Even though it was too cold for a southern beach town, I decided to ditch my car and walk to the post office. It wasn’t far at all, just practically on the other side of the square, but I took my time, walking slowly and taking everything in.

After a minute, I was freezing but I was content. Willow Harbor was as charming as I remembered. No, actually, I thought it was even more now. Before I had been a teenager who didn’t really care about the town, though I had loved living here. Now, at twenty, I could appreciate it so much more.

If I hadn’t been on a mission, I would have taken the rest of the day to explore the stores and shops, but I knew the post office would close soon, so I went straight there.

Thankfully, there were only two people in the line and it went fast. Soon, it was my turn.

“How can I help you?” the lady behind the counter asked. She had big, brown eyes, and a wide smile covered by bright red lipstick.

“Hi … hm.” I placed the envelope and letter on the counter. “I received this letter a week ago. It doesn’t have a name or return address, but the stamp is from here. I was wondering if there’s a way of tracking whoever sent it to me.”

The lady’s eyes became two slits. “But you just said there’s no name or return address.”

“Well, but the stamp proves it came from here. Maybe you, or whoever was working here at the time, remember who sent this letter and—”

“The stamp goes on all mail that leaves this post office, hon, no matter what. Which means hundreds of letters every day. My memory is quite good, but not that good. Besides, whoever sent this letter could simply have dropped it off at the mailbox outside.”

My stomach sank. I hadn’t thought about that.

Which meant … nobody had seen my father mailing the letter. There was no witness. No clue.

“I’m sorry, hon.”

“It’s okay,” I mumbled.

Feeling like I had just lost a limb, I left the post office and plopped down on the concrete stairs outside. The cold seeped through my jeans to my butt, but it didn’t bother me at the moment.

Damn … I had come all the way here without thinking this through. What the hell? My father wouldn’t be waiting for me with open arms. If he wanted that, he would have told me his name and address. He would have given me his phone number and let me call him so we could arrange a visit.

But no, I had simply upped and left. No other thoughts and considerations. And now I had dropped most of my classes and wouldn’t be able to get the semester back.

Tears burned my eyes.

I wouldn’t cry for a man I didn’t know. For a man who said he cared about me but hadn’t even bothered to tell me his name.

I wiped away the tears before they could spill and decided I had to do something besides sit here and wallow in my misery. Like cross the square again and get some coffee and maybe something to eat. After all, I hadn’t eaten since I woke up early this morning.

Exhaustion hit me like a truck, and I had to drag my feet to the coffee shop.

Nice, warm air embraced me once I was inside.

“Welcome to Urban Grind.”

I glanced up and saw a blond man with a vest and beret behind the counter. Memories rushed back. Loran, the owner. I remembered him. Wow, he hadn’t aged a single day.

I stepped up to the counter. “Hi. I would like a—”

“Cafe latte,” Loran said, a knowing grin brightening his face. “I remember.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “Brooke, right?”

“Yes,” I muttered. “Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Why? Had you forgotten Willow Harbor?”

“Not really, though I confess it wasn’t something I thought about often while I was gone. But now that I’m back, I remember everything.” I paused. “How are you, Loran?”

His smile widened. “I’m well. Thank you.” He pulled out a paper cup from the stack. “Would you like anything else?”

“Yes.” I pointed to the display under the counter. “Those croissants look so yummy.”

“They are!” He leaned over the counter and whispered as if it were a big secret. “They are from Ida’s Bakery two stores over.”

“Oh, I remember Ida’s Bakery. She used to do a caramel pecan pie I loved. I would come over once a week just to buy a slice.” Which made me want go over there and see if Ida still made them. I had to buy a slice, even if I saved it for later.

“Understandable. So, a croissant? Which one?”

“Two, actually,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed. I was hungry. “I would like a ham and cheese one, and a chocolate one.”

“Like dinner and dessert. I like that.” Loran winked. “Sit down and I’ll bring your things over soon.”

“Thanks.”

The place was cute and quaint with a few tables and chairs, and a seating area with a comfy couch and a low table full of books and magazines.

