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Chapter 1

Noah

Sitting in my car with the engine idling, I stared through the car window at Lily’s Diner, halfway down Main Street, Whisper Ridge, where the road intersected with Langdon Street. The diner stood just outside, its boarded-up windows and the solitary rainbow flag in the window partially obscured by falling snow. Peering through the windshield, which was being covered by a thickening layer of snowflakes, I reached for the controls and flicked on the windshield wipers. The blades moved back and forth, clearing away the snow.

“It’s strange seeing it like that,” I said to Fox, nodding toward the diner.

My son, with the requisite shrug of not caring about anything these days, glanced at me, then back down at his phone.

The wipers continued their rhythmic motion, swiping away the snow that seemed to be falling heavier now. We sat in silence for a moment , the gentle patter of snowflakes against the car so pretty.

“It used to be so full of life,” I added, a touch of nostalgia in my voice. “It’s a shame to see it all boarded up like that.”

Fox grumbled something under his breath, but I was used to that—he hadn’t forgiven me for leaving Columbus for this trip down memory lane, whatever the reason.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. The diner was something from my past, memories of happier times before everything imploded. Despite its abandoned state—Lily had been gone over a year now—the place was part of Whisper Ridge’s history, a reminder of better times.

Thank you Lily. I’m so sorry. I wish I’d come back sooner.

Out front the Lily’s Diner sign with its open white flower, and my great aunt’s name, swung gently. For some reason she’d left the place to me, so Aunt Lily’s little piece of Whisper Ridge was mine now, and even sitting here in my car, staring up at the sign, I didn’t know if I deserved it. The town was smaller than I remembered, or maybe I felt bigger, older, weighed down by everything that had happened since I was last here. Not least the divorce, which was still a fresh hurt, and one of the reasons why I’d decided not to sell the property but reopen the diner.

Somewhere new for us.

Safe.

A fresh start for me and for my son Fox, because there was no way my ex, Briggs Lewiston, MLB pitcher for the Columbus River Kings, would be seen dead in the middle of nowhere Wyoming.

Not to mention it might give me a chance to get my head straight and stop jumping at shadows.

Fox, slouched in the passenger seat, was the spitting image of his dad, Briggs, with his dark brown eyes, blond hair falling in a curtain over one eye, and that stubborn tilt to his chin telling me he was pissed. He’d been tapping away on his phone, as he had been doing the entire three days and change of hotels and driving it had taken to get here, and now as he stared at the diner his brows were knitted in a frown that seemed to be his default expression these days. Fourteen was a wonder of mood swings and surliness, and boy did Fox ace every facet of being a teenager.

“Why here, Dad? I mean, look at this place,” Fox’s voice was flat, his gaze not leaving the screen.

At least he was back to calling me Dad. There had been a shaky few months when I’d left Briggs and gotten custody of Fox, when he’d decided I didn’t have to be called Dad. Never mind I’d brought him up since Briggs and I married when Fox was six. I’d been the one ferrying Fox to school, attending events, helping with homework, teaching him to swim… me. I loved Fox, I was his dad in every way possible.

Hell, I’ll take Fox calling me Dad again as a win in a very long battle.

I sighed, my fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the diner keys. “It’s a fresh start, Fox. For both of us.”

He snorted, finally checking out the diner. “A fresh start in a freaking ghost town. Great.”

“Language,” I murmured without heat.

Fox rolled his eyes. “I hate Papa, but at least we had a life back there…”

The implication scared the hell out of me—was Fox thinking we shouldn’t have left? If Fox ever chose to go back to Briggs over me, then that would have been his decision. Biologically he was Briggs’s son, but I’d have run away to a country with no extradition rights before letting Fox anywhere near his dad until he was old enough to decide for himself. Thankfully, Briggs’s indifference to his son, and some of the things Fox had seen his dad do to me, meant he was with me. There was so much I could have said about why his father’s world had no room for us, but the words caught in my throat, tangled up in the heartache and betrayal.

