Ivy stood behind a tall guy in line. He had broad shoulders, dark hair curling out from a black knit hat, and a thick tan work jacket. The jeans were clean, but the cuffs were as frayed as the boots were scuffed. He smelled of soap, hints of sawdust, and cold, salty air. At the register when he ordered, his voice triggered waves of memories. He was Dalton Manchester, her old ex–best friend Dani’s older brother.

They had gone to high school together, but he’d been a senior when she was a freshman. Smart, athletic, nice, he wasn’t dashing or overtly sexy, but his gray eyes always focused when he spoke to you. No drive-by comments or half listening. When you had his attention, you had it. Anyone on campus with a heartbeat was aware of Dalton.

Not ready for a trip down memory lane rutted with her own failings, she ducked her head and held back as he paid for his order. At the register, she selected the number four, which included eggs, bacon, pancakes, and a bottomless coffee cup. She handed the cashier a ten.

“That’s four dollars and five cents change.” The cashier was a few years younger and had dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her bronzed face set off blue eyes already feathered by crow’s-feet.

“Great price,” Ivy said.

“You’re the first to say so,” she said. “We raised prices January first by a dollar, and I haven’t heard the end of it since.”

Ivy shoved the change in her jeans pocket. “I’ve been living in New York for a few years.”

“Well, that explains it. The only time I went to New York was for my junior high school trip. I remember paying eight dollars for a plain bagel and a small coffee.”

“Was the bagel good?”

She grinned. “Not bad, but I’d put Dotty’s pancakes up against it anytime.”

“I’m counting on it.” New York’s fast pace still ingrained deep into her bones, she skipped the chitchat, filled a white stoneware mug with coffee, and found a table in the corner.

She took several sips of coffee, savored the flavor and kick, and then reached for her phone. Automatically, she opened her email, searching for restaurant correspondence. Senseless to keep checking, but ties never severed as cleanly as anyone liked. There were a few messages from vendors wishing her well, but most were inquiring about unpaid invoices or confirming an order. Gino had relied on her a great deal in the last year. Oh well.

“Ivy?”

Dalton’s voice sounded like it had been textured with Tar Heel sand. She looked into gray eyes honed by a dozen years and an eternal tan earned on construction sites. A thick, dark beard hinted at the rebel who’d climbed the Currituck water tower at thirteen, driven to California and back in his Jeep at sixteen, and passed on a full ride to Duke University in exchange for a navy enlistment. “Dalton.”

“So you’re back for a while, or is this another quick visit?” Lines creased the edges of his eyes, and more salt sprinkled his dark hair.