The Summer We Left Behind

Harper Bennett hated the smell of the ocean.

At least, that was what she had convinced herself of during the past seven years in Los Angeles. The air in LA smelled like exhaust fumes, spilled iced coffee on hot asphalt, and burning ambition. That was the smell of success. The smell of the future.

But the moment Harper stepped out of her rental car and her sneakers hit the pavement of Bellweather Cove, she found herself inhaling the scent of saltwater, seaweed, and vanilla from the bakery across the street.

And just like that, she was eighteen again, a girl who had tried to run away from home and somehow never quite managed to leave it behind.

“Okay, Harper. Focus.” She dragged her carry-on suitcase toward the sidewalk, its front wheel producing an irritating click-clack with every turn. “Six weeks. You’re here for six weeks. Help Mom, fix the flower shop, and get back to the real city.”

Bellweather Cove hadn’t changed much. Weathered clapboard cottages lined the streets, bougainvillea spilling over their fences. The wooden pier bustled with summer tourists, and the California sun cast a golden glow over everything, as if the town had never heard of a bad day.

Harper had forgotten how unfairly pretty the place could be.

She walked two blocks toward the town center, where a rustic wooden sign reading Bennett Blooms hung slightly crooked above the glass storefront.

Her steps slowed.

The last time she had seen the shop in person was three years ago, at Christmas. Since then, her mother had insisted over the phone that everything was fine.

Harper knew better.

In Olivia Bennett’s vocabulary, everything is fine usually meant I’m drowning, but I don’t want to bother you.

The bell above the door chimed as Harper pushed it open.

Cool air brushed against her overheated skin. The shop was a riot of color: blue hydrangeas, peach roses, and towering sunflowers filled the buckets lining the walls. Behind the counter, a woman with curly hair twisted into a messy bun was struggling to attach price tags to a bucket of baby’s breath.

“Mom?”

Olivia looked up. Her eyes widened, and the stack of paper tags in her hands nearly slipped to the floor.

“Harper! Oh, honey, you’re here!”

She hurried around the counter and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. Harper wrapped her arms around her mother, breathing in the familiar scent of damp earth and eucalyptus.

For a moment, the five-hour drive from Los Angeles seemed worth every mile.

“You’re too thin,” Olivia announced as she pulled back to cup Harper’s face. “Are they not feeding you at that agency? Or are you surviving on matcha and stress again?”

Harper laughed. “Mom, I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s exactly what people say when they’re surviving on matcha and stress.”

“I just needed a break.” Harper glanced around the shop, taking in the overflowing buckets and half-finished arrangements. “And it looks like you could use an extra pair of hands.”

Olivia sighed, smoothing the collar of Harper’s linen shirt. “I don’t want you to feel guilty about coming home. It’s just that the flower inventory for the Summer Festival cost more than I budgeted for, and my part-time helper, Toby, quit to focus on his college classes.”

“Relax. I’m here.”

Harper gave her mother a reassuring smile, even as guilt tugged at her chest. She probably shouldn’t have taken time off work. Sophie had already sent three emails about a new client project, and Harper could practically hear the mounting questions waiting for her back in LA.

But looking at the worry lines on her mother’s forehead, she knew she couldn’t have stayed away.

“I’ll help you sort everything out,” she promised. “Six weeks, remember?”

“Six weeks,” Olivia agreed, though the mischievous glint in her eyes suggested she had other ideas. “But don’t be surprised if you fall in love with this town all over again.”

Harper rolled her eyes.

“Not happening.”

Three hours of unpacking boxes, trimming stems, and listening to her mother’s increasingly bizarre stories about the neighbors later, Harper realized she had forgotten one important thing.

“Mom, I need to stop by the town hall. Grace Miller said there’s a vendor form I have to sign for the festival decorations.”

“Oh, right. Grace called this morning.” Olivia reached for a box of cupcakes on the counter and handed it to her. “She said she’s already assigned a lead photographer to document our stall. You can meet him while you’re there.”

Harper balanced the box in her arms.

“Why do I have to bring cupcakes?”

“Because Grace loves red velvet, and I love not being on her bad side.”

“An excellent business strategy.”

“I thought so.”

Harper shook her head and stepped outside.

The town hall was only a five-minute walk away. By the time she reached the main street, the afternoon had begun to soften into evening, painting the Bellweather Cove sky in shades of orange and lavender.

Harper had always loved this time of day.

She hated how much she still loved it.

That was the problem with coming home. Everything seemed determined to remind her of who she had been before she left.

