Back to Perfect

by Mel Walker

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Multicultural & Interracial Romance; Small-town Romance; Friends to lovers

Synopsis

She broke his heart to save his future. He’s back to prove she was always his future.

Cole Hamels spent a decade building the perfect life in Manhattan—VP title, luxury apartment, everything he was supposed to want, but it didn’t include the one thing he needed - her.

Nayla Foster knows she should avoid the reunion. Avoid him. Avoid revealing the devastating secret that ended their perfection.

But, when Cole orchestrates an elaborate plan to get her there, one look into those piercing blue eyes threatens everything.

One weekend. One truth. One last chance for Perfection.

A closed-door contemporary romance for fans of heartfelt reunions, determined heroes, and the true love that refuses to stay buried.

Back to Perfect is Book 4 in the Spring Hills 10 Year High School Reunion series. Each book is a standalone with its own complete HEA.

Release date: November 13, 2025

Sample

Chapter One 

Nayla 

"Behind you." The last-second screech from Synthia causes me to hop in place as she whips past me in a blur. This is a level of frantic beyond her usual chaotic level, which around the office we've dubbed Syn-national.

I catch the raised brow and disapproving headshake from our colleague Aaron. Thankfully, Synthia doesn't. The last thing she needs to see is Aaron or anyone on the leadership team casting doubts about her abilities. She's the newest member of the senior leadership team, a promotion that was two years past its due, in my opinion. Six months into the new job, and she hasn’t slowed down a beat. If anything, she’s working even harder to prove to everyone it was the right decision. No rest for the weary.

I follow her, stopping in the doorway and knocking against the doorframe. "I thought pants on fire were reserved for special occasions." Excited dark eyes look up at me from the desk. A half nibble, half smile spreads across her lower lip as she juts her chin for me to close the door.

I recognize gossip time, and this one must be juicy because she didn't even wait for our mid-afternoon catch-up in the breakroom.

"Do you remember Stephan Courtney from high school?"

"Mr. Courtney, the gym teacher?" I hear the surprise in my voice. Mr. Courtney has been the physical education instructor at the local Spring Hills High school for as long as I can remember. It's been nine years since I've graduated, and he had to have been there a decade prior to me attending. Synthia is a decade my senior, and I wonder what the connection could be.

She purses her lips and lowers her eyes to the desk. "He divorced two years ago. I run into him on occasion. Two weeks ago, at the grocery store, he asked me out for coffee." A schoolgirl giggle wipes ten years off Synthia's face. It's a happiness that has been missing from her for too long.

"Did you go?" I ask because Synthia has sworn off men the last few years. A man cleanse is how she described it at the time after her last prince turned into a frog. One who didn't want to share a lily pad or follow her lead when she attempted to steer the relationship into the land of the serious. Synthia is nearly forty years old, and the men her age all appear stuck in a time warp of their early twenties. The land of no responsibilities or commitments.

She lifts her right hand, three digits raised next to her enthusiastic head nod. "And three dates since."

I slide into the seat in front of the desk, fully vested. This is more like it. "And why am I just hearing about it now? Don't you know I live vivaciously through you." I laugh to hide how pathetically true my statement is. I'm a twenty-seven-year-old single woman whose closest romantic fantasies are delivered to me by my forty-something-year-old celibate co-worker. This is the definition of pathetic.

"If I had time, I'd circle back to the ridiculousness of your statement, but… I didn't share because I wanted to see if there might be something there. Something real."

A wave of reality sits heavy in the room, and I acknowledge it with a nod.

She taps her phone on the top of the desk. "And it is. He's looking to avoid all the hoopla around the reunion this weekend. One brief appearance, then he wants me to join him at his hideout, a beautiful lakefront bed and breakfast."

With the mention of the reunion, I go silent. I shouldn’t possess the tightness in my chest, but I do.

Tonight is the kickoff of the Spring Hills ten-year high school reunion. An annual event that grows larger every year. I'm nine years out from my graduation, so it's not my year, but I know many of the returning alumni. Some very well.

"That's great news… isn't it?" I ask.