I took a small table by the window and stared out. As much as I wanted to control my emotions and thoughts, they raced. Why had my father sent me the letter? Didn’t he realize it would have the stamp from Willow Harbor on it? Did he really want to send me a letter saying he cared about me and leave things like that? Who did that? If that was the case, I wished he hadn’t sent me the letter.

I sighed.

That wasn’t entirely true. I was glad he had contacted me. I mean, he had said he cared about me, and he didn’t have to send it. If he hadn’t, I would never know and life would have continued the same.

I glanced to the tree taking over one end of the square. Now that I was here, though, I wondered, did I want life to continue the same?

A steaming mug of cafe latte appeared in front of me. I looked up at Loran. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He took the seat across from the table and stared at me. Loran had always been a mysterious man. I didn’t remember anything about his life, and I had the slight idea that no one did. His gaze flicked to the willow tree before returning me. “What brings you back to Willow Harbor?”

I sighed. It was silly of me, but I was starting to regret coming. Asking people about a man without a name and address and any other details was a waste of time. Still, I was here, wasn’t I? And Loran looked like a guy who wanted to help, so why not? I showed him the letter. As I suspected, Loran didn’t know who could have sent it. I also told him about stopping by the post office, hoping someone there would know about him, and my idea of asking around town about him.

“I agree it’s the best idea right now, but it still doesn’t seem efficient, does it?” The gleam in his eyes was sympathetic.

“I know, I know. It was stupid of me to come here.”

“Maybe it wasn’t,” he said, so serious, I thought he would offer me a solution. “You should trust your instincts. If they told you to come here and look for your father, then it’s because you were supposed to come here.”

I frowned. “Why does that ring a bell?”

He had a knowing grin as he said, “There’s a saying here in Willow Harbor, that no one ends up here by accident.”

“Yes, now I remember.” Locals used to say it to visitors and tourists who stayed too long. “But I’m not here by accident. I came here with a purpose.”

“Perhaps …” He stood. “Or you’re here because you’re supposed to be.”

Without another word, Loran turned and went to greet new customers who came into the coffee shop.

I stared at him as my mind mulled over his words. What did that even mean?

---

After devouring my croissants, I ordered another cafe latte to go, and started my trek around town.

I began to the left of Urban Grind, with Dragon’s Hoard, an antique shop. Next was Ida’s Bakery. To my surprise, Ida remembered me and she pulled out her caramel pecan pie as soon as she saw me. I couldn’t help feeling welcome. I bought two slices and she placed them in a to-go box for me. Afterward, I stopped by the bookstore and was surprised to find Claire Meyers, a girl I knew from high school, behind the counter. Memories came flashing back to me, and I remembered her family owned the bookstore and she had a twin brother, Danny.

“Welcome to—” She tilted her head, her long, dark hair falling to the side. “I know you.”

I approached the counter. “Yes, I think so. Brooke Ellis. I was a sophomore in high school when I left town. You and your brother were seniors.”

“Right.” Her dark blue eyes twinkled. “I remember you.”

I glanced around, searching for her brother. “Where’s Danny?”

Her shoulders sagged. “He died some time ago.”

I gasped, “No.” I hadn’t expected to hear that. He would have been only twenty-two, twenty-three? So young. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” she said with a small smile. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

A little self-conscious, I bit the inside of my cheek but ended up telling her everything about my father’s letter and my crazy quest.

“I’m sorry, Brooke,” Claire said with compassion stamped in her eyes. “I can’t think of anyone that could have sent this letter to you.”

“It’s okay,” I said. Even though I knew what people would tell me, I couldn’t stop hoping. “Thanks anyway.”

I waved goodbye and walked out of the bookstore as a tall, blond guy, wearing black shades held the door for me. He nodded at me, then went inside. A little curious, I turned around and watched him through the bookstore’s large windows. He walked right around the counter and smacked a kiss on Claire’s lips.

Shaking my head, I averted my eyes.

On the corner outside, I stared at the library across the street. Better steer clear of that before Delpha showed up looking for me. If she was actually after me.

I had turned back, heading to the stores on the other side of Central Avenue, when I felt that same inexplicable pull toward the ocean. The urge to run to the water and dive under hit me hard and, before I realized, I turned toward it.

