“I’m surprised Grandma isn’t here already.” I look around to find none of my family members’ cars in the parking lot.

“Your family is on their way, but there’s a traffic jam and they’re delayed,” Mr. Big responds.

“Traffic jam in Cherrywood. That’s news.” I check my phone, and there’s a text from Dad saying the same.

“An ice-cream truck wrecked, and now there’s ice cream all over the main square,” Mr. Big explains. “There’s extensive cleaning going on.”

“Now, that’s more likely.” I chuckle and don’t miss the smile on Lukas’ face.

“That would be a sight to see, especially if there are kids licking the street,” Gavin comments with a straight face as he dumps Lukas’ luggage onto the porch.

“Oh God. I hope that doesn’t happen.”

I’m actually surprised by Gavin’s funny remark. He didn’t speak a word the entire ride. He almost looks scary, his towering height not helping much, of course. Unlike Lukas, who has a drool-worthy, panty-melting physique, Gavin gives that gym trainer vibe. Moreover, everything about him is unrestrained, including the tattoos covering his arms.

“Can you show me where to put this?” Gavin asks Mr. Big, motioning toward the luggage.

“Sure.”

Once the two men are gone, Lukas scans our surroundings. His gaze halts for a moment too long at the flowers next to the entrance. This was our parking lot a few years ago. The place where Lukas parked his bike, and we got married.

Is he remembering it?

“Everything looks exactly as you described in your emails.” He smiles.

So much is the same, and so much is different.

Whenever I received an email from him, I’d experience a warmth shooting through me. Something one feels when sipping hot chocolate in the snow or drinking pumpkin soup in the fall. It’s safe and familiar.

Lukas has always been that.

But now, I can’t avoid the way my pulse skitters when his biceps curl in the blue cotton T-shirt.

I can’t forget the way my heart fluttered when I asked him if he needed a jacket, to which he oh-so-gratefully replied that he doesn’t feel cold. My palms turn sweaty as I take in the masculinity oozing out of him. Was he this handsome when I saw him four years ago, or are my hormones finally kicking in?

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been imagining how the rest of him looks without that thin shirt.

“Hi,” Emma, our front desk supervisor, squeals before clearing her throat. I wonder if she’s rating Lukas like we always do whenever a hot male guest walks in. “Mr. Big said we have a special guest today.”

She looks Lukas up and down, lingering a little longer on the sling over his arm.

He shrugs. “It’s a minor injury.”