“You know, honey, when he runs like that… there’s just something about him. I understand why half the country wants him in their bed. Don’t you?”
I nearly choked to death on a popcorn kernel.
Now I’m at Pumpkin Spice Café, wrapped in the comforting scent of coffee and paperbacks, trying to convince myself I amnotwatching the door.
Cohen came back into town this morning.
I know.
Everyone knows.
I haven’t seen him yet. I definitely haven’t answered the approximately three thousand messages he’s sent me since he left.
But stupidly, relentlessly, I still can’t get him out of my head.
“Okay, can we all agree the Vegas scene should be illegal in at least twelve states?”
Miriam’s voice yanks me back to the present. She shakes her head, brown curls bouncing.
“Illegal?” Penny sighs dreamily. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure I’m choosing a cowboy. They’re just too hot to resist.”
She absently twists one of her honey-blond braids, cheeks turning a suspicious shade of pink. A tiny flower is tucked into her hair—of course it is. Penny sells the prettiest flowers in Elm Hollow.
Everyone nods with near-religious seriousness.
We’re in the middle of the first official meeting of Ivy’s smut book club. This month’s pick isUnmasked, a cowboy romance that’s raising the temperature inside the café despite the snow outside.
“I highlighted the tactical elements,” Jules adds, tapping her pen like she’s breaking down game footage. “That cowboy’s stamina is… impressive. Very athletic.”
Olivia hides her face behind her hands, but the flush creeping up her cheeks is impossible to miss.
“I couldn’t even look at West after he grabbed the book and read chapter eighteen out loud this morning.”
“I’m sure you’ll… apply the lessons,” Molly mutters with a smirk, adjusting her sleek blond bob.
I laugh—but the sound doesn’t quite land.
I feel… disconnected.
I glance at Ivy, watching us with proud mom-energy, wrapped in a rust-colored cardigan and sipping her cappuccino.
Then I look at Lina.
She’s beside me, her short pigtails freshly dyed with electric-blue tips, vibrating with indignation. She’s wearing a T-shirt that saysSummer State of Mindwith a Grinch lounging on a beach chair, and she’s glaring at her phone like she wants to commit arson.
“I’m going to kill him,” she hisses, stabbing the WhatsApp mic.
“Sebastian?” I ask, sipping my chai.
“Obviously Sebastian.”
She yanks the phone closer.
“Listen carefully, you problem I never asked for. If you move my rainbow spatula collection one more time to organize it byusefulnessinstead ofaesthetic gradient, I will use your precious Japanese knives to slash your motorcycle tires. Over and out.”
She hits send and slams the phone down.
“You fight over spatula order?” Miriam asks, amused.
