Pages of Our Past, page 1
Pages of Our Past
By Emily Scotto
Copyright © 2025 by Emily Scotto
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For permissions requests, please contact: Emily Scotto
emilyscottodiclemente@gmail.com
Paperback ISBN: 979-8218769895
Cover design by @TylerEvelynRood
Formatting by @shaysshelf of Storyline Design & Branding & Hayling Bookstorm Ltd.
Dedication
To my wonderful husband, who supports anything and everything I do. Thank you for showing me what love truly is.
Authors Note
Dear Reader,
Before you begin this book, I want to let you know about some of the themes and content you may encounter. While I believe these elements are important to the story, I also recognize that certain topics can be difficult or distressing to some readers. Please take care of yourself and decide whether this book is right for you at this time.
This story contains references to: sexual assault (past tense), PTSD, pregnancy complications and explicit sexual content.
If you need to skip certain parts, that’s okay. Your well-being comes first.
Thank you for trusting me with your time and attention. I hope this story resonates with you in the way I intended, while also respecting your boundaries.
With care,
Emily Scotto
Playlist
Thinkin’ Bout Me – Morgan Wallen
You Broke Me First – Tate McRae
Honey Bee – Blake Shelton
Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
All Too Well (10 Minute Version) – Taylor Swift
From the Dining Table – Harry Styles
The Night We Met – Lord Huron
Coffee – Beabadoobee
You Are In Love – Taylor Swift
Turning Page – Sleeping at Last
Cherry Wine (Live) – Hozier
Slow Burn – Kacey Musgraves
Home – Phillip Phillips
When the Party’s Over – Billie Eilish
Invisible String – Taylor Swift
Autumn Leaves – Ed Sheeran
Light On – Maggie Rogers
Sparks – Coldplay
Chapter 1
Blair
The sign for Welcome to Wisteria Creek looked smaller than I remembered. The trees dusted with the familiar shades of orange and red, hinting that fall was approaching. My perspective may have changed. Years away would do that, shrink the place you ran from until it barely resembled the memory.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and forced myself to breathe. The hum of tires on asphalt, the steady pulse of my heart, the GPS gently announcing, “You’ve arrived”. All of it was real now. No more hiding behind deadlines or temporary sublets or half-finished novels. I was home.
My best friend Madison’s house sits at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, porch light glowing like an open invitation. I cut the engine and sat briefly, letting the silence settle around me. A new chapter, I told myself. Not the old one. This wasn’t the same story. The door opened before I could knock. “Finally!” Madison, very pregnant and barefoot, stood with arms wide and a grin full of warmth. I melted into the hug. “God, I missed you.”
“I missed you more. Come in. The baby’s kicking like she knows her honorary aunt has arrived.”
Inside smelled like lavender and fresh cookies. Madison had always made things feel safe.
As I dropped my duffel bag in the entryway, Madison observed me. “You okay?”
I smiled too quickly. “I’m fine.”
Madison didn’t push. She offered tea and gossip, and I let myself breathe again for the first time in weeks.
Later that night, restless and curious, I slipped out for a walk. The streets felt familiar in a ghostly way. My feet led me toward downtown before I even realized it.
The glow of The Hollow Tap lit up the corner. New name. Old building.
I pushed open the door and the past crashed into me in the form of broad shoulders, warm brown eyes, unkempt chestnut hair and a voice I hadn’t heard in eight years.
“Blair Cunningham?”
Greyson Shaw.
I swallowed. “Hey, Grey.”
He blinked like he didn’t believe it. Then slowly, like molasses and moonlight, he smiled.
Chapter 2
Greyson
Of all the people I thought I might see tonight, Blair Cunningham wasn’t one of them.
She looked the same and different all at once, wiser maybe. Softer in the eyes, sharper around the edges. The blonde hair I remember was longer now, curled loosely over her shoulders, and those emerald green eyes were as stunning as always, though a little more stormy than I remember. Her lips were pressed into a nervous smile I hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Damn.” I muttered, stepping out from behind the bar. “You look... good.”
“So do you.” Her voice was cautious, like she didn’t trust the ground beneath her feet.
I wasn’t sure I trusted it either. I hadn’t seen Blair since she left town right after my sophomore year in college. No goodbye, no explanation. I had heard rumors. Family drama. Something about college. Writing, maybe?
“You’re back,” I said.
“Temporarily,” she replied, though her eyes gave away more. “Madison’s due in a few months. I’m staying with her.”
I nodded and motioned her toward the bar. “Drink?”
“Just water.” She gave a weak smile. “Trying to behave.”
“I’m not judging.” I slid her a glass, fingers brushing briefly. A zing shot up my arm.
