“I’m not in it for the camera time.”
Heather laughed. “She’s in it for all of us.”
The bell over the door jingled again.
“Speaking of trouble wrapped in handsome with an ego the size of Texas.” Heather fanned herself. “Too bad I’m taken.”
Trent sauntered in with that sexy swagger that everyone mistook for arrogance. He was anything but. Hat tipped back, jeans damp at the hem, grin fast and easy. He smelled like the river and aftershave and the kind of choices people explained to their mothers later. That kind of man used to appeal to Fallon, especially right after her parents had died. She’d only been twenty, and all she could think about was feeling the pain while trying to numb it at the same time.
“Well, look at what the river brought in,” he said, hopping onto the stool beside her. “You want me to sign your muffin?”
“Sign your own sugar rush,” Fallon said, not looking at him.
He barked a laugh and jerked his chin at the TV. “I’d like to sign a snake and put it under Stacey’s seat.”
“Now, why would you want to do that?” she asked. “She made you look like a hero.”
“Don’t even get me started.” He leaned in. “Stacey ambushed me last night at Massey’s. Asked for an ‘exclusive sit-down.’ I told her the gator had more charisma and to go find him.”
“You’re going to end up on her enemies list.”
“Already there.” He grinned. “Pretty sure you are, too.”
“Please. She can’t spell my name.”
He glanced at her, humor softening. “You good?”
“I’m about to be caffeinated,” she said. “That’s as good as it gets.”
“Not what I’m talking about, and you know it.” The creases in his forehead and around his eyes softened. Trent had a wild streak, no doubt. He’d raised hell as a teenager and got into the kind of trouble that had given him a reputation he hadn’t been able to shed. But deep down, Trent was a wounded man with a big heart. She’d seen that side of him more than once.
“I’m hanging tough, just like always.”
He smiled, soft and subtle. Not the flashy grin that was meant to melt girls' hearts and charm them out of their pants. “Did you get my list of donations for the silent auction? And I can work more volunteer hours if you need me to. Just ask.”
“I will. And thanks.”
Heather slid over a drink carrier and tucked a warm paper bag on top. “Two larges and two muffins. And tell Buddy I said hello.”
Fallon reached for her wallet. “Who says I’m meeting Buddy?”
Heather made a face. “Only man I’ve ever known who gets a coffee with oat milk. And you take it black.”
Trent tipped his hat at Fallon with his best you’ll-miss-me-when-I’m-gone smile. “You and Buddy, eh? Why am I not surprised.”
“We’re in South Florida,” Fallon said. “Not Canada.” Focusing on anything other than his and Heather’s observations.
“Semantics.” His eyes sparked. “And mention to your friend Dove that it’s rude not to respond to texts.”
Fallon narrowed her stare. “You didn’t actually give her another chance after the whole python thing?”
“Just do me a solid and ask her to give me a call,” he said, pushing off the stool. Trent was a lot of things, but he didn’t brag about his conquests. Actually, he was a private man when it came to his short-lived affairs. He might be a big flirt out in public, but once things got going, he was completely different. “See you at the fundraiser.”
She rolled her eyes and took the tray.
Outside, the heat slapped her. The cabins shimmered in the morning light, hose water beading on the gravel like scattered beads. She crossed the street, coffees steady in the carrier, muffin bag hooked over her wrist, sweat already tickling down her spine.
Halfway down the block, a dark muscle car crept by. Tinted windows. Engine too loud. It rolled slow enough to be noticeable, slow enough to catalog targets without revealing an identity.
