Chapter 1 – Homecoming Ink
Riley Harper hadn’t set foot in Willow Creek in ten years, not since the night she packed her beat-up Civic with everything she owned and drove west until the ocean stopped her. She’d sworn she’d never come back to this sleepy, nosy, everyone-knows-your-business town. Yet here she was, standing outside Pins & Needles Bridal Boutique at two in the afternoon on a humid Thursday, sweating through her black tank top because her brother was getting married and she was the goddamn maid of honor.
The bell above the door gave its familiar half-dead jingle. The smell hit her first—hairspray, rose potpourri, and that particular bridal-shop panic that clung to the air like cheap perfume.
“Riley freakin’ Harper!” Marla, the owner, squealed from behind the counter. Same bottle-red hair, same leopard-print glasses. “Look at you, all inked up and badass. Your brother said you were coming, but I didn’t believe him.”
Riley forced a smile. “Here in the flesh.”
Marla clapped. “Come on back, honey. We’ve got your dress steamed and ready. You’re the last one for alterations. The bride’s already been in twice crying about her hips.”
Riley followed her past racks of white fluff and pastel tulle to the fitting area—a low platform surrounded by three mirrors and a velvet curtain that never quite closed all the way. Her dress hung on a hook like a mauve monstrosity, satin and chiffon conspiring to make her look like a cupcake.
“Strip down to your undies, sugar,” Marla said, already reaching for pins. “Let’s get you in this thing before the next bride shows up.”
Riley kicked off her boots, peeled off her jeans, and had just pulled the dress over her head when the curtain rustled behind her.
“Sorry, Marla, I’m early—” The voice stopped dead.
Riley froze, arms trapped in chiffon, heart slamming against her ribs.
She knew that voice. Low, a little husky, the kind of voice that used to whisper filthy things in her ear when she was eighteen and stupid and thought forever was a promise you could keep.
She yanked the dress down and turned.
Dr. Evan Callahan stood in the gap of the curtain, one hand still on the fabric, the other clutching a garment bag. She looked… older, obviously. Ten years. But the kind of older that made Riley’s mouth go dry. Dark hair pulled into a messy knot, tired shadows under those sharp blue eyes, white coat swapped for a simple gray blouse that hugged places Riley had no business noticing anymore. A thin silver chain disappeared into the V of her neckline, and Riley remembered exactly how that chain used to feel against her tongue.
Evan’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
Marla, oblivious, beamed. “Evan! Perfect timing. You’re both in the wedding party. Riley, you remember Evan, right? She and your brother were thick as thieves growing up.”
Riley swallowed. “Yeah,” she managed. “I remember.”
Evan recovered first. “Riley.” Her voice was steady, professional, the same tone she probably used to tell women their cervix looked healthy. “It’s… been a while.”
Ten years, two months, and eleven days, but who was counting?
Marla bustled between them, taking Evan’s garment bag. “You two catch up. I’m grabbing my good scissors. Riley, arms up.”
Riley raised her arms like a robot. Evan’s gaze flicked down—quick, involuntary—over the black ink covering Riley’s arms, the phoenix curling around her ribcage visible where the dress gaped at the side. When Evan’s eyes snapped back up, there was something raw in them. Hunger. Regret. Both.
Marla came back, pins between her teeth. “Evan, honey, you’re looking thin. Divorce diet?”
Evan gave a tight smile. “Something like that.”
Riley’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t known. Of course Evan had gotten married. Straight girls who experimented in college always did. That’s what Riley had told herself for a decade to make the ache stop.
Marla spun Riley toward the mirror. “Suck in, darlin’. This bodice is not forgiving.”
Riley sucked. Evan watched in the reflection, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“Turn,” Marla ordered.
Riley turned. The back of the dress was still open, exposing the full length of her spine tattoo—a snake coiled around a dagger, dripping ink down to the waistband of her boyshorts. She felt Evan’s stare like a hand sliding down her skin.
“Jesus, Riley,” Evan said under her breath.
Marla laughed. “Ain’t it gorgeous? She did it herself in Seattle, she told me. You still got that parlor there?”
“Sold it,” Riley said. “Opened a new one in Portland.”
Evan’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “You’re staying?”
“Just for the wedding.” The words tasted like a lie.
Marla tugged and pinned and muttered about hemlines. Riley stood statue-still, hyperaware of Evan three feet away, close enough to smell her—something clean and medical undercut with the same jasmine perfume she’d worn at eighteen.
“Alright, you’re done.” Marla stepped back. “Evan, your turn. Let’s get that gorgeous doctor body into this champagne silk.”
Evan hesitated, then stepped forward as Riley moved off the platform. Their arms brushed. Static sparked up Riley’s skin like a needle hitting nerve.
“Sorry,” Evan murmured.
Riley’s pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to say something cutting, something that would make the last ten years make sense. Instead what came out was, “You look good, Doc.”
Evan’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “You look like trouble.”
Marla whisked the curtain closed around Evan. Riley stood there in her half-pinned dress, staring at her own reflection—cheeks flushed, pupils blown, the same reckless girl she’d tried so hard to outrun.
From behind the curtain, Evan’s voice, low and deliberate: “Still got that scar on your left hip?”
Riley’s breath caught. She did. A tiny crescent from the night Evan had bitten her so hard she’d bled through the sheets.
Riley leaned closer to the curtain, voice barely a whisper. “Still got the one I gave you?”
Silence. Then the softest laugh, almost broken. “Every day.”
Marla bustled back in, oblivious. Riley stepped into her jeans, heart hammering like a tattoo gun against bone.
This town had been too small ten years ago.
It hadn’t gotten any bigger.
