Chapter 1

The "Welcome to Willowvale" sign looked exactly the same as it did five years ago. Same faded paint, same bullet hole from some teenager's target practice, same crooked angle that nobody ever bothered to fix.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and took a deep breath. The mountain air still smelled like pine and possibility, just like Dad used to say. God, I missed him.

Five years. I was seventeen when I left this place, running from memories that felt too big for my teenage heart to hold. Dad's funeral, the pitying looks, the crushing silence in our empty house. New York had seemed like salvation then—bright lights and busy streets where nobody knew Harper Sullivan or cared about her tragic backstory.

Now I was back, and I wasn't sure if I was ready.

Main Street stretched ahead of me, familiar storefronts triggering a flood of memories. Peterson's Hardware still had the same crooked awning. The library looked smaller than I remembered. And there, wedged between Miller's Pharmacy and what used to be Jenny's Boutique, sat The Daily Grind.

My inheritance. My responsibility. My chance to finally come home.

I parked in front of the coffee shop and stared at the peeling paint around the windows. Grandma Rose had left me this place six months ago, along with a note that simply said, "Time to stop running, sweetheart." She always did cut straight to the point.

The bell above the door gave its familiar chime as I stepped inside. The layout was different than I remembered—someone had moved tables around, and there was a new display case near the register. But the smell was the same: coffee beans and cinnamon, with that underlying scent of old wood that made everything feel permanent.

"Harper? Oh my God, Harper Sullivan!"

I turned to see Mrs. Henderson practically vibrating with excitement behind the counter. She'd been working here since I was in middle school, and apparently some things never changed.

"Hi, Mrs. Henderson." I managed a smile. "I'm back."

"Well, I can see that! Rose always said you'd come home eventually. Said you had too much of this place in your blood to stay away forever."

The handful of customers scattered around the shop had all turned to stare. I recognized a few faces—Tommy Wright from high school, Mrs. Peterson from the grocery store, a couple of women whose names I couldn't quite remember but whose judging expressions I definitely did.

"Coffee?" Mrs. Henderson asked, already reaching for a mug.

"Please." I needed the caffeine and the comfort of something familiar.

As she poured, I heard the whispers start. Not loud enough to be obvious, but not quiet enough to miss either.

"That's Rose's granddaughter..."

"The one who left after..."

"I heard she's been living in New York..."

"Didn't she used to..."

My chest tightened. I'd forgotten how quickly news traveled in a town where everyone knew everyone else's business. I'd also forgotten how exhausting it was to be the subject of that business.

Mrs. Henderson slid the mug across to me, her expression sympathetic. "Don't mind them, honey. They're just curious."

Curious. Right. I took a sip of coffee and tried to ignore the weight of their stares.

"So," I said, louder than necessary, "I'm thinking about making some changes to the layout. Maybe moving these tables to create more space, adding some live music nights..."

The whispers got louder.

"Music nights? Here?"

"Who does she think she is?"

"This isn't some big city..."

I was seriously considering making a run for it when the door chimed again. Heavy footsteps, the kind that belonged to work boots, crossed the worn wooden floor.

"Harper fucking Sullivan."

I spun around, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Knox Fletcher stood in the doorway, all six feet two inches of him, wearing his fire department uniform and the biggest grin I'd ever seen.

"Knox!" The word came out as a squeak, but I didn't care. I launched myself at him without thinking, and he caught me in a bear hug that lifted me clean off the ground.

"Jesus, look at you," he said, setting me down but keeping his hands on my shoulders. "All grown up and everything. Still short as hell, though."

"Shut up." I smacked his arm, but I was laughing for the first time in weeks. "You look good. Older."

"Thanks, I think?" He ruffled my hair like he used to when we were kids, and for a second I was twelve again, following him and the other boys around town like an overprotective little sister.

The whispers had stopped completely. Every person in the coffee shop was watching us with expressions ranging from surprise to something that looked distinctly like disapproval. I could practically hear their thoughts: There she goes again. Can't even be in the same room as a man without throwing herself at him.

Knox seemed oblivious to the audience. "So you're really back? For good this time?"

"That's the plan." I gestured around the shop. "Grandma Rose left me this place. Figured it was time to stop running."

"About damn time. We missed you, Harper. All of us."

The warmth in his voice made my throat tight. These people—Knox, Sage, River—they'd been my family when my actual family fell apart. They'd been the hardest part about leaving.

"I missed you too," I said quietly.

Knox's expression grew serious. "How are you doing? Really?"

Before I could answer, the whispers started up again, more insistent this time.

"Look how she's touching him..."

"Poor Sarah, if she could see..."

"Some girls never change..."

My face burned. Right. I'd forgotten about that part too. In Willowvale, a girl couldn't hug her childhood friend without half the town assuming she was trying to steal someone's boyfriend.

"So," I said, stepping back and putting some space between us, "I'm thinking about rearranging the furniture. Maybe creating a more open layout for events. What do you think about live music nights? I was picturing acoustic sets, maybe local artists..."

Knox nodded along as I outlined my plans, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. He'd always been supportive of my crazy ideas, even when we were kids and my plans usually involved getting us all into trouble.

"That sounds amazing," he said. "This place could use some life. And you always did have good instincts about what people wanted."

I felt myself relax a little. This was why I'd come back. This feeling of being understood, of being home.

"I was thinking we could move these tables over here," I continued, gesturing toward the window, "and maybe set up a small stage area in that corner. Nothing fancy, just enough space for a guitar and maybe a microphone..."

The door chimed again.

A Stranger.