Instead, I stared at Fox, really looked at him, and part of me hoped the things he’d seen were forgotten, because I didn’t want him carrying fear and hurt around forever. But to suggest moving back with Briggs? “Fox, your papa… he’s got his life, and it’s not one that’s good for us. Not anymore, you know that.” The DUI charge, gambling, throwing games, freaking bankruptcy… the everything messing up Briggs’s former charmed life, was a hateful place for anyone to be, let alone a fourteen-year-old kid abandoned by one of his parents.

“Whatever,” Fox said, trying for sullen but the weight of sadness in his tone was overwhelming.

“And this diner, it’s a piece of family, of history, and maybe it can be a good thing for us, a fresh start, somewhere new.”

He shot me an incredulous stare as if I’d said I was happy we’d moved to the moon. “We could have stayed in Columbus, then I wouldn’t have had to leave school. Seb is having a party this weekend, and I’m missing out.”

I schooled my features into sympathy, but all I could think was thank fuck he was missing any party with those asshole kids he hung around with. To say I wasn’t fond of the friends he’d had at the academy was an understatement, all too wrapped in the material—best and most expensive everything—nothing was real in their lives, and I didn’t want that for Fox.

I pressed on, trying to connect with him by changing the subject. “You know, my Aunt Lily used to show me how to make the most awesome pies right in that kitchen. It’s where I learned to love her craft, and that’s why I chose to be a pastry chef.”

Fox was unmoved by my statement, taking in the weathered facade of Lily’s Diner. “That’s your ancient history, Dad. It’s not mine.”

“It could be yours too,” I murmured, more to myself than to Fox. Memories of Aunt Lily’s warm laugh, the scents of her baking, and the summers I’d spent here until I was eleven… those short weeks each year were some of the happiest times of my life. Until, just like that, they were gone. My parents divorced, my dad heading off to find himself and never coming back. Then Mom remarried and moved herself and me to France, and an entire ocean between me and this tiny town had severed any connection I had to Whisper Ridge.

I placed a hand on Fox’s shoulder, feeling the tension in him.

“I know this is hard on both of us, but how about we give it a chance, Fox, see how it goes, and if in six months you want to go back…”

He turned a hopeful gaze to me. “For real?”

What did I do? We couldn’t go back to Columbus, back to the media gaze, and Briggs, and the River Kings fans who didn’t believe their beloved pitcher had done anything wrong at all.

“Give me six months, to the end of the summer, yeah?”

He narrowed his gaze. “August is eight months, not six.”

“Eight months then.”

He shrugged and faced the diner again and that was all I was going to get—a silent agreement to try at least for a few months, and I knew that was as much as I could ask for right now.

I could only hope this chance I’d taken would be enough for us, that we’d open the old diner, make a go of it, find our place in this town, and then stay. I felt for a moment that things could get better for us both. I had to believe that for Fox and for me. This diner wasn’t only a building; it was a link to my past and maybe it was a foundation for a new beginning if I could manage it. Everything might go wrong, I might fuck everything up, and Fox might end up hating me, but I had to try.

“Okay, you want to go inside and check it out?”

He shot me his patented do-I-have-to stare, but then he nodded.

“Okay, then coats on, gloves, hat, scarf, it’s cold out there.”

Fox muttered some about knowing how to dress in the cold, and we bundled up to brave the bitter iciness of this mid-January day in the Wyoming mountains. As we stepped out of the car, the crisp, cold air hit me, sending a shiver down my spine, and freezing my breath. I pulled my scarf up to cover my face, and saw Fox had done the same, his eyes wide at the shock of ice. Whisper Ridge was a stunning canvas of white, the peaks of the Wind River Range were barely visible, shrouded by heavy, dark clouds. Snow blanketed everything, smoothing out the rough edges of the landscape and draping the trees lining Main. The streets were deserted, but then it was three in the afternoon on a Saturday, and I thought maybe I’d seen one or two people, but I imagined the whole town had decided to huddle indoors, away from the biting cold. The buzz I remembered of everyone going about their business was absent, replaced by a hushed stillness only a heavy snowfall could bring. With each faint crunch of my shoes against the snow-packed ground I left a crisp imprint behind.

