Billionaire Returns to Hometown After 15 Years, Never Thought His First Love Would Still Be There
Return to Maple Ridge
The familiar scent of pine and freshly cut grass hit Griffin Lancaster the moment he stepped out of his sleek black Bentley.
This was a jarring contrast to the sterile air-conditioned skyscrapers of Manhattan he’d grown accustomed to.
Maple Ridge hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. There was the same weathered welcome sign and the same cozy storefronts lining Main Street.
He felt the same feeling of being trapped that had driven him away all those years ago.
Yet now, at thirty-five, with billions in his bank account and an empire at his command, he felt something unexpected: nostalgia.
“Mr. Lancaster, shall I check us into the hotel?” his assistant asked, already tapping away at her tablet.
Griffin shook his head.
“No, I’ll handle it.”
“Take the day off, Patricia. I need to do this alone.”
Patricia nodded, accustomed to his occasional need for solitude despite rarely understanding it.
How could she? Griffin’s life was meticulously scheduled, planned down to fifteen-minute intervals.
This was a necessary evil when you’re running Lancaster Technologies, the fastest-growing tech company on the Fortune 500.
This trip wasn’t on any schedule. The call about his father’s heart attack had come three days ago.
For the first time in years, Griffin had dropped everything.
Now he stood in the center of the town he’d fought so hard to escape, feeling like both a stranger and a native son.
He walked down Main Street, ignoring the curious glances from locals who clearly recognized him.
His face had been on enough magazine covers that anonymity was impossible, even in a town where people proudly proclaimed they didn’t follow big-city news.
The Maple Inn looked exactly the same. It was a charming three-story Victorian with peeling white paint and a wraparound porch.
Griffin pushed open the door, hearing the familiar bell jingle overhead.
“Be right with you,” called a voice from the back office.
It was a voice that made Griffin freeze in place.
He knew that voice. He had dreamed of it for years before forcing himself to forget.
When Emma Foster walked out from the back room, wiping flower-covered hands on her apron, time seemed to fold in on itself.
Her dark auburn hair was shorter now, falling just past her shoulders instead of down her back.
Fine lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes when she looked up.
But those eyes—warm, intelligent, and the color of honey—were exactly as he remembered.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize him.
Then her eyes widened. The stack of clean towels she’d been carrying tumbled to the floor.
“Griffin,” she whispered, as though saying his name too loudly might make him disappear.
“Hello, Emma,” he replied.
His practiced corporate tone failed him, leaving his voice rough with emotion. Fifteen years dissolved in an instant.
Emma’s shock quickly transformed into something harder to read.
“What are you doing here?”
“My father had a heart attack.”
Her expression softened immediately.
“I heard. I’m sorry. How is he?”
“Stable. Stubborn as ever.”
Griffin cleared his throat.
“I didn’t expect to see you here. Last I heard, you were heading to Chicago for art school.”
Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“Plans change.”
She bent down to retrieve the fallen towels.
“You need a room, I assume?”
“Yes, just for a few days.”
“We’re pretty full with the Maple Festival this weekend, but I can give you room seven.”
She consulted her computer.
“It has the best view of the mountains.”
It was also the room where they’d first—Griffin pushed the thought away.
“That’ll be fine.”
She handed him a key, an actual metal key, not a key card. Some things truly never changed in Maple Ridge.
“Breakfast is still from seven to nine,” she said formally.
“The Wi-Fi password is on the desk, though I imagine your satellite phone has better reception than our internet.”
Griffin took the key, their fingers brushing. He felt a jolt that had nothing to do with static electricity.
“Emma, I—”
“Your father will be happy to see you,” she interrupted. “He talks about you all the time.”
Griffin doubted that very much.
Their last conversation had involved a lot of shouting about wasted potential and abandoning family legacy.
“I’ll be sure to tell him you said hello.”
He took his key and turned toward the stairs, acutely aware of her eyes on his back.
Fifteen years ago, he’d left this town with nothing but a duffel bag and a scholarship to MIT.
He’d left her with nothing but a promise to return that he’d never kept.
Now he had everything he’d ever wanted, except the one thing he’d left behind.