Her eyes met mine and held still that same pull.
“What about you?” she asked. “This place yours?”
I nodded. “Bought it a couple of years ago. I cleaned it up. I gave it a new name. Felt like a fresh start.”
Blair looked around. “It suits you.”
I watched her for a long time. “Are you staying long?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”
Her voice had that same uncertain edge she used to have when hiding something.
I didn’t press. Not yet. But something in my chest stirred.
When she stood to leave, thanking me for the water, I said without thinking, “You know where to find me, honey bee.” She paused in the doorway, cheeks pink, lips parted. And smiled.
After last call, I walked home in the warm hush of August. The stars were out, bleeding silver through the dark velvet sky. The breeze smelled like grass and distant fire pits. I passed the willow trees lining Wisteria Creek and tried not to think of her name. But it clung to everything.
Back at the house, I dropped my keys in the tray by the door and paused at the old photo on the mantle. My parents, arms around each other, smiling like the world hadn’t even thought to turn cruel.
“I know, I know,” I murmured, touching the frame. “I said I’d let her go.”
But fate, or something like it, was giving me one more chance. And if Blair Cunningham was back, my past wasn’t done with me yet.
Chapter 3
Greyson
Wisteria Creek always had a way of holding onto people; its roots ran deep, like the oak trees lining Main Street and the weathered wooden beams of The Hollow Tap. I’d spent my whole life here, and after my parents passed away in that car accident four years ago, leaving town felt impossible. My mom used to say this place was stitched into our bones. She wasn’t wrong.
I inherited their house, their debts and more heartbreak than I knew what to do with. But what kept me going was this bar. My dad used to bring me here when I was just a kid, sitting me up on a stool and letting me “help” refill the napkin dispensers while he talked fishing with the locals. When it went up for sale, I cashed in everything: savings, insurance money, and even sold my dad’s old boat to buy it. The Hollow Tap wasn’t just a business. It was a lifeline.
Some days it felt like I was keeping the memory of my parents alive with every drink poured and every neon light buzzing overhead. On other days, it felt like I was just hiding behind the bar to avoid dealing with everything else I’d lost.
Then Blair came back into town.
I hadn’t seen her in over a decade since she disappeared during college without a word. Not even a goodbye. Back then, she was the girl with wild ideas and a notebook always tucked under her arm. She wasn’t loud or flashy like the other girls. She didn’t need to be. There was something about her; calm, focused, and always looking out the window like her mind was somewhere else. Somewhere better.
I used to watch her when she wasn’t looking. Not in a creepy way. Just curious. I wanted to know what she was always thinking about, where her mind went when she tilted her head, or bit the corner of her lip while reading.
I remember one day I ran into her in the hallway of our senior year. We cracked jokes and she would laugh. Damn, I couldn’t get that sound out of my head. And I swear to God, I thought about that smile and laugh for the rest of the week.
We spent that whole week in the library. She always brought highlighters and snacks. She always smelled faintly like coconut and ink. And she laughed once, when I made some stupid joke about Maddox hugging people too hard. He was my best friend in school, and has now become my number one customer at the bar. It’s been nice having a friend who still lives in town, especially after Blair left. I had no one, yet Maddox has always been there for me.
I didn’t think she noticed me a lot in class. Not really. I was just the guy who played football and worked after school at his dad’s bar. She was going places, writing stories, and dreaming big.
But once, at her locker, she looked over her shoulder and said, “You’re not as much of a jock as people think, Greyson Shaw.”
It wasn’t much. But I held on to it for a long time.
I was the guy who never had the nerve to tell her how I felt. Now she was standing in the middle of my bar; older, sharper, guarded, but still her. Still beautiful. Still magnetic. Something in me stirred, a flicker of something buried and old and still very much alive. I should’ve left it alone. But Wisteria Creek? It never lets you leave your past behind. Not really.
And maybe, neither did I.
Chapter 4
Blair
The nickname hadn’t come from nowhere. When we were kids, I’d followed him around like a bee to sugar, always hovering, always drawn. I used to scribble “Blair + Greyson” in the margins of my notebooks. He probably never knew.
Hearing him repeat it now, soft and slow like a memory dusted off, made something ache deep inside me.
I blamed it on nostalgia, on long days and longer years, on not having seen him since before everything fell apart.
I curled up on the couch at Madison’s house with a cup of chamomile tea. Madison came in quietly, rubbing her back.
“So,” she said, smirking. “You went for a walk and bumped into temptation?”
I groaned. “I didn’t go looking for him.”
“But you found him.”
“He owns the bar now.”
“Of course he does. Greyson always was the town’s golden boy.”
“He’s... different,” I admitted.
