The Winter Berry House

About the Author

CAROLINE FLYNN is a Canadian writer from Northern Ontario. She doesn’t have to imagine what small town life is like – she lives it every day. Caroline loves everything book related, whether it’s reading them or writing them, and she is the dog-mom of an eccentric brindle boxer named Jazz (who makes an appearance in The Forget-Me-Not-Bakery!). Caroline uses her coffee addiction to fuel her writing passion, and she can’t imagine devoting her life to being anything other than an author.

She loves connecting with readers! You can find her at @flynnromance on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

Also by Caroline Flynn

The Forget-Me-Not Bakery

The Winter Berry House

CAROLINE FLYNN

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Caroline Flynn

Caroline Flynn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008409036

Version: 2020-09-18

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Caroline Flynn

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1: Kait

Chapter 2: Branch

Chapter 3: Kait

Chapter 4: Branch

Chapter 5: Kait

Chapter 6: Branch

Chapter 7: Kait

Chapter 8: Branch

Chapter 9: Kait

Chapter 10: Branch

Chapter 11: Kait

Chapter 12: Branch

Chapter 13: Kait

Chapter 14: Branch

Chapter 15: Kait

Chapter 16: Branch

Chapter 17: Kait

Chapter 18: Branch

Chapter 19: Kait

Chapter 20: Branch

Chapter 21: Kait

Chapter 22: Branch

Chapter 23: Kait

Epilogue: Branch

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

This one’s for you, Erica.

Chapter 1

Kait

‘Two coffees and a slice of lemon meringue pie to share, please, Kait.’

‘So, the usual,’ Kait replied with a grin. She didn’t even bother to write the order down on her notepad, leaving it tucked away in the left side-pocket of her apron. ‘Two forks?’ she asked, though she knew the answer before the question left her mouth.

‘You betcha.’ Arnold’s enthusiasm belied his advanced age. His genuine smile did, too.

‘Coming right up.’

Arnold and Jemima Jackson came into the diner – The Port, as it was officially called – every day at two o’clock on the dot without fail, and they ordered the same two coffees and one slice of pie with two forks. Not even the homemade Christmas cake with brown sugar sauce that had been added to today’s dessert menu could sway them from their usual lemon meringue slice. They always stayed until three-thirty, leaving a two-dollar tip on the table under one of the coffee mugs before they left for their daily stroll down the boardwalk to watch the boats come into the harbor, their matching walking canes tapping in perfect synchronicity the whole way.

And every day that Kait Davenport worked, she watched the elderly couple in whimsical awe as they held each other’s hands, their fingers gnarled and wrinkled with the decades gone by, lost in their own simple, soft-spoken conversation like no one else was in the room. They were both well into their eighties, and she pondered what a love like that must be like.

‘They’re at it again,’ Kait whispered to Janna as she rounded the counter and worked on getting the Jacksons’ order together. ‘Making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.’

Janna, donning an identical lavender uniform and deep purple apron, gave Kait a brief sideways glance, too caught up in her bid to arrange six cups of coffee on a tray and not spill a drop to offer up her full attention. Her mouth curved up at the corners, though, and she shook her head. ‘You’re such a sucker for that kind of thing.’

‘I can’t help it if I love the idea of love.’ Kait took the coffee pot from Janna when she offered it. ‘And you’re lucky you’re family or you wouldn’t be getting away with calling me a sucker.’

That earned her a full-blown eye roll. ‘It’s because I’m your sister that I know exactly why you shouldn’t be such a sucker for love,’ she replied. Plunking a pile of creamer pods in the middle of her well-balanced circle of coffee mugs, Janna heaved the tray up onto the palm of her outstretched hand. ‘We Davenport women will never learn.’

Kait watched her older sister head back to the table of six she was serving. There was only a three-year difference between them, but Janna may as well have been decades older the way she assumed her motherly role where Kait was concerned instead of acting like the thirty-two-year-old woman she was. Kait didn’t blame her, though. She couldn’t. Becoming a single mom of twins and raising those two babies on the meager income of a small-town diner gig was reason enough for Janna to adopt her overprotective parenting ways. Kait’s romantic track record only added fuel to the fire.

Living in Port Landon her entire life had its perks. There was always a friendly face to be found no matter where she was, she didn’t have to use her bank card to ‘check in’ at the local bank because every teller there could pull her up in their system by name alone, and she never had to explain their complicated family dynamic, as the community knew very well that she lived with her sister and neither one of them was married.

Having everyone know their business was a drawback, too, though. Kait had grown up amongst the people who surrounded her, and those same people knew all the things that twenty-nine-year-old Kait would just as soon forget. All the things that her eighteen-year-old self had done, believed, and lost were at the top of that lengthy list. As close-knit as Port Landon was, the town as a collective whole sometimes wasn’t too keen on leaving things buried in the past, intent on the constant reminiscing and recollecting that an aging population was known for. They didn’t forget.