"Kate is over at her dad's place this weekend." Synthia mentions her daughter by name but not her ex-husband. She only refers to him as Kate's dad, or Mr. Hurts—honest to God, that's his name. Yep, her name is Synthia Hurts. If not for her daughter, she would have switched back to her maiden name the second the ink dried on the divorce papers, but she didn't. Their divorce is over seven years old, but the wounds have never truly healed. "Mr. Shandler gave me a real hush-hush assignment, a last-minute workup of the marketing plan, but he also wants financial projections for the next three quarters.” Synthia’s mention of our boss snaps me to attention. Brooks Shandler is our Alpha CEO. A hard-charging, demanding, 110 percent driver who arrived three years ago, waking up the sleepy giant of this local company into double-digit growth. It's come at a great cost to the employees. Long hours, relentless pace, and a work-life balance tipping on the wrong side of the scale. Luckily for me, I have no home life to balance.

“He wants a statistical analysis to find what, I'm still not sure of. It's a lot, and he wants it for Monday morning. Not just a report but a presentation as well."

"Hmm." The sound of my curiosity escapes. The mention of three-quarters worth of data an unusual request this far into the year. His request explains Synthia’s pants on fire drill.

Synthia pulls on a strand of gray hair, staring down at her laptop, and I can’t help but ask, "How far has your team gotten?" The quarterly projection report typically takes her team of three a week to pull together, and that’s the timeline for one quarter’s worth of data.

"It has to be in his inbox Sunday evening. He expects a presentation first thing Monday." She reiterates the timeline, merely confirming what I already know, Mr. Shandler doesn't take days off. Sunday is just another workday to him. I've been on the receiving end of a slew of weekend emails. We all have. He's a tough boss but fair. He values competency and has pushed me on more than one occasion to take more of a leadership role, but I don't do front and center. Those spots are for the people with famous degrees and letters after their name, I’m just a small-town girl.

I note that Synthia has avoided my question. I cross my arms against my chest, tilt my head, and raise my eyebrows at her. It's my stop the BS and tell me look that I've perfected these last three years.

"I'd normally be on top of things, and typically, we're given more time."

She's hemming, and I cut to the chase. "When did he give you the assignment?"

She lowers her head, chin to chest. "Two days ago."

"Wednesday?" I hear the disbelief in my voice. He gave them three days to pull together a task that takes her team of three a week for a third less data. "Justin is driving to Chicago for his mom's birthday celebration this weekend, and Bella is singing with her garage band all weekend." I hear the desperation in her voice and do the math—something I'm very good at. Her team is unavailable. She could technically order them to give up their plans for the weekend, but I know she won't. No one with a heart would.

"Down two people and two days, which sounds about right. Show me where you are." I stand and pace around the desk. I'm not a marketing expert, but I know enough to be dangerous. I've been with the company for five years. My first two I quickly cut through the ranks in the analytic group, rising to second in command. Boredom and a need for change ate at me just as Mr. Shandler arrived. His energy kept me here with new challenges. Within a year, he replaced our old leadership and placed me in charge of corporate analytics. An area I whipped into shape in six months. Over the last year and half, I've expanded the reach of our team, and we provide backup for nearly every team, including marketing and finance, the two areas which are on the hook for the projections.

"I can't ask you to…" She hesitates, her eyes avoiding mine. "Especially not this weekend. It's the reunion weekend."

"Not my reunion," I remind her and point to the screen of her laptop. "Show me where you are and let me run with it. I'll get you to your date with the sexy gym teacher as long as you bring me back some juicy stories of you two making out under the bleachers."

My hand falls to my side with the image. A certain someone and I under those same bleachers. I shake away the image. "Give me access to the folder with all the files and reference documentation. Can you give access to the financials too?"

"I can't ask you, Nayla."

"Good because you didn't. I'm volunteering. You know numbers are my happy place. Can't you hear the excitement in my voice? It's the most I've been enthused for a weekend in some time." Sad but true.

