“Thank you, come again!”Wendy waved after a sweet elderly woman before tucking the cash into her register.
She could breathe again—back in her shop. The party a couple days ago had thrown her for a loop. It was strange realizing that Tripp had been in the same small town she was and she hadn’t even known it.
He could have walked into the shop at any point. Heck, they could have bumped into each other at the coffee shop or Sweet Everything Bakery.
Wendy shook off the chills that came with that realization. Of course, he wouldn’t have recognized her and the trauma fromthe event would be hers and hers alone. Then she would have immediately got on the phone and called Olivia to tell her about the encounter.
She blew a sharp breath, the hair near her cheek lifting with the effort. The only solace she had in knowing he was a local in her town was that they’d managed to avoid each other this long. What were the chances that they’d be forced together beyond the wedding itself?
Resting her forearms on the counter, she grabbed her book and flipped it open to the page she’d been reading. A highlighter rested nearby, ready for when she needed to notate parts that stuck with her.
The descriptors and dialogue in this romantic comedy had her laughing out loud so hard at times that her eyes watered. How authors could manage that was so far beyond her. Reality being what it was, she didn’t think she had a shot at writing that well no matter how hard she tried.
But that wasn’t the reason for her dream. At least that hadn’t been what spurred her dream of writing. Once upon a time, all she’d wanted to do was learn how to write well enough to touch a handful of readers. If she could bring joy, if she could light up one person’s day, then she would be happy.
Wendy wasn’t sure when her dreams shifted to being something more. Now, she wanted to be good enough so she wasn’t a laughingstock.
Tinkling filled the air when the door whooshed inward and knocked the bell overhead.
“Welcome to Horseshoe Antiques, let me know if I can…” Wendy lifted her head and her words died in her throat.
The desert could have spilled from her mouth and she wouldn’t have been as surprised as she was in this very moment.
Standing in front of the now closed door was the one person she would have died happy never seeing again. Disdain for her and everything she was rolled off him in waves. He stood with his arms crossed and his legs spread enough to show a dominant stance. His head cocked slightly and his hat shaded part of his face.
Wendy’s eyes narrowed and she rose stiffly. For the next couple of days, she was the only one working. Serenity had requested more time off as she prepared for the wedding and Wendy had lost their other employee about a month ago. Nothing but her current predicament would have been enough to make her wish she’d hired a replacement before now.
She could shout at him to get out, but that wasn’t who she was. Wendy Scott had been raised to be respectful even to her enemies—most of the time.
A slow smile spread across her face. This was her turf. Tripp didn’t know what he’d just stepped into. Wendy folded her arms, mirroring his stance. “What can I do for you?”
Tripp let his eyes scan the room before locking them on her. Then he moved toward her.
Breath caught in her lungs. She’d been expecting a retaliation. Tripp hadn’t thrown a tantrum after she’d made a scene. No, he wouldn’t do that.
Tripp was the kind of guy who had a scary sort of calm about him. The part of her soul that was the same could recognize it in him. He wanted to get her back.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted but she refused to retreat. Tripp stopped at the counter, pressed his hands onto its surface, and leaned forward. “Hello, sweetheart,” he crooned.
“Don’t call me that.”
His thoughtful expression did nothing to ease the tension she felt. His eyes were calculating, planning. What was he going to do? She couldn’t take it. She needed to get to him before he could get to her.
At that moment, the bell above the door rang again and a couple young women wandered in. They smiled at her, then their focus lingered on Tripp. Wendy didn’t miss the way he looked right back, unabashed.
The tightness in her chest increased and she gripped the counter so tight her fingers turned white. Her shop wasn’t his hunting grounds. If only her scowl could shoot fire.
Tripp turned back to her as smug as ever. His voice lowered so the other guests couldn’t hear him. “Look, I don’t know what I did to deserve that little…outburst… the other day, but I want to call a truce.”
She arched a brow. “Truce?” A disbelieving laugh burst from her lips. “We don’t need a truce. I’m not afraid of you.”
His eyes flared slightly but he covered his surprise quickly as one side of his mouth quirked upward. That tightness in her chest unfurled, shifting into something else—something not entirely unpleasant. He leaned closer again. “Maybe you should be.”
Wendy huffed. “You’re just an emotionally stunted man with a pretty face.”
Tripp’s grin widened further. “So, youdothink I’m pretty.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the oncoming blush. “Like I said. Cocky.”
