Page 17 of Three Months Yesterday

There must be something wrong with me. I can’t remember the last time I had butterflies in my stomach at the simple prospect of seeing someone. I don’t think I even experienced this feeling with Mark, not when we first started dating in high school, or our first kiss, or any other first I had with him. But somehow, a man, more than a hundred feet away from me, has butterflies soaring in my stomach.

Jerking my head away from the music—and the man—I rush down the steps, focusing all my attention on getting my watch started to begin my run. I’m pretty sure I hear a voice call out behind me just as I take off, but I allow myself to live in the land of denial, telling myself I imagined it.

It’s not like I won’t see him over and over again for the next three months. He’s living right next door. There’ll be no avoiding him.

“What the heck do you mean you ran here?” Sadie gasps as she fills a glass with water for me. “You ran from your place? What is that, ten miles?”

I glance down at my watch and wince. “A little over eleven miles. But I run marathons all the time, it’s fine.”

“Madison!” Sadie exclaims. “You run marathons occasionally, not all the time. Besides, knowing you and your morning routine, you don’t have your phone on you.”

Wishing she were wrong, all I can do is shrug. I take every opportunity I can to disconnect from my phone, and my morning run is one of the few times I get away with it. I mean, who’s answering their phone when they’re huffing and puffing from exercise?

“Seriously? Madison.” She sighs.

“I know, but I didn’t intend to run here when I left for my run. I just…” My words trail off.

Sadie never actually called me back yesterday. I understood why when a man opened the door this morning, but that means she doesn’t actually know what happened. More specifically, she doesn’t know who checked in at the inn yesterday.

Like most people who saw him, I have no doubt Sadie will know exactly who Beckett Stone is. I haven’t actually caved in my urge to look him up, but it’s pretty clear just how popular he is.

“What?” Her brows crease and worry pours from her features.

“You never called me back yesterday,” I deflect, picking something else that bugged me until I got here this morning.

“Sorry about that.” A deep voice sounds from behind me, and I can honestly say I’ve never been more grateful for Reid than I am in this moment.

Without waiting for anyone to acknowledge him, he steps up to Sadie’s side, resting a hand at her hip and pressing a kiss to her cheek before grabbing a mug and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

After months of back and forth between the two of them, it’s nice to see how natural they are around each other.

“I guess I can forgive you,” I tease, not even trying to keep the smile from breaking free.

“Yeah. I don’t believe that for a second.” The worry on Sadie’s face morphs to suspicion and I’m not surprised she sees right through me.

“What? Of course I forgive you for not calling me back. You were busy getting busy with Mr. Asshole over here.”

“I think we’ve given up the nickname asshole.” Reid chuckles from his spot leaning against the kitchen sink.

“Nuh-uh.” Sadie lightly smacks at his chest, her eyes watching me closely. “We’re not playing into Madison’s game of avoidance. Why’d you actually run over here this morning?”

I sigh. There’s no point keeping it from her. This town might keep it secret from the world at large that Beckett Stone is here but it won’t be a secret in town.

“I had to rent out Millie’s Cottage yesterday,” I hedge, prolonging the inevitable.

“Okay…” She stretches out the word, expecting me to continue. “You finished renovating that place a couple weeks ago.”

“I did.”

“Madison,” she huffs, exasperation clear in her voice.

“Wyatt set up a reservation at the beginning of the month for a friend of a friend, but as typically happens the reservation didn’t get saved. So, Beckett Stone showed up expecting to check in to one of the cabins, only they’re all booked from the holiday and already have reservations through the end of the year.” I take a breath, getting ready to plow on when Sadie holds up her hand.

“I’m sorry. Did you say Beckett Stone?”

“I was hoping you’d miss that part,” I murmur.

“In what world does someone miss you saying the name Beckett Stone? You know who he is, don’t you?”