"It's the reunion weekend. Your…" She pauses, and I know exactly what's on her mind. Or rather who. She isn't the only person who has a name from their past they won't say aloud. "Old classmates, your friends will be in town. Surely, you've made plans—"

I raise my hands to prevent her from going down the rabbit hole. She's aware of my past. Hell, anyone who has lived in the small town of Spring Hills, Illinois, over the last ten years knows my history. "Anybody I care about from high school I see on the regular. I don't need a ten-year reunion to reconnect." I hear the echo of the lie in my words but don't stop. I push up to stand. "Email me the files. Go on your date. I got you. Don't let this man slip away. Don't throw away your shot; you never know how long before that merry-go-round comes around again."

She stands and wraps me in a tight hug. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I'll grant you access. Mr. Shandler set up another folder with some for your eyes-only reference documents.” She smirks and gives the air quote disclaimer. “Don't share the info in there. I owe you big time."

I wave a dismissive hand. “Us gals have to stick together and protect one another. I got you." I say aloud the part she won't. She’s only the third woman to join the senior leadership level. Once there, the pressure only intensifies; one false move and it might be a decade before they consider another woman. “You can take me to lunch and talk about my greatness,” I joke.

"There you go playing it too safe, not aiming high enough.” Her half-laugh is laced in a half-warning. She has pushed me to take more risks, want more, demand more. That’s not me. At least not anymore. “I had already planned to take you to dinner to someplace fancy. I'm thinking white linen tablecloths, a place with a sommelier, and no kid's menu."

"Only if they have chicken fingers." I'm a simple girl with simple wants.

"Deal." Her hands frame my face, and she stares at me with an intensity filled with gratitude. "You are a charm. It's only a matter of time before you're back on the horse too. I know I shouldn't bother, but I will anyway, should I keep a lookout for any of the still single guys at the reunion for you? Ten years is a long time. I'm sure some of them must've blossomed by now."

She's kidding and under any other circumstances, with any other reunion, I would appreciate it. But it's not any other reunion. It's his reunion. My high school ex. "I'm good. I have a full year to prepare for mine." My words are hollow. I'm not waiting another year. More like another lifetime. I have no interest in any guy that will be at my reunion next year. I have zero interest in almost any guy at this year's reunion.

Almost any guy.

Almost.

"Grant me access, go on your date, and don't check in with me until Sunday afternoon."

"I'll call you first thing Sunday."

"You better not. Sunday morning, I'm expecting you to be in a certain someone's bed."

"Scandalous." She laughs and gives me a playful smack.

"Call me Sunday afternoon, after you’ve had breakfast in bed and time to recover.” I wag a playful finger in her direction. “Enjoy your weekend. You've earned this."

The twinkle in her eyes is more than enough reward for me. This is a win-win for me. I get to work on numbers all weekend, getting lost in spreadsheets and charts, my happy place. Plus, the work will keep me busy all weekend—all reunion weekend. It’s the perfect excuse, and when I give it, I won’t even have to lie.

By the time I come up for air, everyone will be gone, including a certain someone I've been avoiding for so long it's become a habit.

 

***

 

Chapter Two

Cole 

"You do know that half the fun of flying first class is the airport lounge," Derek prods me, two paces ahead, picking up his pace as we turn down the airport corridor, and the nearly hidden sign to the lounge comes into view. "If you didn't take that last-minute meeting, we'd have time to sit at the bar and indulge. Instead, we're rushing to the gate like people not smart enough to purchase the TSA precheck clearance."

I glide my navy Monos carry-on around a family of four, the father with one kid on his shoulders, while the mother holds the hand of a kid who looks to be about five years old. I slow my pace and allow them to step onto the moving sidewalk conveyor ahead of me. I fall in behind them, letting go of the handle of my carry-on and coasting on the belt.

"Cole?" Derek's desperate plea forces me to turn. He’s pacing alongside the concourse belt, slowing his stride to fall beside me. "Are you serious right now? The flight is boarding; they'll only serve pre-flight cocktails until the doors close with the last passenger. Then we'll have to wait until we're at cruising altitude." He glances at the conveyor belt. "That belt is for the elderly and the lazy."

The father in front of me pivots toward Derek's rude remark. Derek meets his gaze with a challenging one of his own, a New York attitude he’s embraced since we've moved here from our quiet Midwestern town.

"Apologies for my rude colleague. He believes the faster you go, the more experiences there are." The little boy on the father's shoulder lifts his sleepy head and wipes dark curls from his eyes.

