Endless love, p.1
Endless Love, page 1
ENDLESS LOVE
A SWEETGUM MEADOWS STAND-ALONE ROMANCE BOOK 8
IMANI PRICE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2025 by Imani Price
www.ImaniPrice.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
First Edition: January 2025
ISBN 978-1-960207-62-3 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-960207-63-0 (paperback)
Published by Books to Hook Publishing, LLC.
www.BooksToHook.com
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by Imani Price
CHAPTER ONE
Alex Zhang couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly happy. He’d almost grown used to the dull ache in his chest, like background noise that wouldn’t quit. Even working at his parents’ Chinese restaurant—a place he used to love—felt more like wading through quicksand than anything else. On the surface, the cheerful hum of customers and the scent of sizzling stir-fry made it seem like business as usual, but inside, Alex felt hollow.
Still, he tried not to let it show.
He stood behind the counter, hands folded in front of him, meeting a wave of requests as politely as he could manage.
“Can I get another pair of chopsticks with mine?”
“My sweet and sour sauce ran out. Could I grab another?”
“How much is an extra bowl of rice with today’s special?”
“Would it be okay if you took a picture with me and my friends?”
He responded to each one in turn, forcing a gentle smile despite the fatigue weighing down his shoulders. “Of course—here you go,” he said, handing out chopsticks and sauce. “Extra rice is two dollars,” he added for the next person. Then his gaze fell on the teenage girl peering at him over her phone.
A self-conscious heat crept into his cheeks, but he mustered a friendly tone. “I’d love to, but we’re almost ready to close, and I’m running around like crazy,” he explained, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “Next time, though, okay? Enjoy your meal!”
The girl looked slightly disappointed but nodded, giggling with her friends as they walked off. Alex exhaled, turning to the older gentleman behind her. “I’m so sorry, sir. Did you say you wanted water with your meal?” He mentally counted the handful of customers left in line. Only two more after this man. Relief flickered through him as he noticed his father stepping to the door to switch the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’
Almost there, Alex thought, rolling his shoulders as he took the man’s order. Closing time felt like a finish line he couldn’t wait to cross. And if his superficial grin and steady voice fooled everyone, that was fine by him.
His next customer stepped up, and Alex blinked in recognition. “Jamal?” he asked, forcing the corners of his mouth upward. They had been friends in high school, though Alex had to admit he wasn’t really in the mood for a stroll down memory lane. Too many old faces in a town this small.
“Hey, Alex! Thought that was you.” Jamal’s grin was genuine, and Alex felt a twinge of guilt that he couldn’t quite match his friend’s enthusiasm.
“Yeah, I’ve been helping out my parents from time to time,” he said, leaning forward on the counter to hide his restless energy. “Hard to avoid old classmates when you’re back in Sweetgum, huh?”
Jamal laughed. “No kidding! But I hadn’t run into you until now. Guess the rumors that you were back are true.”
Alex felt the gaze of the remaining customer behind Jamal and decided to cut the reunion short. “Let’s get your order in before the kitchen closes. We’ve got a nice curried chicken special today.”
Thankfully, Jamal picked up on his gentle brush-off and placed his order without pressing for details about Alex’s return. The last thing Alex wanted to talk about was his divorce—especially not here, in front of everyone. He still wasn’t sure how to explain something that still made his chest tighten whenever he thought about it.
Once the final customer was served, Alex cleared the counter, spraying disinfectant on the smooth surface and wiping it in broad, practiced strokes. The steady rhythm calmed him, letting him focus on something other than the swirl of thoughts in his head.
“Ah, my wonderful son,” his mother teased as she stepped out of the kitchen. Mrs. Zhang’s warm smile radiated pride, her eyes creasing in the corners. Pots clanged behind her, and the faint melody of the mop swishing across the floor gave the place its usual cozy bustle.
Alex half-laughed, half-sighed when she patted him on the back. “You’re just happy I didn’t stay holed up in the house all day.”
“And that you helped us handle this busy rush. We might have to ask you to come by more often.” She winked. “You draw in the younger crowd, and who knows—maybe one of them will be your future wife.”
His mom’s playful matchmaking made Alex’s stomach flip. “Mom,” he groaned, tilting his head in mock exasperation as he set the rag aside. “We’ve been over this. I’m not… it’s just not the right time.”
She didn’t look convinced, her expression settling into the familiar, hopeful look that said she would love nothing more than to see him find love again. Before she could press further, a shuffle of hurried steps announced his father’s arrival.
“Kung Pow, Enter the Fist tonight!” Mr. Zhang said, as if the very thought of it made him feel twenty years younger. He mimed a silly series of kicks in the empty restaurant aisle. “Let’s have a family movie night!”
His mother beamed. “Yes, Alex, join us! Unless you’d rather head home to watch something all by yourself, looking glum,” she teased, raising a brow.