Neither did Janna, by the sounds of it. Kait didn’t either, but she was at least hopeful, even if bleakly so, that real love did exist. If it could for Arnold and Jemima Jackson, lasting the span of some sixty odd years, then surely she had half a chance at it, too.

‘Earth to Kait.’

Hand suspended above the lemon meringue pie, Kait’s attention snapped back to the here and now. A pair of familiar hazel eyes stared at her, eyebrows arched high on his forehead. She sliced the pie and placed it onto the dessert plate beside it. ‘Creature of habit, aren’t you?’ She said it in jest, one corner of her mouth lifting, but Kait had to hold back the defeated sigh she felt pleading to be released from her throat.

Zach Canton stared at her from over the counter, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘Got to see my girl,’ he quipped. ‘Wouldn’t want you to think I forgot about you.’

It would be funny if Kait didn’t find it so sad. Or frustratingly repetitive.

‘I’m not your girl, Zach,’ she playfully admonished him, setting the knife down before she shook a finger at him. ‘I’m your friend. Just friends, remember?’

Zach didn’t wilt at the reminder, and his smirk didn’t falter. It never did when they had this conversation, which was almost daily. ‘I know,’ he advised with a wink, holding up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I don’t mean anything by it, you know that. Old habits die hard, I guess.’

The only thing Kait did know was that it had been years since they’d tried to date. Despite their incompatibility as romantic partners – even after being friends throughout high school before they attempted to take things further – Zach had yet to fully realize that there wouldn’t be a second chance for them as lovers. Kait believed in love, but she also believed that true love couldn’t be forced. She couldn’t fake it, not even for the sake of a man she had been friends with for half her lifetime.

Besides, she had already experienced love once, the kind that came effortlessly and passionately without conscious decision, and look where that had got her. More than ten years after that fiasco, she was still here in Port Landon, still wishing for a romance that would survive the test of time, and still knowing in her gut that kind of love didn’t come along twice in one lifetime.

Maybe Janna’s pessimism was starting to rub off on her.

‘Sorry,’ she sighed, fully aware she was being a bit more standoffish about Zach’s advances than usual. It had been years since they broke up, and years since he first started visiting her at the diner during her shifts. Today was no different than any other day in their tiny town, so Kait really had no reason to be as on edge than she was. ‘I’m just tired,’ she explained. ‘Janna had the evening shift last night, so I was with the kids till she got home after ten. Who knew twin boys were so exhausting?’ She offered a grin up as she said it, and luckily her friend took the bait.

‘No need to apologize,’ he replied. ‘You never need to explain yourself to me, you know that.’

Now she felt even worse for reprimanding him about his flirting. It was harmless, he was harmless, and he’d been doing it for years. Yet, Zach was right. He never made her explain herself to him, never asked for anything other than her company. Though she knew he would jump at the chance to rekindle their bygone romance, Zach had been a good friend to her over the years. One of her only friends save for Allison, who owned the local coffeehouse, and more recently, Paige, the owner of Port Landon’s very own bakery. Zach had stuck by her since high school, despite everything he’d been through during that tumultuous time. Despite everything Kait had been through. Together, the two of them had that much in common; their senior high school years weren’t ones they liked to reminisce about.

‘Let me get this pie and coffee to the Jacksons, then I’ll be back.’ She scooped the plate, forks, and coffee tray up and carried them over to Arnold and Jemima’s booth near the window facing out onto the sidewalk.

‘That boy doesn’t miss a beat, does he?’ Arnold blurted as she set the plate down in the middle of the table. The coffee mugs swayed dangerously on the tray, but thankfully Kait managed to maneuver them onto the table before her surprise caused her to spill them. Jemima, never one to comment about other people, swatted her husband’s arm.

‘Arnie!’ she hissed over the faint melody of Christmas carols that floated through the diner.

Unfazed, Arnold nodded his gratitude for the coffee and pie, but he pinned Kait with a knowing stare. ‘Don’t be shushing me, now,’ he replied. ‘Young Kait knows exactly what I’m referring to. That Canton boy’s only got eyes for you.’

Kait might have known that, even without Arnold’s comment, but a warm blush still crept into her cheeks at having it pointed out. ‘We’re friends, Arnold,’ she choked out. It had been a long time since someone outwardly suggested something more between them. To her face, anyway. ‘Just friends.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded, a knowing glint in his eye. ‘And that’s because you still only got eyes for somebody else, huh?’

