Page 15 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

“Yeah, like the bathroom cabinet upstairs.” He gestured with his chin to his parents’ window, visible from where they stood just off the dock. “I bet she has the good stuff.”

Julia snorted again, this time dissolving into a slight chuckle. “The ‘good stuff’? What do you even know aboutanyof this stuff, Duchamp?”

“Hey.” He held his hands up defensively. “I’m a man of the twenty-first century here, Gem. I’ve seen the commercials. I know a thing or two about—”

“Please.” Julia put a hand in his face. “Please, do not finish that sentence. I don’t even want to hear what you think you ‘know a thing or two’ about. Just—let’s just go find your mom’s stuff.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to know?” He casually flung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him, enjoying the comfortable way she seemed to fit underneath him. It had taken a few years, but he’d finally caught up to her in height, and then in the last year actually surpassed her by a good few inches. By the end of December, he might even have half a foot on her, if not more. The thought was gratifying, though he couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly.

“I’m positive,” she insisted, falling into step with him.

“It involves chocolate, though.” He lowered his voice in an impression of movie-quality seduction. “And heating pads.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

In easy rapport, and with a mission at hand, they walked back to the house together, arms around each other.

6

Present day

Ethan waited untilJulia was out of sight before sitting down heavily on the bed, barely registering the ominous creak it made beneath him.

Julia. Gem.Julia.

JuliafuckingSchaeffer.

At the mere mention of her name, never mind the sight—the goddamnsmell—of her, infiltrating this whole place, he could practically see the flip-book of melodramatically sepia-toned photos flickering through his brain as the memories of his childhood and formative years with her ran on a loop. The playdates as kids, summers at the lake, navigating awkward years in middle school, coming out of their shells in high school, college in New York City, working at the restaurant.

He shook his head as it all came to an abrupt stop with the final image he held in his mind’s eye, the one he reserved for particularly acute moments of self-reproach and masochism.

The one of her face the last time they’d seen each other.

Closing the gray-matter photo album with an abrupt mental snap, he scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. It had been a long drive after a sleepless night, following an extremely long day, following an even longer week, and the truth was, he was simply not emotionally equipped to deal with any of the feelings that were swirling inside him at the moment.

He had expected it to be awkward, had expected things to be tense and for it to dredge up all the uncomfortable feelings human beings could experience, combined in one exquisite moment of extended discomfort, but what he hadn’t really expected, probably stupidly, had been theshame. It was well-deserved, of that he had no doubt, but to have it arrive in such a brutal onslaught all at once was really just…something.

He had been mentally preparing himself for all of it—or so he’d thought—on the five-hour drive up to the cottage. He’d had a speech planned; he had practiced his meditative breathing, the CBT exercises given to him by his therapist; he’d even created semi-hallucinatory role-playing situations as he drove, giving himself worst-case and best-case scenarios, which he first acted out in the role of himself and then as Julia…

And still, nothing could have prepared him for actually seeing her.

It had been so long that he’d somehow managed to convince himself it wouldn’t matter. Eight, almost nine years was enough time to erase the impact a person had on you, enough time to move on from their effect.

Maybe that was true for some people.

But there was something about Julia—Gem.Even now, the names intertwined in his mind, with no rhyme or reason for when he’d think of her as Julia and when she would be Gem,the two intrinsically linked. Something about her would always be inextricably connected to Ethan’s psyche, something that had burrowed in him so deep that her effect on him was like a sleeper agent, lying dormant for as long as it needed to until one day, it activated.

Pulling up the driveway, Ethan had felt the familiar ache of bittersweet memories creeping into his chest. The cottage—no, the bed-and-breakfast, he corrected himself—looked just as it had before, yet somehow entirely different as well. It wasn’t just the carefully chosen upgrades Julia had made; it was the way the place felt alive, a testament to her vision. The ache in his chest wasn’t just nostalgia; it was pride, even if that pride was tinged with the sting of regret.

The red cedar exterior had struck him immediately, the same color it had been during his childhood summers but now fresh and vibrant, a contrast to the weathered boards he remembered. As an adult, he could finally appreciate the blend of classic and rustic architectural details, giving it both charm and a sense of permanence within the landscape.

Even the gardens. His mother had always tried to maintain them, but had never had a knack for it. It was Julia’s mother who’d had more of a green thumb, which had obviously proven itself to be genetic. The flora surrounding the space was restrained yet abundant. He had almost been able to see Julia’s hand in every detail, as though she’d willed the land itself to flourish under her care.

The trees surrounding the property loomed like the same quiet sentinels they had always been, their green leaves edged with golds and auburns. The other cottage, a short walk away, was now impossible to see. He’d even looked out toward the horizon, trying to peer around the bend of the lake to confirmthat yes, only one dock remained. It was as if the old Schaeffer cottage no longer existed, had never existed.

Ethan had shifted in his seat then, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as his gaze returned to the main house. Although he’d dreamed of coming back here, in his quietest, most self-deprecating moments, it hadn’t been like this—not as a guest and certainly not as someone who needed Julia’s help. It was a sharp reminder of how poorly he’d handled everything all those years ago. Julia had deserved better from him then.

She still did now.