Though Alex’s first instinct was to decline, he recognized an olive branch when he saw one. In the grand scheme of things, an evening with his parents—who only wanted to cheer him up—wasn’t so bad. “Alright, alright,” he relented, a small, genuine smile lifting his lips. “I’ll meet you both at the house once I finish up. Sounds like fun.”
“That’s my boy!” His dad clapped him on the shoulder, then reached for his apron. “Lisa, we’re out for the night—lock up when you’re done,” he called to the cleaner.
Alex couldn’t help admiring how easily his parents turned the page on each day. If something didn’t go their way, they tried something else. If they were sad, they found a new reason to smile. Meanwhile, he was stuck in neutral, replaying every painful detail of his failed marriage.
But for all his brooding, he still loved these two more than anything.
When his parents disappeared into the back office, likely to gather their things, Alex let out a slow breath. If only I could be as optimistic as they are, he thought. But until he figured out how to let go of the hurt still lodged in his heart, he’d just keep swimming along in the family stream, doing what he could to make them happy.
He gave the now-gleaming counter one final swipe, turned off the lights behind him, and let himself sink into the solace that came with closing time. He was far from healed, but at least here, in Sweetgum, he didn’t have to pretend life was perfect.
And for tonight, that might be enough.
Later that night, Alex paused mid-stroke on his digital tablet, design stylus hovering just above the screen. He realized he’d been staring at the same half-finished layout for a while now, without making any progress. With a soft sigh, he set the tablet aside and leaned against his headboard, letting his thoughts drift back to the evening.
They’d eaten noodles and sipped soda while re-watching the same silly kung fu parody his dad had dubbed their “family movie.” The memory drew a faint smile to Alex’s lips. Nights like that were becoming rare—lighthearted moments that made him feel almost…normal. But he also knew such warm scenes came packaged with inevitable questions. The older he got, the more his parents took up matchmaking as their new favorite hobby, hinting that it was time to find “the right one.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed at the tension in his forehead. Peripherally, he noticed Odie curled up on the floor beside the bed. Even half-asleep, the dog looked utterly content, tail twitching in some dream chase. Alex reflected on how he’d filled Odie’s food bowl to brimming before going to the restaurant tonight, worried the dog might get hungry. Of course, Odie still devoured the extra leftovers Alex had brought home. Spoiled as he was, Alex couldn’t be happier to indulge him. A good dog deserved good meals.
Odie stretched and shifted, and Alex gave a little chuckle. “Tired, huh, buddy?” he murmured, his voice echoing in the stillness. Even the simplest moments—like watching his dog sleep—grounded him in a way he desperately needed these days.
The divorce had been… well, brutal. In the end, Alex had managed to keep his partial ownership of the family business and, most importantly, Odie. Almost everything else was gone—tangible reminders of a life that had unraveled too quickly. He dreaded the thought of explaining it to each new face he encountered in Sweetgum, so he chose not to. Small-town folk had a way of piecing stories together, and his mother’s penchant for chatter ensured most people already knew the basic outline anyway.
With a weary sigh, Alex turned off his tablet and let it rest across his lap. Today had at least been more eventful than yesterday, when he’d slept in far too late and barely left the couch. Lately, his routines blurred into each other: morning workout, freelance projects, quick lunch, then sometimes heading over to help at the restaurant. Day in, day out—like clockwork.
Yet as tedious as it felt, a part of him wondered if a bit more excitement might be exactly what he needed. A small spark, something to jostle him out of his rut. The heaviness in his chest wouldn’t vanish overnight, but maybe—just maybe—he could find a hint of hope somewhere in the daily grind.
He gave a short, rueful laugh and reached to flick off his bedside lamp. Tomorrow morning, he’d be up early to design a few more layouts and, if luck was on his side, bury himself in enough work to keep his regrets at bay.
For now, he pulled the blankets over his lap, listening to Odie’s soft breathing. In this quiet, peaceful space, it was just him and his dog—and, for the moment, that was enough.
CHAPTER TWO
Maia fiddled with the plain gold ring dangling from the delicate chain around her neck, her fingers tracing every curve of the metal like a soothing ritual. She stood in what used to be her Aunt Dianne’s kitchen, the soft light of the overhead fixture casting a warm glow on faded wallpaper and a scuffed floor. The house felt eerily quiet, a far cry from the days when her aunt’s laughter would fill these same walls.
She could already sense Aimee’s footsteps echoing down the hallway—those signature heels tapping on the wooden floor. Always running a bit late, Maia thought, an affectionate smile ghosting over her lips. And yet somehow, always arriving in style.
Aimee appeared in the doorway, trailing her fingertips along the wall. “It’s nice,” she said, tilting her chin to study the lighting. “Really nice for a place that’s been… neglected so long.”