I paused for a moment, taking in the serene beauty of it all. The way the snowflakes danced in the air before settling, the soft outline of the stores, under their snowy roofs, the quiet—it was all breathtaking. The harshness of the cold was undeniable, but so was the beauty it brought.

“It’s a winter wonderland,” I mumbled into my scarf, but a gust of icy wind stole the words, and Fox didn’t hear my fanciful nonsense. We headed for the door.

“Aunt Lily’s legacy for us,” I said a little louder.

“She’s not my Aunt Lily,” Fox muttered, his voice muffled by his River Kings scarf. He was right—she was my mom’s aunt, no blood relation to Fox, a bit like me, but the link through me was unshakeable.

He was a step in front of me, his reluctance showing in trudging through the banked snow scuffing his boots as he stuck in his ear buds, but at least he headed out.

The key turned, and as I went inside, I waited for the jingle of the bell sounding like a welcome home, but there was nothing, the metal kick plate bent back to stop the noise. The inside was a stark contrast to the warm, buttery smells that had greeted me each morning of those summers long ago in the original diner. The life in this new place had surely faded since Lily’s passing and it felt like a photograph from an old album—frozen in time, colors dull, and the sound of our footsteps was the only noise as we closed the door behind us. Despite shutting out the snow, it was as icy cold inside as it was out.

There were still scuff marks on the worn linoleum floor and we followed them in. By the glow of my phone, I located and tried the lights, but there was no electricity, which was another thing on my to-do list, and instead I eased out the loose hooks and took down the wood blocking the window on that side of the restaurant, the sudden appearance of the pale sun bounced off the snow filtering inside, to give us enough light to find our way.

I inhaled sharply as old memories flooded my thoughts and left me feeling something between the grief of never having come back to Whisper Ridge and a manic happiness at being here. It was the oddest sensation, and I wondered how much of it was bound up in leaving Briggs and feeling free for the first time in eight years.

“Look!” Fox exclaimed.

I followed his finger, which was pointed toward the back wall, where, in bright neon orange, was a crudely drawn cock and balls. Vandals had been inside, and I glanced around, searching for more damage, but I couldn’t see any. Stools were pushed haphazardly under the counter. The red vinyl seats had small cracks and creases, and were more sad-looking than a reminder of the people who’d sat there. On one of them the stuffing peeked through the cover, and I poked at it with a finger.

“This is so sad,” Fox said on a sigh, and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Above the counter, a menu board hung without the descriptions of daily specials and every corner of the place sat empty of life.

“What am I doing?” I asked the empty space, given Fox had vanished. I worried for a moment then recalling the layout of the place, knew there wasn’t much space for him to get lost in. There again, were there knives in the kitchen? “Don’t touch anything sharp!” I called out.

“Doh,” Fox replied, his voice dulled by the closed serving pass.

Doh was another word that Fox used a lot, specifically when I asked him to watch out for something, as if I hadn’t had to take him to the emergency room when he’d climbed the tree in the yard.

The teenager handbook, page 5, Doh. Page 6, whatever. I had an entire list of things I could add to the book. Talking of lists, I took off one of my gloves, and pulled out my phone. Top of the to-do list was to enroll Fox into the local middle/high school in nearby Collier Springs, next was visiting the bank, third was a lawyer. I scrolled down and added a new line, electric to diner, then pushed the glove back on before my fingers froze.

Our new home.

It needed a breath of life, a new beginning, and with the apartment above, this could be what we needed. The U-Haul wouldn’t be here until Thursday, so for a while we were booked into Ridge Hotel, which if I remembered right, was barely more than eight rooms on a good day. Plenty of time to roll my sleeves up and get the apartment in shape for me and Fox. Time to get the electricity back on because this place needed to be loved again. And maybe, just maybe, Fox and I would be the ones to bring it back to life.

And fix us in the process.