Second Chances Taste Like Peaches

The roadside fruit stand hadn’t changed in five years.

Still the same crooked “FRESH PEACHES” sign in faded orange paint, still the same squeaky wooden counter, and still the same scent of sun-warmed fruit drifting into the summer air.

Lena pulled her sunglasses down, squinting as she stepped out of the car. Her dress fluttered in the August breeze, and she smoothed her hair reflexively.

She wasn’t sure why she’d stopped. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the memory.

Or maybe it was him.

The man behind the stand looked up from his book, blinking once. Then again, slower. Recognition dawned like the sun burning through morning fog.

“Lena?” he asked, voice lower than she remembered, but unmistakable.

She froze. “Hi, Cole.”

He stepped around the counter, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“I was driving through,” she said, feeling suddenly ridiculous. “Saw the sign. Thought… well. Thought I’d see if the peaches were still good.”

“They’re better,” he said. “Or I got pickier.”

She smiled, unsure what to do with her hands. “You still run this place?”

“Every summer,” he said. “Keeps me sane.”

“And the rest of the year?”

“I teach now. High school. Literature.”

Lena laughed lightly. “I always said you’d make a good teacher.”

“You said I’d make a terrible one.”

He grinned. “Then I guess I wanted to prove you wrong.”

They stood in silence, cicadas buzzing in the trees behind them. A bee hovered near the peaches, then darted away.

“Want to try one?” he asked, nodding toward the basket.

She hesitated. “You sure?”

“They’re sweeter than they used to be.”

She stepped forward, picked one from the top. Warm, golden-skinned, it smelled like memory.

Cole watched her as she bit in, juice running down her fingers.

She closed her eyes. “Still the best I’ve had.”

He smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

She wiped her hand on a napkin he handed her. Their fingers touched—briefly, but it lingered.

“So,” he said after a moment, “what brings you back?”

Lena looked down. “A wedding. My cousin’s.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I thought you moved to Paris.”

“I did. Then New York. Now… nowhere, really.”

“Sounds complicated.”

She looked up. “It is.”

He leaned against the counter. “Still writing?”

“Still trying.”

He nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.

“You?” she asked. “Still painting?”

“Not for a while,” he said. “Too much grading.”

Lena glanced at the crate of peaches. “You always said this place wasn’t permanent.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Then why are you still here?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, “Because some things didn’t wait.”

She swallowed. “Like what?”

He looked at her. Really looked.

“Like me.”

The silence between them thickened, filled with everything unspoken.

“I wrote you a letter,” Lena said softly.

“I know.”

“You never answered.”

He nodded. “I read it a hundred times. Couldn’t figure out what to say.”

“You could’ve said you hated me.”

“I never did.”

She exhaled. “I left without saying goodbye. I still regret it.”

“You had dreams,” he said. “I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed.”

“I wanted you to ask me to stay.”

He looked away. “I didn’t know how.”

Lena leaned against the counter beside him, her peach forgotten. “I wasn’t fair. I thought I had to choose between you and everything else.”

“And now?”

“Now I think maybe I could’ve had both.”

Cole was quiet. The breeze picked up, rustling the trees.

“I never stopped wondering what we could’ve been,” she said.

He glanced at her. “You still do?”

“Yes.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You came back for a wedding. And after?”

“I don’t know.”

He nodded slowly. “You still like thunderstorms?”

She smiled. “Still sit on porches and count the seconds.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“No,” she said. “But some things do.”

He looked at her again. There was something careful in his gaze—like someone afraid to believe.

“Lena,” he said. “I don’t know if I can go through that kind of goodbye again.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered. “Not yet. Just… sit with me awhile.”

He hesitated. Then he pulled two peaches from the basket, handed one to her, and motioned to the old rocking bench beside the stand.

They sat, shoulder to shoulder, eating in quiet. The juice ran down their wrists, and they laughed like it didn’t hurt to remember.

After a while, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Do you ever think we get second chances?” she asked.

He thought for a long moment.

“I think sometimes the universe brings someone back,” he said. “To see if you’re ready this time.”

She closed her eyes. “Then I hope we are.”

He kissed the top of her head, gentle as rain.

And somewhere behind them, the sign creaked in the wind, still promising fresh peaches—and maybe something more.