Kellan & Emmett: A Small Town MM Romance, page 1
KELLAN & EMMETT[1]
Gomillion High Reunion
Denver Shaw
© October 2025. Denver Shaw
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except where permitted by law.
Published by:
Shaw’s Sweetheart Books
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
All products/brand names/trademarks mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.
Cover Design by Covers by Jo
Editing by Happy Ever Author
Beta Reading by Donatella Coluzzi
Interior Formatting by Leslie Copeland
ABOUT KELLAN & EMMETT
Emmett
I never thought I’d see Kellan Miller again.
He was my best friend. The one who knew all my secrets—except the biggest one.
That I wanted him.
I told myself it was a phase, just curiosity. But deep down, I knew better.
Then, on prom night, he kissed me and the next day he was gone.
He didn’t offer an explanation. Didn’t say goodbye. Just left a hollow space in my heart—perfectly shaped like him.
Twenty years later, he showed up for our high school reunion, looking sinfully good and still hiding behind his carefully built life. The second I felt his presence again, it all came back.
The pull.
The want.
The heat.
I was out. Settled. Gomillion was my home.
If Kelly wanted a second chance, he was going to have to earn it.
Kellan
Coming back was never part of the plan.
I’d spent my whole adult life pretending that night with Emmy didn’t change me. That I could move on, build something stable, and keep my truth locked tight. But nothing about being back in our small town felt settled—not with him watching me like he couldn’t decide whether to forgive me… or tell me to get the f*ck out of his life again.
Like it was twenty years ago, being around him was the closest I ever came to feeling like I belonged.
But if I wanted a chance at something real with him, I’d have to stop hiding.
Stop running.
And start fighting for the man I should’ve never left behind.
Gomillion High Reunion series is a multi-author collaboration celebrating the 20th reunion of former classmates in a charming small town. From fake dating and long-held rivalries to first loves and second chances, anything can happen when the past and present collide. Don’t miss the reunion - RSVP today!
CONTENT WARNING
This story contains themes and situations that may be triggering for some readers, including:
● Divorce and family estrangement
● Strong language
● Explicit sexual content between consenting adults
At its heart, this is a romance with a happily-ever-after ending. Still, if any of these elements are tough for you, please proceed with care. Your well-being matters more than finishing a book.
May 22
Memory’s a stubborn thing. You’d think twenty years would fade the details, but no. I still remember the Friday night lights, sweat stinging my eyes, the roar of the crowd in my ears. And Emmett—God, I can still taste the cherry soda on his lips from that one reckless kiss. Twenty years later, and I still remember the one time I finally dared to want what I wanted. Some things don’t dim with time. They just wait, patient, like they knew you’d circle back eventually.
—K
Chapter 1
Kellan
The rental SUV hummed beneath me, dashboard clock glaring 6:42 p.m. in angry red. Less than twenty minutes until registration closed. Great job, Kellan. Twenty years gone and you’re about to blow it before you even walk in the door.
It had been a last-minute ticket, the kind you booked because quitting your job felt like ripping out the last excuse not to come. Same-day flight from LAX, delays stacking up until I’d nearly chewed my boarding pass in half. By the time I landed in Columbia, all I had was a pounding headache and a Ford Escape I’d rented that smelled like stale fries and too much air freshener.
Now the road narrowed, two lanes threading me straight back into the past. Signs of Gomillion crept in—the faded billboard for Chet’s BBQ, the old mill chimney against the treeline, the high school’s stadium lights standing tall like they’d never aged. My pulse kicked hard. That was the field where I’d played my last game, the field Dad once promised would be the start of everything.
I pressed harder on the gas, knee aching at the movement. Ghost pain, always reminding me. The truth was simpler: I’d left Gomillion, South Carolina, right after graduation and never came back. Not when my father packed us off to California, not after the injury ended everything, not even when Mom’s voice finally stopped filling my voicemail.[2]
The town sign came into view—Welcome to Gomillion. My throat tightened. No family waited here. No house to pull into. Just ghosts, and maybe one person I’d never stopped thinking about.
6:49. The reunion registration table would be shutting down in less than ten minutes, and the way things were going, I’d be lucky if I made it inside before they crossed my name off the list for good.
The dash clock glared 6:57 p.m. by the time I rolled into the high school parking lot, the rental’s engine ticking as I cut it off. Every slot was jammed with trucks and SUVs, the kind that still had hunting stickers slapped across the back windows. My hands stayed tight on the wheel for a beat longer than they should have. Twenty years gone, and here I was, about to walk into a gym full of people I’d abandoned.
“I’m too old for this shit,” I muttered.
By the time I stepped out, the heat hadn’t eased. It was still thick, sticky, the kind that glued your shirt to your spine. Not a welcome-home kind of warmth — more like a reminder I didn’t belong here anymore.
Laughter spilled from the double doors as I crossed the lot, my knee twinging with every step. Ghost pain, the kind that reminded me of everything I’d lost.