‘Arnold Frederick Jackson!’ Jemima hissed. Reaching out to pat Kait’s arm, the elderly woman gazed up at her with pleading and apologetic eyes. ‘Sorry, Kait, dear, it seems he’s forgotten his manners today.’

Kait’s throat thickened with embarrassment, but she forced a smile onto her face, placing her own hand over Jemima’s. ‘No need to worry,’ she assured her, giving them both the most nonchalant expression she could muster. Leaning in, she shook a playful finger at Arnold. ‘We’re just friends,’ she whispered with a grin. ‘Now, enjoy your pie.’

The entire way back behind the counter, one word reverberated through her mind on a constant loop. Still. He hadn’t suggested she merely had eyes for somebody else, Arnold had said she still had eyes for someone else. Still. And there was only one man she’d ever fallen head over heels in love with, and everyone knew it. Even Arnold Jackson.

Damn you, Branch, she screamed in her mind. You’re still making a fool of me after all these years. Not only a fool, but also an unwilling believer in things she didn’t want to believe in at all. There was a man sitting before her right now, ready and able to love her with every fiber of his being, yet Kait couldn’t and wouldn’t allow it. Because she didn’t love him the same way. Because she believed there were a lot of things in life that were ordinary, and love wasn’t supposed to be one of them. Love, she believed, was meant to be consuming and wild and passionate, and she believed it for one reason and one reason only.

Because she had experienced it with Branch Sterling. Even as teenagers, they had known their love was different, somehow. There wasn’t a thing mediocre about it.

And he’d still betrayed her and broken her heart.

Damn you, Branch, she thought again.

‘Something wrong?’ Zach’s voice cut through her searing thoughts. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Interesting choice of words, considering it felt like the ghost of her first love was never far from her. Most of the time, folks around Port Landon were too polite to mention his name to her face, but Kait still heard the sporadic tidbits of information about him that drifted through the town. After his grandmother, a long-time and well-loved resident of the small town, passed away last year, there had been a landslide of mentions regarding him, speculation about the fact that he never returned for more than a few days at a time, and when he was there no one seemed to know about it until he was already gone. Branch knew how to stay under the radar, which was saying something seeing as there was no greater force to be reckoned with than the nosy neighbors and other members of a small, close-knit community.

‘I’m fine,’ was all Kait could manage. ‘You want a coffee or something? I can get you a menu.’ Coming there daily, there was no way Zach required one, and he could probably recite the list of dishes offered by heart, but Kait needed to say something to get beyond the meddling memories that were catapulting around in her brain.

Zach, however, furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Is this about Branch?’

‘Is everyone thinking of Branch freaking Sterling today?’ Kait snarled, throwing down the bar towel she had just picked up.

‘Sorry.’ Her friend’s hands shot up in surrender, fingertips pointed toward the ceiling. ‘I just thought … that haunted look on your face …’ He cleared his throat, softening the edge in his voice. ‘I figured it must be because of him.’

Immediately, Kait despised the fact that he was right, that it was that obvious, and that she was that predictable. It took a lot to get on the bad side of Kait Davenport, who was known for being a happy-go-lucky, spirited woman. But only one person had ever managed to hurt her so irrevocably that the simple mention of his name could incite feelings of turmoil and rage. And that person was the man she had loved passionately and wildly at the tender age of eighteen … Branch Sterling.

‘Arnold brought him up,’ she replied quietly, pouring Zach a coffee he hadn’t asked for, purely so her hands were busy doing something, anything. ‘Well, kind of.’

Zach simply nodded as she slid the coffee mug toward him. ‘Everyone seems to be talking about him lately.’ He reached for the sugar dispenser. ‘The guy didn’t even stick around after Addie’s funeral, yet he has the audacity to think he’ll be welcomed here now, after all these years?’

Mouth gaping, Kait struggled to take in an adequate breath of air. ‘Wait, what?’

Zach went still, hand suspended just above his mug. ‘Branch,’ he said, suddenly looking unsure of himself. ‘You said that’s who Arnold and Jemima were talking about, right?’

Kait waved a hand dismissively. This was no time to discuss the not-so-misguided conversations of a couple in their eighties. ‘Zach, forget them. What are you talking about?’

He stared at her for a beat too long, but there was no way to get out of the uncomfortable exchange without divulging what he knew. ‘Kait, Branch is back,’ he explained calmly. ‘And if the rumors are true, he might be around for a while.’

Chapter 2

Branch

Hometowns were supposed to be where it all began, where folks got their start in life, survived their adolescence and grew into the people they were meant to become.

For Branch Sterling, Port Landon was the beginning of the end. Nothing in this town had been his for his entire life, yet the memories he had of it were the ones that had shaped him into the man he was. The good and the bad.

