Sammie holds out the door to the quaint shop, ushering me inside. A blast of that addicting coffee smell hits my face, the bell above the door dinging with our arrival. It’s a cozy space with small tables sprinkled around the storefront with several college students busily typing away on their computers. Bookshelves ring the edges with genres posted that can be easily read from the main door. I chuckle to myself, noticing the much larger romance section that takes up the majority of the shelving space.
A young woman works at the counter busily making a drink for a waiting customer. The display case showcases an assortment of baked goods and some bottled drinks. A chalkboard hangs from the ceiling behind the barista listing their drink specialties and costs. It’s a cute place that has a lot of charm with its aged red bricks and comfortable feel. I can see why it’s the local favorite, the logo matches the one on the cup Levi offered me this morning and it was delicious.
Sammie walks up to the barista as I look around the place. I have a feeling I’m going to be spending some time here working on my article and chatting with the locals.
The barista says something about going to get someone before walking down the small hallway that no doubt leads to the private offices.
Sammie turns to me, a bright smile on her face. “Cara’s great.”
The name rings like a gong through my head, but I shake it off. Cara’s not an uncommon name. Many people are named Cara. “Well, I appreciate her help.” Curiosity wins out, and the question spills from my lips. “What’s her last name, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh right, for your article. It’s Moore. Cara Moore.” As if on cue a familiar curvy silhouette appears down the hall walking confidently toward me.
My heart breaks out into a frantic rush, my mind picturing the beautiful face of my biggest regret as Cara walks down the hallway and freezes.
Chapter Three
Cara
It’s him.
How can it behim?
My body jerks to a sudden stop, my eyes widening in disbelief. I never planned to see him again. Never thought he would come strolling back into my life. Not once did I dare to picture him standing in my coffee shop. Emotions I’ve long buried for him swirl under the surface of my skin, my arms breaking out in goosebumps at seeing Smith standing at the end of the hallway. Memories of the past wound me just as deeply now as they did all those years ago when I left.
I guess some wounds never heal.
Time slows as Smith and I stare at each other. To his credit, he looks just as shocked as I do, maybe more so. And damn him, he looks even better than the last time I saw him.
Smith has filled out, no longer the tall skinny twenty-two-year-old he was. He’s still tall, but his figure is less lean and more defined. The white button-down and black jeans he’s wearing fit him perfectly, accentuating his physic. But it’s those blue eyes, the ones I see in my dreams, that haunt me the most as we stare at each other.
“There she is.” Sammie cheers, her footsteps bouncy as she steps between us, snapping me out of my haze. “Cara, this is Smith, the journalist fromThe Daily Click.” She gestures to theman I used to know who has the decency to look embarrassed. “Smith, this is Cara, owner of Tall, Dark, and Coffee, who will show you around this week.”
Smith swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Cara.” He tilts his head toward me. It’s a good thing he didn’t offer his hand because I don’t know if I would’ve been able to take it.
Sammie glances between the two of us, her gaze questioning as she locks eyes with me. Cool disdain rolls off me in waves, my jaw set firm, willing no emotion into my features.
I’ve cried too much over this man already.
Six years isn’t long enough.
“Okay, well…” Sammie trails off, her head bouncing like a tennis ball between us. “Cara, I’ll call you later?” She gives me a pointed look and I nod, knowing she won’t take no for an answer.
We stand awkwardly, feet apart, neither one of us saying a word. Customers shuffle in, the bell dinging in the background, the click of the register, and the low hum of customers filling the space between us.
Smith shuffles on his feet, his arm reaching between us like a peace offering. “Cara, I had no idea…” He runs his hand through the inky dark hair, a lone piece brushing against his forehead. “I’m happy to see you.”
“Don't,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice low so customers won’t overhear. The last thing I need is for a rumor to spread through town. Deep calming breaths fill my chest as I try to regain my slipping composure. I don’t think I can do this. I can’t be this close to him. My mind flickers through who would be able to work with him while I hole myself in my office for several days until he leaves town.
Smith blinks his blue eyes at me, waiting for me to speak. He always had a way of knowing exactly how I was feeling at anygiven moment, and it seems that that’s another thing time failed to lessen.
The list I was attempting to compile drifts from my mind like leaves in the fall breeze. I let out a slow exhale, steeling my spine for what I’m going to have to do.“This isn’t going to be some walk down memory lane,” I say firmly to both myself and to him. “No talking about the past or bringing up old baggage. I promised Sammie I’d show you around town, and believe me, if I hadn’t already made all sorts of arrangements, I’d let you fend for yourself.”
A whole helluva lot of me wants to shut the door behind him and never open it again. Go back to my life before he showed up in my town. Try to forget about him and all the feelings that resurface when I look at him. But it’s time to push my own personal feelings to the side and focus on Rose Prairie.
“Cara,” he sighs my name, flashbacks of that same sound from a different time flicker through my mind. Those ridiculous blue eyes beckon me closer, to close the gap between us like I long to do, but I hold my ground, willing my feet to stay planted. He holds up his hands in surrender before sliding them into his pockets. “Alright. Professional interactions only.”
“Good.” My arms cross under my chest, the embroidery of the logo on my apron digging into my forearms. “Meet me here tomorrow morning at nine,” I instruct before turning on my heel and going back to my office.