A horn blared, waking me from my daze.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a guy asked, half his body outside the window of his car.

I blinked, lost. “What?”

“Are you trying to get killed?”

What was he talking about? I glanced around. I was in the middle of Main Street, right in the path of his car.

I gasped and almost dropped my coffee and pie box. How … when … I couldn’t remember walking into the street.

“Sorry,” I muttered, rushing back to the sidewalk.

What was wrong with me?

Shaking my head, I hurried my steps and went to the next shop on the street: Dark Horse Diner.

I didn’t remember it until I stepped inside and saw the checkered black and white floors, the booths along the windows, the high stools and long counter; then the memories came rushing to my mind. I remembered coming here with Lillian and Jane at least once every weekend. All high school students did. It was a popular place at that time. I bet it still was, though there weren’t many teenagers in here now. A family of five, an older couple, two elderly women with warm smiles, and three men in what looked like lumberjack uniforms—jeans and plaid shirts and boots—took most of the booths, and a man with dark brown hair and blue eyes was seated on a stool.

I went to the counter.

A young woman in her mid-twenties turned to me with her lips turned upside down. The moment her eyes met mine, they bugged. “Oh, mylanta! If it isn’t Brooke Ellis! I haven’t seen you in … I don’t even know how long. How have you been, girl?”

I stared at her for a minute, lost. “Sorry. Hm, who are you?”

“I’m Angela.” She pointed to the name tag on her apron. “Angela Prestfield. We went to high school together, though I was a couple of years ahead of you.” She flipped her hair and an image of her blinked in my mind.

Yes, I remembered her, and I also remembered she had been a big bitch back then. I ran my eyes over her—pants too tight, too much cleavage showing on the sweater underneath her apron, high heels, and too much makeup. I bet she was still a bitch.

“Oh, yes. Hi, Angela.”

She leaned on the counter. “The rumors are you got pregnant from Robbie and your mother decided to run away with you,” she said in a low voice. “So, it’s true?”

I gaped at her. “No,” I snapped, outraged. “That’s not true.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, that’s a shame.” Why would she say that? A shame for whom? “Anyway, how can I help you?”

“I was wondering …” My cheeks flamed. Was I about to tell this girl about my father and his letter after what she had just said? She looked like a big gossip. Well, that actually wouldn’t be a bad thing, considering the more people who heard about it, the better. Maybe someone would connect the dots and tell me something useful. Even if it was a half-baked clue. I would take anything at this point.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my attention turned to the old lady who came rushing out of the kitchen. “Here it is, Nik.” I squinted, taking her in. Thick blond hair, golden eyes, a warm smile. I knew her. I read her name tag on her apron and confirmed. It was Marla, the same nice lady who used to serve tables when I came in here with my friends. She placed a bag in front of the guy at the counter. “Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay, Marla.”

She smiled wide. “Say hi to Eva for me.”

He returned her smile. “I will. Thanks.” He took the package and left.

Marla turned to me. “Brooke, is that you?”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my lips. “Hi, Marla.”

“Oh my goodness.” She reached over the counter and grabbed my hand. “It’s so good to see you. How long has it been?”

“Five years,” I said.

“Wow, that’s a long time.” She grabbed a rag from under the counter and twisted it in her hands. “What brings you back to town?”

My cheeks heated some more. “Well, I’m looking for a man …” I pulled out the letter from my pocket and explained to her about my stupid plan. “I just … I had to come, you know?”

The sound of a glass breaking made me jump from my seat. I glanced over my shoulder. Directly behind me, one of the three men eating together was standing up, his hand in a claw, and a beer bottle lay in pieces at his feet. He stared at the glass as if in a trance.

“What the hell?” the guy across from the booth said, his tone irritated. His shoes had taken most of the spilled beer.

“Oh, I’ll get that,” Marla said. With more rags in her hands, she raced around the counter and started cleaning.

The man knelt down beside her and tried to help her using napkins.

I shook my head and pivoted in my seat, ready to talk to Angela, to ask her if she knew anything, any clue to help me. But she was gone. I glanced around and saw as she entered the kitchen. What the hell?

