The light-green storefront with white lettering comes into view—coffee, only a few feet away. I trudge the rest of the way, crossing the empty street, and then hop up on the sidewalk. I can smell the coffee from here—glorious, glorious coffee.

The bell above the door rings when I open it, and I come face to face with a very busy shop.

Goodness.

I wasn’t expecting this many people so early in the morning. Then again, it looks like the decorating brigade is awake and elbows deep in lights and wreaths. Odd, they don’t usually decorate this early—then again, I haven’t been around much; maybe their schedule has changed.

I take my place in line behind a brunette and glance around the shop. Ruth, the owner, has done a great job preserving it, adding her own touch with the old farmhouse look but maintaining the structural integrity and moldings.

One of the few memories I have of my mom was when she brought me to Snow Roast on a Saturday afternoon. The shop owner at that time brought us a plate of cookies and hot chocolate. We sat in the window booth and watched as snow fell over the street, blanketing everything in white. It was a month before my mom passed away from breast cancer; I was five. But it’s still one of my fondest memories. Even though my mom was so sick, her hair had fallen out, and she was as pale as the snow just outside the window, she had the brightest smile on her face as she slid the plate of cookies toward me.

Eyes still trained on the window, remembering my mom’s face, I take a step forward as the line moves but bump into the girl in front of me.

“Oh, excuse me, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay.” The girl turns around; recognition lights up her face. “You’re Harper, right? Harper Sanders?”

“Yes.” I take her extended hand, trying to place her face but having a hard time.

“I’m Ren, Griffin’s girlfriend. We didn’t get to officially meet.” Funny how she doesn’t have to say Griffin’s last name. When it comes to Port Snow, there really is only one Griffin, one Reid, one Brig, and . . . one Rogan.

“Oh, hi, it’s so nice to meet you.”

According to my dad, who read it in the town newspaper—which is basically just a gossip rag with a small back page offering the rest of the news—Griffin Knightly has found love again. I was so happy when he told me. Claire’s death was beyond tragic and cast a dark cloud over the town. She was so beloved in Port Snow, and Griffin—God—she was everything to him. The devastating toll it took on the family and everyone around them, the sorrow I felt for a dear friend I grew up admiring . . . it was hard on everyone. I just wish I could have been there for the Knightlys. It’s one of my biggest regrets, not being able to set aside my heartbreak to take care of my friends.

“Thanks for letting me crash your birthday party,” I say, feeling a little awkward.

“I’m just sad we didn’t get to talk before you left.”

“Yeah, it kind of got awkward very quickly.” I sigh. “You probably know that Rogan and I—”

“Were engaged? Yeah, Griffin told me the whole story.” With a smile, she leans in. “Those Knightly boys can be real morons, can’t they?”

That makes me chuckle and stills the churning in my stomach. “They really can be.”

“And they make it seem like they’re the most intelligent men, but when it comes to love, they are deaf, blind, and stupid.”

I don’t think I could have said it any better.

“It’s true.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re out and about. I heard, through the gossip, of course”—we roll our eyes in unison—“that you’re working up at the inn?”

“Yeah, for now. I’m kind of trying to figure things out.” I don’t give away too much; even though Ren is really sweet, I don’t entirely trust her to not say anything to Griffin, who in return would tell Rogan. That family can never keep a secret.

“What better place to do it than in Port Snow?” Ren smiles as we take another step forward, poor Ruth running around fulfilling orders and taking payments. Thankfully, she has another girl working with her. “I moved here in the summer. I’m from California.”

“Really?” I ask, shocked. “What made you move all the way to tiny Port Snow?”

We’re now standing side by side in line as if we’ve been friends forever. I have to admit I’m kind of glad I came out to town today.

“I was in a near-death accident, and I wanted a change once I healed. I searched for a small town to settle in, and since Port Snow had an opening for an algebra teacher, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to start a new chapter in my life. I did not expect to fall so in love with the town or with Griffin. Living here has healed me.” Suddenly serious, Ren turns toward me and places her hand on mine. “I know you’re hurting, but I hope you can find the same kind of healing I found here.”

I smile politely. “Thanks, but I think there are too many memories to help me heal.”

“Sometimes memories are what you need to remind you who you are and where you come from.” She winks and steps up to the counter, smiling brightly at a stressed Ruth. “The usual, and I’ll be buying for my new friend, Harper, as well.”

“Hey, Ruth.” I give her a small wave.

“Harper, I’m so happy to see you again.” Ruth wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, moving a lock of hair to the side. “You have to come back when I’m not so busy so we can catch up.”

“I will for sure.”

We put in our orders, I thank Ren for the coffee, and then after we get our cups, we part with a promise to meet up. Ren walks toward the Lobster Landing, the prominent white building at the end of Main Street, most likely to hang out with Griffin, while I turn in the opposite direction, her words resonating with me.

Sometimes memories are what you need to remind you who you are and where you come from.

Who am I? I’m not sure I ever knew who I was outside of my love for Rogan. The moment, years ago, when we made out in the manor, when we became boyfriend and girlfriend, changed everything, morphed my life into living for another human rather than myself.

When people say their partner is their “everything,” that couldn’t ring more true for me, or for Rogan, actually. I know it wasn’t a one-way affection; hell, there were times I really wondered if Rogan loved me more. I could feel it in my bones, the kind of care he had for me.

By senior year, scouts from schools across the country were seeking him out, but he waited to see where I was accepted before he chose. He wanted to go to school with me, even though I applied to all the schools that offered him a full ride. I based every single decision around him and his dreams. We ended up at Syracuse University, and I don’t regret it, because it was what I wanted at the time. But after we broke up, I realized that I had never truly discovered who I was or what I was supposed to do with my life.

After Rogan dropped out of college, I followed quickly behind, which was a huge mistake. Try getting a job as a college dropout with zero ambition and a penchant for crying every few hours. I couldn’t stay in Syracuse; the reminder of college, of the accident, of our demise, was too painful. But going back to Port Snow where Rogan was living wasn’t an option either. So I started traveling up and down the East Coast, getting gigs as a tour guide in different cities and doing the one thing I know how to do: talk about the beauty and history of New England with visitors.

But being a tour guide isn’t my life’s passion, and it barely pays the bills. I want to do better than that. I don’t want to have to live with my dad for the rest of my life. I’m twenty-eight, and I need to figure out what I want in life and move past the man who still owns my heart.

Taking a sip of my coffee, I stroll down Main Street, slowly meandering along. There are swarms of dutiful volunteers out here today, cheerily helping create the picture-perfect Christmas wonderland. But . . . why? There isn’t even snow on the ground yet. Though I have to admit the decorations are putting me in a better mood. Besides summer, Christmas is my favorite time of the year in Port Snow. There’s something so magical about it.

“Whoa, almost ran you over there.”

I abruptly stop, my coffee sloshing in my cup. I look up to find Griffin Knightly smiling down at me. All the brothers look like each other, though they carry enough small differences that if you know them well enough, you can tell them apart. But they all share those soulful blue eyes. Looking into one pair almost feels like you’re looking into all four sets.

“Oh, Griffin, hey.”

He steadies me with a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry about that. I’ve been all over the town this morning; I should pay attention to where I’m going.”

“Not a problem.” I sidestep, trying to look anywhere but in his eyes. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“I could use a little break.” He nods toward a bench stationed right outside the art gallery. “Take a seat with me for a second.”