He pulled the rented Ford Escape into the familiar paved double driveway he used to spend summers practicing his basketball skills on. Okay, more like his lack of skills, but he loved the game, nonetheless. His grandparents had even surprised him with not one, but two, portable basketball nets so he and his friends could turn that big ol’ driveway into a full-fledged court.

God, he missed them. The two people who took him in when he had no one else, and who believed in him and his abilities regardless of his aptitude or belief in himself.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Branch forced himself to kill the engine and get out. He couldn’t sit in the driveway and hide forever. Besides, this was Port Landon. The SUV had been in Grandma Addie’s driveway for only a few minutes, but the ever-watching eyes of the neighbors would have seen it by now. If people didn’t already know he was back in town, which he highly doubted, they would soon enough. Nothing and no one went unnoticed in a small town. Or unspeculated. Or un-gossiped. Those weren’t real words, but they were very real things within the town limits of this place.

Branch didn’t bother locking the Escape. He hadn’t been here since Grandma Addie’s funeral the year before, and even then he’d only stayed a handful of days, but he doubted things had changed so much that folks had to lock up their vehicles and homes in broad daylight.

One glance at the old Ford Bronco in the driveway and he was glad he had chosen to rent a car instead of taking a gamble on his grandparents’ vehicles. The Bronco was Grandpa Duke’s, and though he had passed away three years before Branch’s grandmother, the old vehicle hadn’t moved since the day he went into the hospital and didn’t come home. Grandma Addie never touched it, and she certainly wouldn’t sell it. She couldn’t. It wasn’t hers to sell, she said. And his grandfather had been adamant to anyone who’d listen about who’s Bronco it was. It was to be Branch’s should anything ever happen to him.

Along with everything else, it turned out.

His grandparents’ only child was Branch’s mother, Lucinda, and when she died alongside Branch’s father in a car accident when Branch was only eleven, they lost not only their immediate family, but the rightful heir to all the assets they’d accumulated throughout their lives. Which left Branch, the kid who inherited it after they had inherited him all those years ago.

And now, as he stared up at the looming Victorian home he had grown up in from the tender age of eleven onward, the house that had held so much warmth and comfort and unconditional love, Branch knew he would give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant he could have one more day with the man and woman who made him into the man he’d come to be.

On paper, Grandma Addie’s estate had been dealt with a year ago. Branch could have requested time away from work and taken the time to sort through their house and belongings then. There was no reason why it couldn’t have been dealt with by now.

No reason except that it wasn’t just a bunch of tangible belongings to him. Just like Port Landon wasn’t just a town. His grandparents’ home had been his home, and everything in it was a painful reminder of what, and who, he was never going to get back. He didn’t care about the monetary value of any of it. That just wasn’t who he was, or how he was raised. He’d never required a lot of money to survive, and his job in a fly-in, fly-out remote location in Northern Alberta as a mechanical engineer gave him what he needed. Besides, his grandparents made sure he wasn’t somebody who saw money as a measure of success.

Branch didn’t want money, he wanted his family. He wanted the life he’d dreamed of right here in this house when he was a teenager, back when he thought the universe cared at all about his hopes and dreams. At the time, he didn’t think he was asking for much: a good job, a family he could support and be supported by, and a love that made the movies of Hollywood pale in comparison. At eighteen years old, he thought he was on course to have exactly that.

Then, it was all ripped from his grasp.

So, when he passed the Port Landon town limit sign, he didn’t look back.

Until now.

More than ten years ago, Branch had left the only home he’d ever really known, and now he was back. He was back, and that home was his. It was the only thing he had left.

Unlocking the front door and stepping over the threshold, he didn’t know how he was going to do it. Sort through the six decades’ worth of stuff inside his grandparents’ home. Deal with the prying eyes of everyone who passed by and offered him a fleeting glance. Most of all, he had no idea how he was going to face all the emotions and memories he had tried so hard to outrun. He had run full circle, ending up exactly where it all began.

And ended.

Somehow, Branch knew the house would be the same as the Bronco in the driveway – untouched and exactly the way he remembered it save for signs of wear and elapsed time. Grandma Addie had always been an advocate for change, and welcomed it when it came, but she had never seen the need to change something unnecessarily. Therefore, though the lights all worked and the furnishings were well maintained, most things inside the sprawling Victorian home were either antique or blatantly outdated.

As soon as he kicked off his work boots and began to dawdle slowly from one room to the next, he didn’t see it so much as felt it – the familiarity, the solace … the feeling of home. The same rush of relief spread through him that he’d felt the moment he drove into town, passing the town limit sign at a crawl. Branch might not have wanted Port Landon to be his home, but he couldn’t seem to tell his heart otherwise.