Chapter 2: Ghosts of Pine Ridge

Chapter 2: Ghosts of Pike Ridge

I needed coffee. Real coffee, not the stale Folgers Dad still kept in his pantry. The funeral wasn't until two, and I couldn't face another morning of bitter memories served in a chipped mug.

Pine Ridge Market hadn't changed – still the same fluorescent lights flickering above produce displays, still the same linoleum floor with its familiar crack running from the automatic doors to the dairy section. I'd worked here summers during high school, stocking shelves and stealing glances at—

The coffee aisle. Focus on the coffee aisle.

My hands were shaking as I reached for a bag of dark roast, and I told myself it was just caffeine withdrawal. Not the weight of memories pressing down on my chest. Not the whispers I'd heard at breakfast when I'd stopped at the diner – "That's Katherine Mitchell's boy. You remember him and the Turner kid..."

The bag slipped from my grip, hitting the floor with a soft thud. As I bent to retrieve it, a familiar scent hit me – cedarwood and something uniquely—

"Still clumsy as ever, Cal?"

My heart stopped. That voice. Deeper now, rougher around the edges, but still his. I straightened slowly, coffee forgotten at my feet.

Ethan.

God, he was beautiful. Silver threaded through his dark hair now, laugh lines carved deeper around those amber eyes, but he was still the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen. He wore a simple black button-down – for the funeral, I realized with a jolt – and his wedding ring caught the fluorescent light as he reached down and picked up my dropped coffee.

"Here." He held it out, and I couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in his hand. At least I wasn't the only one affected by this collision of past and present.

"Thanks." My voice came out hoarse. How many times had I imagined our first encounter after all these years? None of those scenarios had involved coffee and fluorescent lights. "You look..."

"Old?" His laugh was different now – shorter, more guarded. "Twenty-five years will do that."

"I was going to say good." The words slipped out before I could stop them, honest in a way I hadn't meant to be. A flush crept up his neck – some things hadn't changed.

"You too." His eyes tracked over my face, and I wondered what changes he was cataloging. "Seattle's been good to you."

So he'd kept tabs on me. The thought sent an unwelcome thrill through my chest. "Pine Ridge seems to have treated you well enough."

A shadow crossed his face. "Well enough." He shifted his weight, and I recognized the tell – he was uncomfortable. "Listen, Cal, about your mom—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "Please."

The fluorescent lights hummed above us, filling the silence with their artificial buzz. A cart squeaked past the end of the aisle, and I heard Mrs. Peterson's unmistakable gasp of recognition. By dinner, the whole town would be talking about this reunion.

"She always asked about you, you know." Ethan's voice was soft, meant just for me. "Every time I saw her at church, she'd tell me about your latest project, show me pictures of the buildings you'd designed."

My throat tightened. "She never told me."

"Would you have wanted her to?"

No. Yes. I didn't know anymore. "It was a long time ago, Ethan."

"Was it?" He stepped closer, and suddenly I was seventeen again, heart racing as he cornered me in the stockroom. "Because right now it feels like yesterday."

The coffee bag crinkled in my grip. "You're married." I forced the words out, a reminder to us both.

"Divorced." The word hung between us like smoke. "Three years now. Sarah finally got tired of competing with a ghost."

My head spun. Divorced. Three years. Mom had never mentioned... but of course she wouldn't have. She'd known what it would do to me.

"I'm sorry," I said, not sure if I meant it.

"Are you?" His eyes held mine, challenging. "Because I'm not. Not anymore."

A customer appeared at the end of the aisle, and we both stepped back, the spell broken. Reality crashed back in – Mom's funeral, the watching town, twenty-five years of choices we couldn't undo.

"I should go." I gestured vaguely with the coffee bag. "Need to help Dad with... things."

Ethan nodded, but neither of us moved. "I'll see you at the service?"

"Yeah." I swallowed hard. "Save me a seat?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in that crooked smile I'd dreamed about for twenty-five years. "Always do, Cal. Always do."

I made it to the checkout without looking back, but I could feel his eyes on me. The cashier – probably someone's grandkid – rang up my coffee with practiced efficiency, completely unaware that my world had just tilted on its axis.

Outside, the summer air hit me like a wall. I leaned against my rental car, letting the hot metal ground me in the present. Divorced. Three years. Competing with a ghost.

My phone buzzed – Dad, probably wondering where I was. But all I could think about was the way Ethan's voice had softened around my nickname, the silver in his hair, the tremor in his hand that matched my own.

Some ghosts, it seemed, weren't content to stay buried. Some ghosts wore black button-downs and smelled like cedarwood and had eyes that still saw straight through to your soul.

I started the car, the coffee sitting unopened in the passenger seat. In a few hours, I'd have to face him again, this time surrounded by the whole town as we buried my mother. But for now, I let myself remember the way he'd said "always," like a promise we'd both kept without meaning to.