Autumn Reckonings at Hemlock Lake
The tires crunched over gravel as Emilia Scanu pulled up to her family’s cottage. The scent of pine needles and lake water reached her. Hemlock Lake. Home. A place she’d sworn never to return to after leaving for the bright lights of the city a decade ago. Now here she was, tail between her legs, her marketing career in ruins after a very public, very humiliating product launch failure.
Her father, Wallace, was waiting on the porch, his weathered face lighting up as she stepped out of the car. “Welcome home, kiddo.”
Emilia managed a tight smile in return, hauling her suitcase from the trunk. “Thanks, Dad. Just until I figure out my next move.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Of course,” Wallace said easily. “Take all the time you need. Your old room’s ready.”
Inside, the cottage was exactly as she remembered – cozy, a little shabby, full of memories. Emilia sank onto her childhood bed with a sigh, the soft quilt familiar under her hands. Outside, the lake glittered in the late afternoon sun. It was beautiful. Peaceful. Everything the city wasn’t.
The next morning, Emilia drove into town for coffee, her first stop the hardware store for a few things her dad needed. The bell above the door jingled as she entered. And there he was.
Sutton Cronin. Her high school crush, leaning against the counter talking to the clerk. He looked good. Really good. Faded jeans, work boots, a flannel shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His dark hair was a little longer, a little messy. A tool belt hung low on his hips.
At the sound of the bell, Sutton glanced over. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he saw her. “Emilia Scanu. Heard you were back in town.”
“Sutton.” Emilia kept her voice cool, controlled, even as her pulse fluttered. “Good to see you.” It was a lie. Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure.
“You too.” Sutton straightened up, his dark eyes sweeping over her in a way that made her skin prickle. “Staying long?”
“Not sure yet,” Emilia said carefully. “Just…regrouping.”
Sutton nodded. “I get that. Sometimes a change of scenery helps.” He gestured to the supplies stacked on the counter – lumber, nails, gallons of paint. “Working on the Hemlock Inn restoration. Big project.”
“I heard,” Emilia said. The historic inn had been closed for years, a sad eyesore on the edge of town. “That’s…ambitious.”
Sutton’s mouth quirked. “Someone had to do it. Town’s counting on the inn being ready for the Fall Harvest Festival. Big deadline.”
Emilia raised an eyebrow. “No pressure.”
“None at all,” Sutton agreed, his tone dry. He paid for his supplies, then turned back to her. “Good seeing you, Emilia. Don’t be a stranger while you’re here.” His dark eyes held hers for a beat too long.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Emilia murmured, her voice a little too husky.
Sutton’s smile widened. Then he was gone, pushing his cart of supplies out the door. Emilia released a slow breath, her heart thumping against her ribs. Damn. Apparently some things never changed. Sutton Cronin still had the power to fluster her.
Outside, the sun was warm on her shoulders. Autumn leaves crunched under her feet as Emilia walked back to her car, her thoughts racing. Sutton. The inn. The festival. It was only September. The festival wasn’t for weeks. But the clock was ticking. Her time here was temporary. A reset. Nothing more.
She just had to keep reminding herself of that.
The next morning, Emilia drove into town for coffee, her first stop the hardware store for a few things her dad needed. The bell above the door jingled as she entered. And there he was.
Sutton Cronin. Her high school crush, leaning against the counter talking to the clerk. He looked good. Really good. Faded jeans, work boots, a flannel shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His dark hair was a little longer, a little messy. A tool belt hung low on his hips.
At the sound of the bell, Sutton glanced over. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he saw her. “Emilia Scanu. Heard you were back in town.”
“Sutton.” Emilia kept her voice cool, controlled, even as her pulse fluttered. “Good to see you.” It was a lie. Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure.
“You too.” Sutton straightened up, his dark eyes sweeping over her in a way that made her skin prickle. “Staying long?”
“Not sure yet,” Emilia said carefully. “Just…regrouping.”