Inside, the gym hadn’t changed. Waxed floors shining under fluorescent lights. Trophy cases lined with dust. One banner still bragging about the state championship, older than half the kids serving canapés tonight.
“Holy hell, look who it is,” a voice boomed.
Justin Kirkwood, former classmate and reunion chairperson, wasn’t the scrawny, redheaded kid I remembered. Somewhere along the line, the lanky nerd had grown into himself — broader through the chest, beard trimmed neat around the fire-colored hair, glasses catching the light. The real shock, though, was the grin: wide and easy, the kind that made you forget he’d ever been the quiet kid who never cracked a joke.
“Kellan Miller,” he said, reaching over the registration table. “Thought you disappeared into the wild.”
I shook his hand, his grip firm, his voice warm. “Guess I did.”
“L.A., right? Teacher, coach? Man, you look good.” He scribbled my name onto a badge and slid it across. “Glad you came back.”
I gave him half a smile and pinned the badge to my shirt, heat crawling up my neck. Small talk had never felt heavier.
The crowd swallowed me next. Tables dotted with clusters of classmates, name tags slapped over dresses and button-downs. I recognized some faces instantly, others not at all.
At one table, Meghan Blake—now Meghan Price, I later learned—waved me over with the same easy laugh she’d had since sophomore year. “Well, if it isn’t Miller. We thought you went Hollywood on us.”
“More like coaching and grading essays on Steinbeck,” I said, sliding into a seat.
That earned a ripple of laughter, and the conversation turned quick—updates on kids, jobs, divorces, who’d never left Gomillion and who’d never come back. Trays floated past with sliders and stuffed mushrooms, carried by teens in matching polos who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.
I picked up a mini beef slider, grease bleeding into the napkin, onions caramelized just shy of burnt. It tasted like nostalgia wrapped in cheddar. I chewed, listening more than speaking.
Every so often, Emmett’s name drifted through the chatter. Remember when Kellan tried to teach him to throw a ball? Those two were thick as thieves. Heads nodded, smiles softened. Nobody asked why I’d left. Nobody guessed why I’d stayed gone.
Plates cleared. Trays returned with bite-sized cheesecakes with raspberry toppings, chocolate-dipped strawberries, lemon tarts with dollops of whipped cream and chocolate truffles glistening under the lights. Halfway through mine, my chest had finally unclenched. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe that was better.
And then the air shifted. A hush I felt more than heard. The fine hairs on my neck rose.
I looked up.
And there was Emmy.
No—Emmett.
I’d lost the right to call him that twenty years ago. I’d been the only one he let use the name.
As fate would have it, the exact second my eyes found him, he froze too. Glass halted halfway to his mouth, his gaze locking
on mine like the rest of the room had vanished.
Daily To-Do
Patch the screen door on the porch
Check the plumbing in Room Three
Pick up peaches from Granny Mae’s Peach Farm
Don’t go to the reunion Go to the reunion
Avoid Kelly Kellan
Chapter 2
Emmett
Glass halfway to my mouth, I froze.
Across the room, Kellan Miller stood with a fork in hand, cheesecake halfway gone, eyes locked on mine like the last twenty years hadn’t happened.
My chest pulled tight. One second, I was surrounded by chatter and clinking glasses. The next, the noise fell away. All I saw was him. Taller than memory. Broader. His hair a little shorter, his jaw sharper, but the same mouth I’d once known better than I should’ve. My stomach twisted.
Don’t look. Don’t you dare look.
I looked anyway.
Someone bumped into me and wine sloshed over the rim of my glass.
“Emmett James!” Brittany “Britt” St. Clair’s voice snapped me back, warm and bright as she slipped an arm through mine. Cheerleader. Same big laugh she’d had since sophomore year, same star-shaped earrings she’d worn to half the dances. “You made it! I was beginning to think you were ghosting the whole thing.”
Her smile tugged me toward the present, but Kellan was still in my line of sight. Still watching.
“Had some guests to settle in,” I said, shifting the glass before it spilled again. My voice sounded normal. Too normal. “Didn’t want to leave them hanging.”
“Always the responsible one.” Britt shook her head like it was both admirable and boring. She leaned in, lowering her voice. “You see who’s here?”
I knew who she meant before she tilted her chin toward him.
“Yeah,” I muttered. The word tasted bitter.
Britt grinned. “Wild, right? Feels like no time’s passed at all.”
For her maybe. For me, twenty years stretched like a canyon I couldn’t cross.
Britt squeezed my arm, dragging me closer to the dessert table. “Come on, you’ve got to say hi. Half these folks only roll back into town for reunions.”
The words barely landed. My gaze snagged on Kellan again. He hadn’t moved. Fork still resting in his hand, eyes still locked on me like he wasn’t sure I was real.
Heat climbed the back of my neck. Don’t react. Don’t give him that.
