Page 41 of When We Were Young

“Our book?” I chuckle. “You’re the one who wrote it.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who read it and basically gave me a developmental edit, then proofread it for me. So, you did a lot for it. I mean, technically I’m the author, but you contributed a lot to its success.”

I smile at her, grateful for the friendship that developed when I began proofreading for her several years ago.

“All right, I’m on my way to the store. I’ll see you in a while.”

“Georgie, I don’t think this is a good ide⁠—”

“Lalalalalala, I can’t hear you,” she says as she sprints away and hurries down the steps to the door that leads to the driveway.

And just like that, I’m alone again.

Alone with regrets from my past, anxiety in the present, and hope for the future.

Chapter Sixteen

Holden

I’m an intelligent person... I think.

So, I’m confused that I can’t seem to get this damn coffee right. Ella showed me a thousand times how to do it, and I thought I was getting better. The liquid that just raced down my throat proved that it isn’t true. I’ve followed her instructions exactly. I’m an order-and-rules guy, after all. That’s why I can’t make sense of how my coffee tastes nothing like the lightly citrus-flavored brew Ella used to make. Instead, it tastes bitter, like I’m chewing on a sticky pinecone.

I’m not a fan.

I park my truck on the street, a few spaces down from Ella’s, climb out, toss the coffee into a trash bin, and head toward the alleyway that leads to the back of the building. That’s where the entrance to the apartment is. Apparently, we’re helping someone paint.

I’m eager to meet the new owner so I can feel her out and see if she’ll share her plans for the space.

I’ve also never seen the apartment above the bakery, and I’m curious what it looks like.

Plus, Georgie’s text didn’t leave much room for refusal.

I glance down at my phone and read it again.

A laugh escapes me. Our youngest brother’s best friend is something else.

Hey gang! Happy Friday afternoon. I’m looking for some help for my friend who bought Ella’s. If you can come help paint for even an hour or two today, that would be awesome. Ladies, I’ll give you all early access to the next book if you help!

Guys—if you don’t come, it’s fine. I’ll just write you into my next book as a villain with a vendetta against the world because he has a peen the size of my pinky finger.

But no pressure.

P.S. Holden—she’s off limits. She’s sticking around, so paws off!

When I reach the outside door that leads to the apartment, it’s propped open, and a mix of feminine laughter and voices drifts down the stairs.

I easily distinguish the voices of Delaney, Tillie, and Georgie among them.

The fourth voice, though—which I presume belongs to Georgie’s friend and the new owner of the bakery—doesn’t sound entirely new to me.

It’s familiar.

Yet I just can’t place it.

I’m almost all the way up the steps when I decide screwing with Georgie might be fun.

“I’m here, Georgie Porgie. Where’s the hot friend you lured me here with promises of intro⁠—”