Sutton nodded. “I get that. Sometimes a change of scenery helps.” He gestured to the supplies stacked on the counter – lumber, nails, gallons of paint. “Working on the Hemlock Inn restoration. Big project.”
“I heard,” Emilia said. The historic inn had been closed for years, a sad eyesore on the edge of town. “That’s…ambitious.”
Sutton’s mouth quirked. “Someone had to do it. Town’s counting on the inn being ready for the Fall Harvest Festival. Big deadline.”
Emilia raised an eyebrow. “No pressure.”
“None at all,” Sutton agreed, his tone dry. He paid for his supplies, then turned back to her. “Good seeing you, Emilia. Don’t be a stranger while you’re here.” His dark eyes held hers for a beat too long.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Emilia murmured, her voice a little too husky.
Sutton’s smile widened. Then he was gone, pushing his cart of supplies out the door. Emilia released a slow breath, her heart thumping against her ribs. Damn. Apparently some things never changed. Sutton Cronin still had the power to fluster her.
Outside, the sun was warm on her shoulders. Autumn leaves crunched under her feet as Emilia walked back to her car, her thoughts racing. Sutton. The inn. The festival. It was only September. The festival wasn’t for weeks. But the clock was ticking. Her time here was temporary. A reset. Nothing more.
She just had to keep reminding herself of that.
Later that afternoon, Emilia found herself wandering toward the Hemlock Inn, curiosity getting the better of her. The sprawling Victorian building sat on a gentle rise overlooking the lake, its gingerbread trim and wraparound porch showing signs of Sutton’s efforts. Scaffolding climbed one side, and the scent of fresh paint lingered.
As she approached, the steady thump of hammering drew her around back. Sutton stood on a ladder, shirt off in the warm sun, muscles flexing as he worked on a section of roofing. Emilia paused, watching for a long moment. He’d filled out since high school, his shoulders broader, chest dusted with dark hair. A tool belt hung low on his narrow hips.
As if sensing her presence, Sutton glanced down. He smiled as he spotted her. “Back already?” he called, not pausing in his work. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
Emilia snorted, but felt her cheeks warm. “Just thought I’d see what all the fuss is about.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Sutton said, climbing down the ladder with easy grace. He grabbed his shirt, wiping sweat from his brow before shrugging it back on. “But she’s got good bones. Solid.”
He led her inside, showing her the progress – rooms stripped to the studs, new wiring and plumbing going in. The smell of sawdust and plaster filled the space. “It’s a lot of work,” Emilia said, impressed despite herself. “You’re doing all this yourself?”
“Mostly,” Sutton said, his pride evident. “Got a few guys helping with the big stuff, but I like having my hands on it.” His dark eyes met hers. “Always did like getting my hands dirty.”
Emilia’s breath caught, heat flooding her cheeks at the innuendo. Sutton’s smile widened, but he let the moment pass, turning instead to point out the original crown molding he was painstakingly restoring.
“The festival’s our big deadline,” he said as they stepped back outside. “Whole town’s counting on this place being ready. It’ll bring in a lot of business, help put Hemlock Lake back on the map.”
Emilia nodded, understanding that responsibility. “It’s important to you.”
“Of course,” Sutton said, his expression serious. “This town, this lake… it’s home. I’d do anything for it.” He met her eyes again, and something passed between them. “Guess I’m just a small-town boy at heart.”
Emilia looked away, her heart suddenly aching. She’d always loved that about him, his deep roots, his sense of place. It was something she’d never had, not really. Not until now. She took a slow breath, the crisp autumn air filling her lungs. The sun was starting to sink toward the horizon, casting long golden light across the lake.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said softly. “I forgot how much.”
Sutton smiled, his eyes warm. “It’s easy to take it for granted,” he said. “Till you leave. Then you realize what you’re missing.”
“Easy to take for granted,” Sutton agreed, watching her closely. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, bringing with it the scent of woodsmoke from somewhere nearby. “Till you leave. Then you realize what you’re missing.”