Jake couldn’t believe the woman standing in front of him, after all these years. He crushed Mackenzie in an enthusiastic bear hug and then stood back. “Look at you,” he said, taking in her curly red hair, and the thick wool jacket all bundled up. She looked older than the gangly teenager he’d seen last, but still somehow exactly the same. “You got tall!”

“I’ve always been tall,” she said, then cleared her throat, glancing away. “Umm, welcome back. I heard you were in town.”

Jake came down to earth with a bump. It had been too long since he’d visited Sweetbriar—or sent so much as a vague email to Mackenzie. They’d drifted apart after he left for college, and even though he often wondered how she was doing, whenever he thought about reaching out, he always felt too guilty for leaving it so long.

“I’m sorry we lost touch,” he said, “I mean it. I should have been better about calling, or emailing. But everything got crazy, and then, boom, it’s ten years later.”

“It’s OK.” Mackenzie gave an easy shrug. “I mean, it’s not like you were busy or anything. They let anyone in the NFL, right?”

A teasing smile played on the edge of her lips, and Jake laughed with relief. She wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. “Still, that’s no excuse,” he said, sincere. “I was actually going to look you up. Word is you have a gallery here in town?”

Mackenzie nodded.

“That’s great! I always hoped you would keep pursuing your art.”

She looked bashful. “It’s just a small place. Mainly I do stuff for tourists, you know, plates decorated with sailboats, and ceramic lobsters.”

“You still do that,” Jake said, hit with a wave of familiarity.

“What?”

“Act like you’re not crazy talented.”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “And you still charm everything with a pulse, I see.”

“I do my best.” Jake grinned. God, it was good to see her. The sunlight was burning up the edges of her flame-red hair, and she had a wild striped scarf wound around her neck he just knew was handmade. It took him back to high school, driving the long way home from school with her after practice, stopping for fries and thick ice cream shakes and just talking for hours. Back when the world was full of possibility, and his bright future lay waiting.

“I missed you,” he said, feeling a pang—for those sunset drives, and everything the happened after. Being back to Sweetbriar felt like a failure for him, a last resort, but seeing Mackenzie reminded him that there was a silver lining to his return. “I mean it,” he insisted. “We need to catch up properly, get burgers from Astro like old times.”

“Astro closed a few years back,” Mackenzie replied.

“No!”

“Albert had a stroke, his son tried to keep it going, but they couldn’t make it last,” Mackenzie said with a rueful look. “It’s a fancy bistro now, all white linen tablecloths and freeze-dried caviar.”

“I guess a lot’s changed since I’ve been away.”

Jake paused. He wanted to ask more, find out everything he’d missed—all the gossip and news from her life—but Mackenzie still seemed wary. She was twisting the tassels of her scarf around her fingertip, the way she always used to do when she got nervous. Jake tried to rein in his enthusiasm. He was happy to see her, but maybe the feeling wasn’t entirely mutual. He’d been the one to leave, after all, with barely a look in the rearview mirror. Who knew what her life had been like since he’d been away—what he’d missed, and who she’d become?

“Well . . . I’m around, if you want to get together,” Jake said, deflating. “I’m back at my parents’ place for now, so just give me a call, or swing by anytime. Fries or freeze-dried caviar. Your choice, my treat.”

Mackenzie smiled. “Promises, promises,” she said, teasing.

It sounded so familiar, he was hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu. And just like that, it came rushing back to him

Promises, promises.

The mysterious woman in the gazebo. Her playful hazel stare, so foreign and familiar at the same time. A pixie face hidden under the sleek, dark hair.

Jake’s blood pounded in his ears as the two faces merged into one, standing right in front of him.

It was her. Mackenzie. It had been her all along.

“I . . .” He opened his mouth, frozen in disbelief, but she must have seen something because Mackenzie’s eyes widened in shock.

“I have to go!” she blurted. “George Clooney! Brad Pitt!”

“What?” Jake stared, totally confused.

“The dogs,” she explained quickly, and sure enough, two massive beasts came hurtling out of the woods. “Down boys! Down!” She managed to wrangle them under control, and then backed away. “I, um, good to see you!” she said, before turning and bolting away at full speed, with the dogs chasing at her heels.

But Jake could only stand, frozen in place.

The woman was Mackenzie.

He’d kissed Mackenzie.

Kissed . . . and held . . . and lain awake in bed all week, imagining the other sinful, wicked things he wanted to do with her, too.

With Mackenzie.

He couldn’t believe it. That woman had been seductive and intoxicating, flirting like it was second nature—nothing like the brash, funny girl he’d known. Had she really changed so much? And why the hell hadn’t she said something to him from the start?

He slowly started walking, feeling like he’d just been hit by a truck. His head was spinning, and memories of that night started replaying in his mind—in all their lush, sensual glory. It felt wrong somehow, knowing it was Mackenzie who was the subject of his lustful fantasies, but he couldn’t help it.