Her bitchiness dripped into me. Hopelessness snaked into my chest, and I suddenly wanted to run away from this town and give up on this stupid plan.

Outside the diner, I looked up to the darkening skies. Damn it. I hadn’t thought about where I was going to stay yet. Not that I had many options. Unless a new hotel had opened in the last five years, the only place to stay was the Willow Harbor Inn.

“Brooke?”

I looked to the side and a mix of longing and resentment hit me. “Robbie, hi.”

He walked up to me. “My God, it is you.” His eyes ran the length of me. “Wow, you’re even prettier now.”

My cheeks flamed. “You’re not too bad yourself.” I had found him gorgeous when we were younger, and now that he was older, probably twenty-one, he looked hot.

But I still couldn’t shake the odd feeling that assaulted me whenever my eyes met his. He had almost drowned on my watch. And I had just stared at him. Thank goodness for that man who dragged him out of the water. Those had been the most horrible three minutes of my life.

“What are you doing back in town?”

I shook my head, tired of that question. “I’m just … here.” I shrugged.

He took another step closer. “I’m glad you are.” He stared at me, much like he had that night.

Goose bumps raised the hair in my arm and I took a step back. “It’s good to see you, but I should probably go.”

I retreated, but Robbie followed me. He reached over and took my hand in his. “No, please, stay. You need to stay.”

I shook my head. “Robbie …”

“It’s okay, Brooke. You’re here now. It’s all perfect now. You’re perfect.” He was spewing the same kind of nonsense he did that night. What the hell? He tugged me closer. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe how beautiful you are.” He leaned into me.

My heart racing, I placed my free hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Robbie, stop.” I put all of my strength into my arms and pulled myself free. “You’re not making any sense.”

Eyes dazed, he raised his arms and came to me. “You’re my life. You’re my everything.”

This was crazy.

When Robbie made another grab at me, I didn’t think.

I just ran.

---

I ran for two or three blocks; I didn’t really count. I was too busy panicking.

When I turned a corner and ended up on a familiar street, I slowed down and let my mind think about something other than Robbie. After five years, he was still acting weird around me. What the hell?

I shoved those thoughts to the back of my mind and willed my heartbeat to slow down as I strolled by the street where I had grown up. It was getting dark, so it was a little hard to see the details, but it still looked the same. A few more street lamps and some new porches and trees and shrubs in some front yards. An addition to the side of one house. A new roof on another.

A new color. The house where I had grown up was now a grayish blue instead of light brown. I stared at it and I couldn’t help but think it seemed a little bigger, a little warmer, a little brighter than my mother’s house back in South Dakota.

My mother and I had been happy here. We had been close.

I sighed, wishing we had never moved away.

A light came on in the front window—the dining room. A boy came in, carrying some plates. Then, an older man showed up with utensils. A small girl followed, carrying a stuffed bear and her sippy cup. Last was a woman with a big pan.

The family sat down together for dinner.

A pang cut through my heart.

The sound of a door opening made me jump.

I looked away and my gaze landed on Jane Sande. She had her hair short and dyed a funny yellow tone, but she was still tall and curvy. And it seemed she still took out the trash whenever her mother told her to.

She dumped the trash in the big garbage can beside the house. When she turned around, she saw me. Her eye bugged. “Brooke, is that you?”

A smile tugged at my lips. “Yup. Hi, Jane.”

“Oh my God.” She ran to me and embraced me. “I’ve missed you so much.”

I embraced her back, surprised at how familiar she felt. “I’ve missed you too.” Jane was a year younger than I was, but we had always been good friends. I liked to think she and Lillian had been my two best friends.

She pulled back, but held on to my hands. And then, she blurted out, “What are you doing here? Are you back to stay? Do you have anything going on? Oh my God, please tell me you have nothing going on right now and you can come inside. It’s too cold out and my mother is making her famous chicken pot pie. She’ll love to have you over for dinner.”

I chuckled, content that my friend continued to be her same bubbly and talkative self. “Nope. I have nothing going on.”

“Come on.” She pulled me inside.

