There was nothing wrong with any of that, was there? I mean, how often did I have dinner with a hot guy? (Borderline never.) When was the last time I’d worn perfume? (Couldn’t recall. Bottle was dusty.) What was the harm in a little flirtation with an old friend? (None that I could think of.)

But admittedly, I didn’t think too hard. I just wanted to feel beautiful and have a good time, and if it happened to coincide with being the sole object of Tyler Shaw’s attention tonight, so be it.

At a couple minutes before seven, I got a text from an unknown number. I’m here at the bar. Take your time.

I added him to my contacts and replied, See you in a few.

When I was ready, I grabbed my bag, switched off the lights in my office, and headed for the door. Walking at a leisurely pace, I followed the paved walkway from the wedding barn, where my office was located, over to the inn. It was a mild evening, and I took deep, calming breaths of fresh spring air. But the closer I got to the inn, the more nervous I felt.

What would it be like to be alone with him after all these years? Would the subject of that night come up? The pregnancy? The adoption? How would we handle it? Was there enough distance between then and now for us to be able to talk about it without weirdness?

There was also a distinct possibility he could turn out to be a big fat jerk. Maybe that vulnerability I thought I’d glimpsed this morning was all in my head. Maybe he’d snap at me again—I wouldn’t be so quick to forgive this time. Maybe I’d need an excuse to duck out early.

Oh for goodness sake, April, I told myself as I pulled open the glass door to the inn’s lobby. Relax. But just in case, right before I went into the bar, I pulled out my phone and texted Chloe. Hey, can you check in with me in about an hour or so?

Chloe: Of course. You okay?

Me: Yes. Just walking into the bar.

Chloe: Completely understand. You got this.

One of many awesome things about my sisters—they understood things like this. I felt much better as I entered the bar.

It was crowded for a Thursday evening, but nothing compared to the way it would be in a few weeks when all the “summer people,” who’d been away through the cold months, started returning to their second homes and cottages on the water. I enjoyed the cozy, quiet atmosphere of Cloverleigh Farms during the winter, when it was all covered with snow and a fire always roared in the inn’s fireplace. But I loved seeing it come alive when the snow melted and wedding season picked up again, when the winery tasting room was always full, and the inn was booked up solid. I was always happier when I was busy.

Was that because I was lonely?

I shoved the thought aside.

Right away I picked out Tyler sitting at the end of the bar. Even from behind in the dim light, I knew his wide shoulders, his tall frame, his thick dark hair. Smiling and calling hello to a couple regulars I recognized, I made my way toward him, ignoring the way my pulse accelerated with every step.

When I reached his side, I touched his shoulder. “Hi.”

Immediately he stood, offering me his seat.

“You don’t have to get up,” I protested.

He held up one hand. “Please. I know my manners were AWOL this morning, but I swear I have them. And my dad taught me that a man never sits while a woman stands.” He gestured toward the vacant stool.

“Thank you.” More at ease—he was still a nice guy—I slid onto it. “I was sorry to hear about your dad. He was such a good guy.”

Tyler nodded. “Thanks. He was.”

“You must miss him a lot.”

“Yeah. It happened so fast. I guess I should be glad he wasn’t in pain long, but I wish I’d had more time with him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Although part of me is glad he went before he had to witness my career ending the way it did.”

“Hey.” I put my hand on his arm. “He still would have been proud of you. That’s what family does—they love us and they’re proud of who we are, not just what we do.”

“Yeah.” He tipped back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on the bar in front of me. “Anyway, thanks for meeting me tonight.”

“Of course.” I smiled, taking in his clean white button-down with the sleeves cuffed up, his dark jeans, and brown lace-up boots. His dark hair, which I could see now that he wasn’t wearing a cap, was still thick and wavy. Girls had always loved his hair. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks. You look nice too.” He leaned a little closer to me, his eyes focused on mine. “Hazel?”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry.” He straightened up, looking a little sheepish. “Earlier, I was trying to remember what color your eyes were, because you were wearing sunglasses and I couldn’t see them. But it’s kind of dark in here, so I’m guessing—are they hazel?”

I laughed. “Yes. They are.”

“And you still have your red hair.” He tugged a strand near my ear. “That’s how I recognized you on the track.”

“I do still have red hair, because as any redhead will tell you, it’s nearly impossible to color. You have to bleach it, which I tried once with disastrous results.” I cringed at the memory. “It was not a good look for me.”

Tyler seemed surprised. “Why would you want to change it? I fucking love the color of your hair. I always have.”

Flattered, I felt the rush of warmth to my face and knew my cheeks had roses in them, as my mother would say. “I don’t know. It was in college. I think it was at a time in my life I was trying to change a lot of things about myself—I guess I wanted to feel like somebody else, and the hair color seemed like a good place to start.”

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t work. What would you like to drink?”

“What are you drinking?”

“Brown Eyed Girl bourbon,” he said, moving a little closer to me as he tried to catch the bartender’s eye. He smelled good—woodsy and clean—like a combination of autumn and spring. “I’d never had it before, but the bartender recommended it. It’s made in Michigan, I guess.”

I nodded. “Yes, it’s made in Detroit. My sister Chloe is engaged to the guy who started that distillery—his name is Oliver. They’re opening one up here at Cloverleigh too.”

“Oh yeah? That’s cool. I like it a lot. In fact, I’ll have another. Want one?”

“Sure.” I crossed my legs, clasping my hands around my bare knee. “So what did you do today?”

“Slave labor for my sister,” he answered, stealing a glimpse at my hemline.

I smiled. “At her house?”

“Yeah. Josh had to work today, so she asked me to come over and move some furniture, which turned into ripping up carpet, running errands, and painting a bedroom.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of labor. You get a union break?”

“One.” A smile crept onto his full lips. “During which I spent a hundred dollars on lemonade.”

“What?”

“These two little girls across the street were having a lemonade stand for charity, and they didn’t have any customers. So I gave them a hundred bucks.”

I burst out laughing. “They must have been totally shocked. You’ll probably see them out there again tomorrow, hoping you come back.”