The father squeezes the kid's calf and places a tender kiss on his son’s knee before stepping to the side behind his wife to clear a path for me to pass. "It's not the quantity," he whispers.

I jut my chin in Derek's direction, but my words are pointed at the father. "Someday, he'll learn." I tap the handle of my roller bag and nod at the man. "I'm good right here."

He gives me a short smile before shooting Derek a look meant to silence him. I stare down at my feet to keep from laughing.

Derek isn't only my co-worker at my parents' firm, but we're from the same hometown and have been attached since elementary school. He followed me after high school all the way to Columbia University in New York. We now work together at my parents' risk management and insurance company. While he's taken to the fast pace of New York City, I never did. Cool, calm, and slow is how I like to roll. We're opposites when it comes to most things, but somehow it works for us.

Derek stews, waiting at the end of the belt for me. "One drink," he barks at me as if he's punishing me for not leaving work two hours early to hang in the airport lounge. "We'll barely have time for one drink."

"You do know it only takes ten minutes to reach cruising altitude. I think you'll survive." I stride right past him, hear his heavy sigh, and am not surprised to hear his footsteps behind me.

"Fine. At least we have a separate boarding line. I'm ordering champagne for us. This is a celebratory trip after all. I brought my Rolex and can't wait for everyone to see the custom-tailored suit I had made. Look how far we've come in ten years."

I shake my head as Derek reminds me of why we're headed back to Spring Hills, Illinois. It's our ten-year high school reunion. For once, he's right—we've come a long way in ten years. I can't believe I've not been back in all this time. My parents moved to New York during my senior year in high school, and nearly everyone I knew scattered to the four corners of the country after graduation. But still… I stop myself from thinking of the one person who didn't leave. The one person who always had the power to make me return but refused to ask.

"Humble and kind," I remind Derek of the two traits we were both raised to believe in. "Spring Hills isn't New York. Check the attitude at the gate," I reprimand Derek, something I've come to do more and more the longer we stay in New York.

"Yes, Boss." His insincere grunt can't hide the fact I'm his boss.

Derek works in our analytic group as a senior manager. I've hired people years after he started who have advanced to director and senior director roles in the company, while he continues to languish at his level. He's comfortable, and his focus is on enjoying the perks of living in New York City. Like I said, he and I are opposites. He's plateaued prior to age thirty, and I've already ascended to chairman in waiting to the throne of running the entire enterprise.

We reach gate eighty-two to find it packed with people lining up and crowding the entrance to the plane. "Oh geesh, what is it now? Why can't people just learn to wait their turn?"

I ignore his comment and take in the scene. Boarding has begun, they're up to the fourth boarding group, yet nearly everyone remaining at the gate crowds the tiny entrance.

I check the board behind the stressed gate agent and exhale when I read that the flight is on time. I tip my head up when the speakers crackle.

"Once again, ladies and gentlemen, Flight 385 to Chicago is completely full with limited overhead space. At this time, we're looking for volunteers to gate check your cabin luggage."

"No way are they getting their hands on my designer suit. I'll change into it before I let them take my bag," Derek mutters to himself, and I ignore him, giving my full attention to the lady shouting at the counter and the crying kid next to her.

"Please, anyone. Please." Her desperate plea goes unanswered. "My daughter is eight years old. They've sat us twenty rows apart from one another. I'm just asking to switch seats. Please." The lady scans the uncaring crowd before her attention returns to the gate agent, who merely shrugs her shoulders at her. Something tells me they've had this conversation already.

I take a small step towards the gate agent.

"Don't you dare," Derek grunts next to me, already three steps ahead of my thoughts. "It's first class. We've earned this."

I shake my head. "We've earned nothing." This is a personal trip for both of us, not a corporate-paid excursion, but we did use our points from all our business travel to upgrade to first class. "It's barely a two-hour flight." I lay out carrots to ease the pain I know Derek is about to experience.

Derek whips off his New York Yankees cap, pushing back his dark hair, and gives me his most intense 'don't do this to me' stare. It won't work; it never does. "Do you remember the fuss you made after high school when we flew to New York together for the first time? “He lowers his gaze as a decade-old memory whips in our heads. A frightened and nervous Derek who had rarely been outside the state of Illinois, traveling across the country to the big bad. That's what his parents called New York, the big bad. He has stuck by my side the entire trip, afraid to leave my line of sight from the minute we had gone through security. "You were a lot older than eight. Surely, you relate."