Like her, her family—mother, father, and Jackson, her eighteen-year-old brother, were happy to see me.

During dinner, I told them all about my life—about where my mother and I had moved, about moving away again for college, but staying close enough to my mother so she wouldn’t panic, and about majoring in art. Lastly, I told them about the damn letter that had brought me back to Willow Harbor.

“I know it’s crazy,” I said.

“Oh, honey, I would have done the same thing,” Mrs. Sande said. “No doubt about that.”

Though they all were encouraging to me, they had no clues about who my father could be.

We were organizing the kitchen after dinner when Jane stopped and looked at me. “Wait. Where are you staying?”

“I … I …” I stammered, self-conscious of all eyes on me. “I haven’t looked into it yet, but I’m sure Willow Harbor Inn has—”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Sande interrupted me. “You’re staying here.”

Relief washed over me. Staying with a friend sounded a heck of a lot better than staying alone at the inn. Plus, it would cost me nothing.

After we finished helping in the kitchen, Jane and I went to her bedroom.

With a naughty smile, she picked up her phone and wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Remember this song?”

Music filled the speakers over her dresser and I laughed. “Holy crap, you still have this one?”

“It’s not that old.”

Well, it was probably about ten years old. When we were younger, Jane and I had been into pop music and music videos. There was one popular song we liked so much, we came up with a routine for it. We had danced it at every opportunity.

She beckoned me to come to the open space between her bed and desk. “Come on. I know you know the steps.”

I shook my head. “Oh my … no way.”

She started moving. “Come on! Just go with it!”

I couldn’t resist. The moment I stood beside her, Jane touched her phone again and the song restarted.

And we started dancing.

Even though it had been five years, I still knew all the steps. Adrenaline and pure happiness filled me. For a moment, I was carefree and happy and having fun with my best friend, and nothing else mattered.

When the song ended, Jane put it back on again, and this time I not only danced it, I also sang.

Suddenly, the door of the bedroom opened and Jackson stepped in.

“Divine,” he mumbled, staring at me.

I stopped dancing and singing, and Jane laughed. “Cut it out, Jackson.”

“It’s simply …” Jackson advanced toward me. “Divine.”

Jane stopped dancing and pushed her brother back. “Stop being an ass, and leave us be.”

He let her push him back to the door.

“What’s happening here?” Mr. Sande asked, seeing Jane and Jackson at the door.

He halted behind his kids. He looked up past them, and when his gaze landed on me, his eyes went wide. “So beautiful.”

I gasped. It was happening again. Whatever it was, it was happening again.

Jane scrunched her nose. “Dad! She’s my friend.”

“And she’s beautiful,” he repeated.

“She’s divine,” Jackson said.

Both of them stared at me with dazed, wide eyes as they entered the bedroom. My stomach revolted and I stumbled a step back. “Please, stay back.”

“What’s going on?” Jane asked.

“She’s my life,” Jackson said.

“She’s my everything,” Mr. Sande said.

Tears burned my eyes and I shook my head. “No, no …” This couldn’t be happening again.

Both men kept on coming, slowly and dazed, like zombies.

Jane stopped between them and me. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” I croaked.

Then Mrs. Sande was at the door. “Richard? Jackson? What are you doing?”

“You’re perfect,” Jackson said.

“You’re everything,” Mr. Sande said.

Her eyes narrowed, Mrs. Sande looked from them to me. “What did you do?”

My heart seized. “What? Nothing!”

In two steps, both men would reach me. On impulse, I stepped on Jane’s bed, jumped down on the other side, and ran to the door.

Mrs. Sande caught my arm. “What have you done?”

“Nothing,” I cried again.

Both men turned and walked toward me again.

“I need her,” Jackson said.

“Give her to me,” Mr. Sande said.

“Get out of my house!” Mrs. Sande yelled. “Now!”

Afraid of her fury, and of whatever would happen if the men caught me, I raced down the stairs. I stopped long enough to pick up my shoes at the entrance closet before I ran out the door.

I came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk. Tears brimmed in my eyes as I glanced around to the dark, deserted street. I had never felt so lost and alone before.