I pasted on a smile for one of our classmates as she chattered about her twins, her husband’s landscaping business, the fact she’d never left Gomillion. The words flowed around me while I nodded, threw in the occasional “that’s great,” and tried to keep my pulse from hammering out of my chest.
Other classmates joined in—names I remembered, others I didn’t. Jeff Duncan, still with that booming laugh. Clarissa, who apparently moved to Texas with her husband who plays for the Dallas Stars. They asked questions about the inn, about whether I’d ever thought of expanding. I answered, automatic. The truth was, I could barely hear them.
Every time I looked up, Kellan was still there.
Smile polite. Eyes too damn intent.
My chest tightened again, sharp and unwelcome. Twenty years hadn’t dulled the pain. Twenty years, and one look from him still knocked the ground out from under me.
“Emmett, you doing the Find Your Match game?” Jeff asked, shaking a card in front of my face.
“What?”
“Cards,” he said. “They hand you one when you come in. Famous duos. You gotta find your match before the music stops. Winner gets a gift card to The Roll.”
I glanced down. A card had been shoved into my hand when I signed in, but I hadn’t even looked at it. Lock.
“I’ll sit this one out,” I said, sliding it into my pocket.
“Suit yourself.” Jeff grinned and wandered off.
The gym buzzed louder as people milled around, cards raised, voices carrying as they searched for their pairings. Britt drifted off too, caught in the swell of chatter, leaving me a moment to breathe.
I pulled the card back out, thumb tracing the black letters. Lock. Childish game. But if I stood here while everyone else played, I’d just look like the killjoy I apparently was. And if there was one thing I’d learned running an inn, it was that you never wanted to be the killjoy in a room full of people having fun.
So I held it up. Circulated. People came by—smiling, comparing cards, shaking their heads when they didn’t match. I did the same, all surface, no spark.
All the while, I knew exactly where he was.
Across the room, he did the same slow loop. Every time I glanced up, his card stayed down by his side. Like he wasn’t even trying. Like he already knew where he’d end up.
My throat went dry when he finally cut across the crowd.
“Key,” his card read, bold and simple.
Of course.
He stopped just a foot away, expression somewhere between a smirk and something I couldn’t name. His voice came low, aimed only for me. “Looks like it’s still us.”
The sound of it hit harder than it should’ve. Same cadence. Same warmth underneath, though I told myself I imagined it. My grip tightened around my glass.
“Don’t read into it.” My tone came out clipped, colder than I meant, but maybe that was good. Better cold than the truth—that my heart was slamming like I’d just sprinted drills.
He tilted his head, studying me. Up close, the changes were sharper—broader shoulders filling out his button-down, lines bracketing his mouth, earned from years I hadn’t been there to see. But the eyes—God, those hazel eyes. Same as always.
“I’m not reading,” he said, slipping the card between his fingers like it was nothing. “Just stating facts. Lock. Key.”
The words pulled at something deep, some muscle memory of long afternoons when everything had been that simple—him and me, always paired off, always a set.
I forced a laugh, humorless. “Yeah, well, some locks shouldn’t be opened.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the announcer’s cheer went up across the mic. “Have we got our first five pairs? Gift cards up here, folks. Don’t be shy.”
People clapped, whooped. The noise swallowed us, but the air between me and Kellan stayed taut.
“You should go claim your prize,” I said, nodding at the table, using motion as a shield.
“I’m good.” His voice brushed low, too calm.
Silence stretched, broken only by the buzz of the crowd. My skin prickled under the weight of him standing there, close enough that I could smell a faint trace of aftershave—something clean, nothing fancy, but achingly familiar.
The announcer’s voice boomed again, declaring the winners and waving the gift cards in the air like he was hosting a game show. Laughter rippled through the gym as pairs headed up to claim their prizes. Someone bumped my shoulder on the way past, and just like that the crowd shifted, pulling me away from Kellan.
Good.
I let it happen. Let the tide of voices, the scrape of chairs, the shuffle of bodies carry me to the edges of the room. Safer there, surrounded by noise instead of silence that left too much space for old ghosts.
The next half hour blurred—conversations layered on top of each other, names tossed at me like I was supposed to remember every single face. Someone shoved a refill into my hand. Someone else asked if the inn was booked solid all summer. I smiled, nodded, gave short answers that made them move on. My eyes never stopped tracking where he was.
When the announcer cued up the next activity, the room tilted back toward him. “Alright, y’all, time for a little trip down memory lane. Name That Tune: Reunion Edition!”
Groans and cheers rose in equal measure. Groups clustered at tables, teams forming with fast, familiar energy. I got swept into a group with Meghan, Britt, and a guy I only half-remembered from senior year math.
The first few notes blasted through the speakers, tinny and sharp. It took two seconds for Meghan to slap the table. “Backstreet Boys. ‘I Want It That Way.’ Don’t even argue.”