"And surely, someone else on this flight can switch with them. What if I offered twenty bucks? Surely, I can get a volunteer for that."

"Good luck with that." I step around the crowd and capture the gaze of the anxious mother. I give her a nod and point a finger toward the gate agent's desk. She grabs the hand of her daughter, an adorable redhead with Pippy Longstocking braids. "My friend and I will switch with you," I say to her as we reach the desk.

"Thank you, thank you so much," she says, pulling me into a hug.

"You're very welcome." I yank out my phone and swipe to display my boarding pass to the gate agent. "Please swap me and my friend's seats for this lady's seats."

"Of course," she says, taking my phone. I turn to face a despondent Derek. "Hand over your phone."

He glares over my shoulder, out the window at the idling plane, and I know he's picturing sitting in first class, sipping champagne, and stretching out in a seat that fully reclines. I take his phone from his hand and place it on the counter.

"Err, Mr. Hamels," the agent begins, "these tickets are first class tickets. Are you sure?"

"First class?" the woman next to me says, tipping up on her toes to look over the desk. "Did you say first class?" She lowers to flat feet and turns to face me. "We can’t afford… I'll find someone else to switch with us. I can't…"

"There you have it…" Derek says, hooking my arm and reaching across the desk for his phone. "Great, thanks. We tried. See you on board."

I jerk his arm and stick my hand out for him to give me his phone. He does. "Ma'am, it's not an issue. It's a short flight. We used our company's miles for the upgrade. It won’t cost anyone a penny. Besides, the back of the plane gets to Chicago the same time as the front." I use a twist of an old joke I once used in not spending my hard-earned money to pay for first-class tickets.

"This is too much," the lady says as her daughter tugs on her hand, pulling her attention. The kid cups her hand around her mouth as her mother bends to listen to her, then she points up at me. The mother nods and laughs.

"You're right." She gives her daughter a kiss on the top of her head before turning her attention to me. "Thank you." She hands over her boarding passes to the gate agent.

I steal a glance at the daughter who swings on her mother's hand and continues to laugh. "What did she say to convince you?" I ask.

The woman giggles. "It's silly."

Now I have to know. "Now you have to tell me."

She laughs again. "She called you a gift horse." I burst out laughing and stare down at the little girl who covers her eyes in laughter.

"Don't look a gift horse in the…" I connect her hand gesture. She points at my mouth. "You have a very smart young lady there," I say, and the mother beams.

"All set," the gate agent interrupts, handing over printed boarding passes for all of us.

I thank her as Derek snatches his pass from me and stomps toward the gate. "Let me through, let me through."

I don't say a word, already knowing what comes next. "Ma'am, enjoy your flight. You can go to the front of the line and board now."

The woman gives me another tight hug before leading her daughter through the crowd. I lose them just as a steamed Derek emerges from the crowd, stomping back toward me.

"They told you that you have to wait for your group to be called to board?" I say with a smirk on my face and laughter in my tone.

"We're group nine. I think we board just prior to the livestock. Can this day get any worse?"

His question is like a challenge to the gods. The speakers crackle. "Attention, passengers. All of the overhead bins are now full. When you get to the gate, if you have a carry-on, we'll need to check it at the gate. Thank you for your cooperation."

I bite down on my lower lip to keep from laughing. Derek stews next to me, and I plop down onto a seat in the waiting area and pull out my phone. I know Derek enough to let him run off his nervous energy. Me? I'm calm and cool. The plane is on time. The reunion will be there when we get to town. I'm returning to my hometown as a successful businessman who has accomplished everything he set out to. Just as everyone had predicted.

My fingers glide over to the reunion website, and I find my RSVP and stare at it again. My name in bold letters, the column next to my name titled guest filled with the number one. When I sent in my response over six months ago, I planned to have an invited guest. It's how I've always expected the reunion to be, me returning to my hometown with everything I ever dreamed up.

Not everything is going according to plan after all.