“With...” Shit. Now I remember Brenden once talking about why he chose to move to Mayweather. Because May’s mom—his best friend—had told him how much she loved it here. “I’m so sorry. I guess I forgot, but Brenden did mention that before.”

“No need to be sorry,” Grant assures me. “I know we don’t talk about our daughter much. Honestly, it’s a little hard being here. We... Well, that’s sort of why we don’t usually stray too far from the inn or Brenden’s house when we visit. This town brings back memories.”

Hearing the tinge of pain in his voice causes a lump to form in my throat. Is that why they rarely come to visit? Brenden thinks it’s because they don’t care, but has he considered what being here is like for them?

“Let’s not spoil the lovely day,” Elise says, and this time her smile is a bit brighter. “We decided we wanted to explore more on this trip, see all that the town and the area has to offer.”

“That sounds nice.”

Grant clasps me on the shoulder. “You know, it took us a while to make the connection, but we remember your diner too. I’m sorry we can’t say it was our top choice of restaurant in the area, but April loved the pancakes, so we had to go at least once each trip.”

“Oh wow. Small world, I guess. Or small town, more like.” I smile to myself, thinking of how May always gets pancakes when she comes in for breakfast. Like mother, like daughter.

As Grant releases my shoulder, Elise steps closer. “We remember your grandfather. He used to recognize us even if we only came in once every couple years. He was a people person, treated all the customers like they were family.”

The lump in my throat is suddenly back and has grown to the size of a tennis ball, making it impossible for me to breathe. Out of the last three generations of Reed men, my grandfather was definitely the friendly one. God, he would’ve loved Brenden. Too bad he never got to meet him.

Shit. I miss that old man.

Elise must see the tears welling up in my eyes, along with the panicked look on my face—because I don’t cry, damn it, especially not in the middle of the town green—and she reaches out, loosely wrapping her fingers around my forearm.

A horn honks, and I stumble away from her touch. Whipping my head toward the sound, I spot Leo leaning out the window of my truck, giving me an impatient look.

“Sorry. I should go,” I say.

“Right,” Grant says. “We won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re busy.”