COLE

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath. Jiggling the doorknob for the second time, I resigned myself to the fact that my grandaunt had locked me out of the house. I hadn’t thought to ask her for a spare key when I went out to lunch with Ashlee and her daughter earlier. Gladys had told me she would be home all day baking up a storm for the Apple Festival tomorrow.

How strange.

From force of habit, she never locked her front door. When she woke up in the morning, she opened the house and didn’t lock up until she was going to bed. I’d even warned her about leaving her door unlocked all day, but she’d brushed me off and told me this was the beauty of living in a small town. She’d then lectured me about all the reasons I would be better off moving from Atlanta and returning home.

Why on earth would she suddenly lock the doors? Maybe she’d left a key somewhere. I checked under the flowerpots and the mat and moved rocks aside but came up empty. I tried all the windows, but she’d locked them too.

Warning bells went off inside my head. As a teenager, she’d had a rule that she closed up at eleven each night. Whenever I broke my curfew from spending time with Max, she would carry out the threat but leave a window open for me to get in. Now I couldn’t even get in through a window.

Walking back to the front of the house, I called her cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail. I placed my hands akimbo and glared at the porch.

“Something wrong?”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Max. Why did he pop up everywhere? After that unexpected kiss rocked my world yesterday, I’d had every intention of staying away from him.

“Everything’s fine,” I replied.

He stood on his side of the fence, looking irresistible with his dirty blond hair up in a messy bun, and my hands itched to loosen the ties in his hair to let the tresses down.

“You sure? Because it looks like you’re locked out.”

“I am, but not to worry. I’ll sit out here and wait for Gladys to return.”

“And if she doesn’t return until it’s night? Don’t be ridiculous. Come on over. We can hang out until she gets back.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Friends hang out. In fact, I’m making caramel apple soft pretzels for the festival tomorrow. You can help.”

I laughed. “You’re baking?”

“Why’s that so funny? I’ll have you know I make the best damn apple pie in the county.”

Against my better judgment, I walked toward the fence. I’m not going to hop it. There’s no harm in talking.

“If you make such a damn good apple pie, why are you making soft pretzels?”

“Thought I’d try something new and give someone else a shot at winning the best apple pie contest.”

“You’re not being serious, are you?”

“Let me show you my ribbons.”

“All right. Stand back.”

I scaled the fence smoothly, something I’d never tried as a teen, having no confidence in my arm muscles to boost me over. Max’s father had been an unpredictable drunk too. For the most part he’d been fine, but then he had his days when everything seemed to piss him off. I would not have wanted him to catch me scaling his fence on one of those bad days. I landed softly on my feet and caught him staring at me.

“What?”

“Nothing. You got very ripped. It’s taking a while to get used to it.”

“I started working out at GT.”

“GT?”

“Georgia Tech.”

“Ah, the college that offered you a full scholarship.”

“Yup.”

“How’d that turn out for you?”

I shoved my hands into my back pockets. Why didn’t having a conversation with him feel weird? It was as if the ten years we hadn’t seen each other didn’t exist.

“Great. Got my master’s there too.”

“Sweet. You were always the brightest of all of us.”

“The nerdiest of the nerds.”

We walked up to his porch, and he held his door open for me. “Don’t look like a nerd to me.”

I chuckled. “Still one at heart, even if the package is different.”

“You made a cute nerd.”

I gave a noncommittal response, not sure how to reply otherwise. Max’s house was much the same as I remembered it from when we were teens. The hallway was long and wide. The polished hardwood floors gleamed under the warm light filtering through the stained-glass panels on either side of the front door. On the wall hung framed photographs of his mother and another of Max playing his guitar.

As we ventured farther inside, the aroma of pastry, cinnamon, and apples wafted through the air. We entered the kitchen through a small archway. The smells assailed my senses and made my mouth water despite having lunch an hour ago.

“That’ll be the first batch.” Max stepped around me, grabbed a pair of mittens, and opened the oven. He removed racks of freshly baked pretzels and placed them on the counter. Their golden-brown finish was tempting.

The island in the kitchen was new, replacing the wooden table and chair I’d used to tutor him. He had ingredients for more pretzels on the island—diced apples, a bowl of gooey caramel, a jar of kosher salt, and cinnamon sugar. In a large bowl covered with clear plastic was more dough.