The word “neglected” stung like a sudden slap of cold air. Maia’s stomach twisted, and she prayed her flinch went unnoticed. “I agree,” she answered, forcing an even tone. “All it needs is a thorough sweep and some dusting. Then it’ll look more like home.” With a brisk nod, she moved away from the kitchen counter to stand beside Aimee. “I’ll probably come by tomorrow morning before my jog to tackle it.”
Aimee pivoted on her heels. “You sure? You’re doing everything on your own so early? I know you’re a morning person, but even morning people have limits.”
As they moved toward the front door, Maia’s gaze lingered on the path to the living room—where she could almost see a younger version of herself racing down the hallway, Aunt Dianne greeting her with a plate of freshly baked cookies. The memory played like an old film reel, winding through her thoughts until Aimee’s sudden clap jolted her back to the present.
“Right,” Maia murmured, trying to recover from the emotional whiplash. “I’m not planning to do it all in one day. Just the kitchen first… then I’ll see how I feel.”
She forced herself to look at the fraying carpet on the stairs, lined with dusty family photographs. Each picture reminded her of the warmth Aunt Dianne once brought to every gathering, and how empty it all felt now. That’s why it took me so long to come here, she admitted silently. I wasn’t ready to face a house so full of memories and so devoid of her.
Aimee’s shoulder bumped gently against hers in a silent show of support. They halted by the front door. “Starting small is good,” Aimee said, her tone a careful blend of encouragement and concern.
For a moment, silence hung between them like an unspoken question. Then Aimee squeezed Maia’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly.
A dampness blurred Maia’s vision. She blinked hard, willing her tears away. “I’m fine,” she insisted, inhaling deeply. “Tomorrow I’ll wake up early, listen to my affirmations, and get back into a positive headspace.”
Aimee didn’t look entirely convinced. “Crying is okay, too,” she reminded Maia, her voice kind. “But since you’re all about bright sides, remember Aunt Dianne left this place specifically to you. She trusted you to keep her memory alive, and now you’re finally here.”
The encouraging words made Maia’s chest tighten. She let her friend’s hand slip from hers, nodding in agreement. “I know,” she whispered. “It’s just… it feels like I’m losing everyone. First Derek, and then—” She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. “But you’re right. I need to focus on the fact that this house is a gift. Aunt Dianne wanted me to have a safe place to remember her.”
Bracing herself, Maia flicked off the kitchen light and locked the door behind them, stepping onto the porch. A gentle breeze tugged at her braids, and she shivered—not from cold, but from the swirl of memories still clinging to the house’s walls.
Aimee followed her to the edge of the unkempt lawn, where a single streetlight illuminated the sidewalk. “You’re not losing everyone,” she said, nudging Maia’s arm lightly. “You still have me.”
Maia shot her a lopsided grin. “And I’m grateful. Really.” She led the way to her compact car, rummaging through her purse for the keys. Street after street in this neighborhood was quiet at night, something that felt both comforting and a little eerie. Olive Lane—the hub of early bedtimes and retiree gossip, she mused.
As they reached the vehicle, Maia started to voice the tangles of her thoughts. “It’s just that, with Derek and—”
Aimee cut her off, waving a dismissive hand. “Nope. Not going there.” She pointed a playful but stern finger. “I refuse to let you spiral on my watch. Are we clear?”
Warmth flickered inside Maia. Aimee’s presence was strong, a cushion against the old heartbreak that still sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. “Okay, okay. Let’s just head out,” she conceded, sliding into the driver’s seat. Aimee hopped in on the passenger side.
They buckled in, and as Maia pulled onto the main road, Aimee began her usual pep talk. Each word was a lifeline. Maia nodded, letting her friend’s encouragement wash over her. She reminded herself that she’d come a long way already—she just had to keep moving.
“I’ll journal about this tonight,” Maia said after a stretch of quiet. “Get all my feelings down on paper.”
Aimee nodded vigorously. “Yes. You say it yourself: no bottling up emotions. Manage them. Confront them head-on.”
A hint of a smile curved Maia’s lips. She sounds just like me. Over time, her friend had adopted some of Maia’s motivational mantras. Hearing them echoed back in Aimee’s voice felt comforting, a reminder that there was someone out there who truly understood.
A glint of gold caught Maia’s eye in the rearview mirror—the ring swinging gently at her throat. Aimee always insisted she should ditch the necklace, especially after everything with Derek. Maia couldn’t. She didn’t wear it out of longing but as a sobering reminder that love wasn’t always a fairy tale.
It hurts, but it keeps me real. She’d learned the hard way that blind optimism could lead her straight into heartbreak. Aunt Dianne’s death—and the inheritance of this big, empty house—was just another blunt reminder that life didn’t pause for anyone’s grief.
