play as Travis, appearing sleep-deprived and moving stiffly, took the stage. He looked miserable . . . and scared. I leaned closer, my heart thrumming, barely registering the soft sound of the door clicking shut as I was left alone.

I sat in that chair and watched it all, my emotions swinging wildly between one extreme to the next. At the end, I sat back in the chair, tears streaming down my face as I swallowed back laughter.

Then, fingers shaking, I started the video over, needing to hear him say it again. I’m in love with Haven Torres. Deeply, miserably, completely in love with her.

And what he’d done to back up those words. He’d put everything on the line . . . for us. No one had ever done that. No one.

I stood, flinging the door open. Betty, Burt, Cricket, and Easton were all waiting outside. “Oh my God.” There didn’t seem anything else to say.

“We thought you’d say that,” Betty said, her smile as soft and gentle as her heart.

Oh my God.

“The town’s still talking about it,” Cricket remarked. “I imagine they’ll be talking about it for a long time to come. Most people didn’t go home until the wee hours of the morning. From what we hear, families were reunited, friendships reconciled, consciences cleared, forgiveness and repentance spread far and wide. Pelion is a more beautiful place this morning.” Betty smiled. “Cricket and I were even invited to join the community relations group. It’s been renamed The Bob Smitherman Citizen Outreach Council. Of course, its mission has been drastically . . . oh . . . oh . . .”

“Altered,” Burt said.

“Yes. Yes, it has. Drastically,” she emphasized.

Bob Smitherman . . . the dead cat. I recalled what I had just watched Cricket confess at the meeting. Poor Bob Smitherman. And poor Betty. Poor Cricket. I gave my head a small shake. But all that . . . that was going to have to wait until later. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

There was a lot to say.

“I don’t reckon this is the time for talking. At least not to us,” Burt said.

Right. No, probably not. My head whirled. “I have to go,” I said.

“I’d say.” Cricket smiled.

“I’ll keep your rooms available, dear!” Betty called as I rushed past them, grabbing my keys on a hook by the front door, and throwing it open.

Gage stood outside, leaning against his red sportscar, his face breaking wide in a smile when he saw me. I halted and he pushed off his car, carrying a humungous bouquet of cut roses. I descended the steps slowly as he held the flowers toward me. I took them, needing two arms to do so, bringing them to my nose and inhaling their muted fragrance. “Gage? What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, looking just a little self-conscious. It surprised me. And charmed me. Perfect Gage Buchanan was humbling himself in front of me. “I heard you might be staying.”

“From who?” I frowned.

“From Travis. Listen”—he looked behind me momentarily and then met my gaze—“I think we could have something special, Haven. If I haven’t pursued you wholeheartedly, it’s only because I’m at a point in my life where I want something serious and you were only passing through town. But now . . . well, I’d love to see where things might go.”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open.

I was going to kill him.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you,” I said, realizing I’d made the threat out loud. I handed him back the flowers. “I’m honored by your offer, Gage. And you deserve someone serious, someone perfect, someone who you’re perfect for.” Because Gage Buchanan was perfect. “That’s just not me.” I leaned up and kissed him on his cheek. “I hope we can be friends. I have to go.”

And with that, I jumped in my car and peeled out of the driveway of The Yellow Trellis Inn. When I glanced in my rearview mirror, the crew, including Easton, and now Gage, who had walked up the steps to join them with his massive bouquet, were all standing on the porch, watching as I drove away.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE




Haven



The door to his house was wide open, an old-fashioned bike with a white woven basket featuring a daisy leaned against the porch. My heart stalled. Was there a woman here? I got out of my car slowly, closing the door and hesitantly headed toward the house I knew from the Pelion directory was Travis’s.

I knocked on the open door, leaning my head in. “Hello?” I called, walking inside, my heart rate increasing now, thumping in my ears. It smelled like fresh paint. “Travis?”

He appeared from around the corner, a box in his hands, his eyes wide with surprise. He set the box down slowly, his gaze held to mine as he straightened. “Haven?”

“Hi.” I walked inside, noting the other boxes piled here and there. “You’re moving?”

He looked around as though searching for the answer. “Uh. Yeah. Not for a couple of weeks but I’m getting a head start on packing.”

“Where?”