Why didn’t she say it was her?

Unless . . . she thought he’d known. And then decided to act like nothing had happened. Jake groaned, totally confused. So much for Mackenzie being the silver lining of his trip—now he was more mixed up than ever!

One thing was clear, though: He didn’t know Mackenzie Lane as well as he thought. In fact, she was more of a mystery now than he could have imagined.

And damn if he didn’t want to solve that riddle.

---

By the time Jake arrived back at his parents’ house, thoughts of Mackenzie had been blotted out by the dull ache ringing in his injured knee. He’d done three miles, extra-slow, barely walking at a snail’s pace by the end, but the pain told him even that had gone too far. Dammit.

He winced, limping inside and heading straight for the kitchen, where he grabbed an ice-pack and collapsed on a chair. It was strange to be home after all this time, it made him feel like he was eighteen again, bursting in after practice to grab a glass of water. His mom still had the clutter of photos and notes on the refrigerator door, and the sun fell through the windows on the worn, honey wood floors. It was a long way from his penthouse on South Beach, all glass and marble, with touch-button controls and wraparound views all the way to the ocean, but for once, he was glad to be a few hundred miles from city life. Back there, he was surrounded by reminders of the life he should have been living—and would be again, one day, just as soon as this damn knee healed.

His cellphone rang, and he retrieved it from the counter.

“Hey man, what’s up?” the voice of his agent, Trey, boomed out, as if he were hollering from the twenty-yard line.

“Nothing much.” Jake tried to be patient. Trey asked that every time, like the answer would be any different.

Not training with the team.

Not out on the field.

Not living the football star life that he’d worked so hard to achieve.

“How’s it shaping up in Sweetapple?” Trey chuckled.

“Sweetbriar,” Jake corrected.

“Same difference. I’m picturing you on a lobster boat, like an L.L.Bean commercial.” Trey laughed again.

“No time for fishing,” Jake said lightly. “I’m supposed to be getting back in shape, remember? I ran this morning, got weights this afternoon. The only thing missing is Coach yelling at me from the sidelines.”

“That’s great, man, but are you sure you’re up to it? You heard the physio,” he added, sounding cautious. “Rushing recovery could do you more harm than good.”

“I’ve been in recovery for six months now,” Jake said, his jaw clenched. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing, not if I want to get back on the field.”

“Hey, you’ll get there,” Trey reassured him. “I’m just saying, take it easy on yourself. I know you like pushing it to the limit, but things are different now. That knee of yours needs time. Hell, you were barely walking a few months back, you’ll be fighting fit again, but not if you blow it out running laps in Sweetglen, or wherever you are. You know I’m right.”

Jake scowled. The pain in his knee told him everything he needed to know, but he still didn’t have to like it. “I’ll ease up,” he said reluctantly.

“I don’t know why you sound so miserable,” Trey added. “You’ve been busting your ass for ten years, and now you get a vacation! Have a few drinks, sleep it off. That cartilage will be healed in no time.”

“Sure. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk later.” Jake hung up before he said something he would regret. He knew Trey was just trying to cheer him up, but damn if he didn’t have a skill for saying exactly the wrong thing.

A vacation?

Jake looked around the empty house and gave a hollow laugh. His vacations involved a white sandy beach and a girl wearing nothing much at all, not sleeping back in his childhood bedroom, going through his excruciating daily rehab routine, praying to God that the specialists were right, and that his injury would heal well enough for him to get back into the game.

But it was a long shot. He knew it, despite Trey’s pep talks and his parents’ cheery messages. They’d been the first ones on the plane out to visit him in hospital after that game. They’d sat by his bedside, helped him through those first, agonizing months, when even taking a single step felt impossible. Now, finally, he was on the mend, so he’d sent them off on a dream vacation to get away from it all. It was the least he could do, and to be honest, he needed a break from their smothering concern.

But now that he was alone, there was nobody to drown out those whispers of doubt. What if he never healed the same? What if his career really had ended with that brutal tackle from the Falcon’s linebacker?

Football had been his life as long as he could remember. It was everything to him—and he was nothing without it. Just look around.

Jake slowly eased to his feet, and wandered through the house. There were his team photographs, lined up by the stairs. There were his trophies, still in pride of place on the living room shelves. And there was the photo of him up on the mantle, celebrating the day he got drafted, twenty-two, right out of college. His bedroom was no better, a shrine that hadn’t been touched in ten years. Same posters on the wall, same rookie cards on the desk, same trophies and certificates proudly telling the story of how he went from college standout to rookie long shot and finally, a starting position on the team.

His career was all around him, he couldn’t escape if he tried. A lifetime of sweat and dedication and training, every milestone like a dream come true for him.

So what if it was over?

What if five seconds and one bad tackle was all it took to send those dreams shattering to nothing?

Who was he supposed to be now?