Madison sat beside me. “Are you okay?”
I hesitated. “It was good to see him.But it’s also weird. It feels like I never left and don’t belong all at once.”
“You belong wherever you decide to be,” Madison said, her voice fierce. “And for the record, wanting something sweet again is okay. Even if it comes with baggage.”
I looked down at my tea. “He called me honey bee.”
Madison grinned. “Still got it.”
I shook my head, laughing softly.
Madison gave me a tight smile. “I’m trying to picture what life’s going to look like in a few months. Just me… and her.”
I moved to scoot beside her, both of us facing each other. “You’re not alone.”
“You’re here for now.”
I paused. “I’m here. Period.”
That got a soft look from her, the kind I’d only seen a handful of times, the kind that said she believed in me even when I didn’t.
She adjusted herself on the couch and winced. “My spine feels like it’s about to break in half.”
“Want me to bring you ice cream or your heating pad?”
She gave me a smirk. “Or both.”
We laughed, and for a moment, it was easy. Comfortable. Real.
“You know, I used to think we’d end up in New York. You would be publishing bestsellers and I would be running a glamorous PR firm.”
I smiled. “You in your power suits. Me in a cardigan and coffee-stained jeans.”
“Exactly.”
There was a beat of silence. Then she looked up at me, her voice gentler. “You didn’t call for a while after you left. And I didn’t ask why. I figured when you were ready, you’d come back.”
“I wasn’t ready,” I admitted. “For anything. Not to write. Not to face what happened. Not even to be myself.”
She reached out and grabbed my hand, her grip strong despite the swelling in her fingers. “But you came back.”
“Because I knew you’d still be here.”
Her eyes softened. “Of course I am. We don’t quit on each other.”
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. “You were the only person who never made me feel like I was too much. Or not enough.”
Madison squeezed my hand again.
“That’s what best friends do. We are here for each other no matter what. I knew you needed space and that was okay. I was always just a phone call away, even if it was just to vent, talk, or listen. You have been my best friend for as long as I can remember, Blair.”
As we sat there, surrounded by boxes and unpainted walls and the anticipation of everything about to change, I realized something profound and straightforward: Madison wasn’t just my past. She was my anchor.
And no matter how messy, broken or unfinished I was, she never stopped holding space for me to come home.
The next morning, the brass bell above the door jingled as I stepped into Delilah’s Bookshop. Suddenly, I was ten years old again, clutching a summer reading list and a crumpled five-dollar bill.
The air still smelled like old paper and lavender. Dust mites floated in the sunlight that poured through the tall windows, landing softly on the cracked leather chairs in the corner and the stacks of forgotten classics that seemed to multiply with every visit. The place hadn’t changed much in the decade I’d been gone. But I had.
I moved slowly past the display of bestsellers, letting my fingers trail along the spines like I was saying hello. It was comforting, grounding. For so long, books were the only place I felt safe.
“You look like someone who belongs here,” came a voice from behind the counter.
I turned, startled, and found a woman with short silver hair and red-framed glasses peering at me over a worn copy of Rebecca. She looked like she could read me cover to cover with one glance.
“You must be Blair,” she added, setting the book down. “Madison told me you were back in town.”
I smiled. “Guilty.”
“Delilah,” she said, walking around the counter to greet me. “Owner, reader, unofficial town gossip, depending who you ask.”
We shook hands, and I laughed. “This place looks exactly how I remembered.”
“Well, I don’t believe in fixing what isn’t broken.”
Her eyes twinkled as she gestured to the shelves. “Looking for anything in particular? Or just feeding the addiction?”
“Mostly feeding it,” I said. “Though… I am a writer now.”
Delilah’s eyebrows rose, intrigued. “Oh? What kind?”
I hesitated. “Literary fiction. Emotional stuff. The kind that gets dog-eared and cried on.”
She nodded solemnly. “The best kind then.”
For a while, we wandered the shop together, chatting about favorite authors, old editions, and the way certain books feel like old friends. When we circled back to the counter, she paused and studied me.
“You know,” she said, “if you ever want to do a reading here, when your book comes out, I’d be honored.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Of course. This town could use a little more story. And you’ve got the kind that sticks.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest, slow and wide.
“Thank you, Delilah.”
She gave me a knowing smile. “Welcome home, Blair.”
As I stepped back out into the afternoon sun, a paper bag of books in my hand and her words tucked in my heart, I realized something. Maybe I hadn’t just come back. Perhaps I was meant to come back. And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to be seen.
Chapter 5
Greyson
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
It wasn’t just how she looked though, God help me, though that was a factor. It was the way she seemed haunted, like something heavy still clung to her. And that smile was wary, fleeting but real.
