Sabrina almost dropped her pen. “This isn’t his story to tell. It’s not entertainment. It’s?—”
“—part of the deal,” Marla cut in. “When the wedding goes viral, we’ll get more bookings than we can handle. You know how this works.”
I ducked back out of view and set the drill down without making a sound. Fuck the podcaster. He’d been poking around with questions about the Ex-List for months. When no one would talk to him, he’d made shit up on his own. Anything for ratings or to charge more for ad space.
I didn’t know what Sabrina had told him, if anything. But my gut said this wasn’t over.
As I moved around the side of the building, a crow called overhead, sharp and echoing. I looked up to see it perched on the Inn’s chimney, its dark feathers ruffled by the breeze. A sign, maybe. Or maybe just another thing in this town that wanted to watch my life continue to fall apart.
I sat in my truck and ate the lunch I’d packed before I left the house that morning. The coffee in my thermos was still warm, but it didn’t taste nearly as good as the dark roast Sabrina had been brewing over at Morning Wood.
Later, I checked in at the Hard & Handy, the hardware store I owned and had left in the care of my cousin’s kid while Marla kept me busy at the Inn. Business was usually slow this time of year. I probably could have shut it down until I finished what needed to be done at the Inn, but people counted on it being open just in case they needed something. That was one thing growing up in a small town had instilled in me… looking out for my neighbors and the other folks who called Hard Timber home. And whether I liked it or not, that included Sabrina.
By late afternoon, I found myself heading toward Morning Wood. I didn’t want coffee, and I sure as hell didn’t need another scone or muffin. I had no business walking through the front door. But my truck had somehow steered itself into a parking space out front, and my boots had carried me right inside. Truth was, I just wanted to see her.
Sabrina was behind the counter, humming to herself while she wiped down the espresso machine. The café smelled like dark-roast coffee and a hint of chocolate, like the weekend mornings when we used to grab a thermos and head up the mountain for a hike. Back when things were still easy, before everything fell apart.
She didn’t look up. “I didn’t expect to see your face again so soon.”
I stepped up to the counter. “Miss me already?”
“Like I miss food poisoning,” she said with a snort.
“You’re still dishing out charm with a side of sass, I see.”
“You’re the one who showed up uninvited,” she said, finally glancing up.
“Must be my magnetic personality.”
“More like a bad habit,” she muttered, reaching for a cup.
“Well, lucky for you, I’ve been told I’m hard to quit.” I stepped closer, dropping my voice, my chest warming from the easy banter. It almost felt like it used to between us. “I heard the podcaster’s sniffing around again.”
Her hands stilled. “He’s always sniffing. I told him I didn’t have anything to say.”
“Are you sure?”
Her brows pinched together. “You think I’d sell you out for a soundbite?”
“No. But you’re acting like you’re waiting for something to explode.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She shook her head. “I’m just tired, Trace.”
“Of me?” I regretted the question as soon as it left my mouth.
“Of… this.” She waved a hand between us. “All of it.”
That stung, and I felt the same damn way. “I didn’t mean for things to get weird,” I said. “That night on the porch?—”
“Let’s not,” she cut in. “We don’t need to rehash the past.”
“But maybe we should.”
She looked away and filled a to-go cup to the brim. “It’s not that simple.”
“It was once.” And it could be again. I missed my best friend. I missed the man I was when I was with her. I just didn’t know how to say all that out loud.
She let out a sigh. “Before everything got messy. Before you started looking at me like?—”