The festival committee office occupied the second floor of the town hall. Harper climbed the creaking wooden stairs and pushed open the glass door marked Summer Festival Committee.

Inside, maps of the festival grounds covered a large table, surrounded by folding chairs and stacks of paperwork. A middle-aged woman wearing thick glasses sat behind a laptop, typing with the focused intensity of someone trying to save an entire town through spreadsheets.

“Grace!”

Grace Miller looked up, her face brightening.

“Harper! Finally. Come in, come in. I have the forms ready.”

She handed Harper several sheets of paper and a pen.

“Sign at the bottom, and you’re officially the decoration coordinator for Bennett Blooms.”

Harper signed where indicated.

“Done. Anything else I should know?”

“Just one thing.” Grace gestured toward a whiteboard in the corner. “You’ll need to coordinate with the official festival photographer for the promotional materials. He’s coming by to pick up the visual brief and a hard drive. His name is on the board.”

Harper turned.

Written in thick black marker were the words:

Lead Photographer: Mason Reed.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Mason Reed.

She stared at the name, waiting for it to rearrange itself into something else.

Maybe there were a thousand Mason Reeds in California. Maybe this one was a different Mason Reed. A Mason Reed who happened to enjoy photography and happened to live in a small coastal town.

A perfectly ordinary coincidence.

“Grace?” Harper asked, clearing her throat. “Mason Reed... is he...?”

“Oh, you know him?”

Grace smiled, oblivious to the sudden tension in Harper’s shoulders.

“Yes, Mason’s a local boy. He graduated at the top of his arts program a few years ago and has his own studio now. Very professional, a little quiet, but his work is extraordinary. You two will surely—”

The office door opened.

“Grace, I’m here to pick up—”

The voice stopped.

Harper knew that voice.

For seven years, she had tried not to remember the depth of it, the familiar rhythm, the way a single word from him used to make the rest of the world seem quieter.

She turned slowly.

Mason Reed stood in the doorway with a black camera bag slung over his shoulder.

He was taller than she remembered—or perhaps she had simply forgotten how much space he could occupy without even trying. His shoulders were broader, his jaw more defined, and the sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms far more muscular than those of the lanky teenager she had left behind.

But his eyes were the same.

Dark brown. Calm. Observant.

The kind of eyes that had always made Harper feel as though he could read her like her favorite book.

Mason looked at her.

He didn't smile. Didn't laugh in surprise. Didn't even pretend this was a pleasant coincidence.

He simply stood there, looking at her as though the past seven years had just collapsed into the space between them.

Grace glanced between them, still smiling.

“Mason! Perfect timing. Harper Bennett just got back to town. She’s helping with the festival decorations. You two must—”

“Yeah,” Mason interrupted.

His voice was polite, but the warmth Harper remembered was nowhere to be found. He shifted his attention to Grace.

“I’m here for the hard drive.”

Grace blinked, finally registering that something about the room had changed.

“Oh. Right. Of course. Give me a second.”

She turned toward her desk and began rummaging through a drawer.

Harper remained rooted to the spot, gripping the cupcake box a little too tightly.

The cardboard bent beneath her fingers.

She should say something.

Hi.

Long time no see.

Sorry I broke up with you over the phone when we were eighteen.

None of those seemed particularly appropriate for a first conversation in seven years.

Mason stepped farther into the room, passing close enough that Harper caught the scent of wood soap and black coffee.

She remembered that smell.

Of course she remembered it.

Her fingers tightened around the box again, and she forced herself to look away before the sting behind her eyes became impossible to ignore.

Mason paused beside her.

For one brief, terrible moment, she thought he might say something else. Something real. Something that would make the last seven years feel less like a wall between them.

Instead, he glanced down at her, his expression unreadable.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Look who decided to visit.”

The words were quiet. Almost casual.

Somehow, that made them worse.

Harper lifted her chin and summoned the brightest, fakest smile she had perfected during years of corporate meetings in Los Angeles.

“Hi, Mason,” she said, aiming for cheerful and landing somewhere closer to strained. “Good to see you, too.”

He didn't return the smile.

He gave a brief nod, accepted the hard drive Grace handed him, and headed for the door.

He didn't look back.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Harper stared at the empty doorway, the cupcake box still clutched in her hands.

One of the cupcakes had probably been crushed.

She hoped it was Grace’s favorite.

Because if the first five minutes of being back in Bellweather Cove were any indication, six weeks suddenly seemed like a very, very long time.