“I think,” she said softly, “I’d like that.”
Something light unfurled in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Great,” I said, grinning. “There’s a café next door. Belle works there sometimes.”
Her laugh was quiet, genuine. “Of course she does.”
We stayed on the bench for another few minutes, side by side, letting the music and laughter from the rehearsal fillthe space between us. We stood and walked toward the door together.
The coffee shop was just next door, a little brick building that smelled like espresso and vanilla. The bell over the door jingled as we stepped inside.
And there she was, Belle, standing behind the counter with her apron tied crooked and her hair in a messy bun, humming along to the indie playlist overhead.
The second she saw us, her eyes lit up like a cat who’d just spotted mischief.
“Well, well,” she drawled, leaning on the counter. “If it isn’t my two favorite Penguins parents, inthemost romantic caffeine stop in town.”
Eleanor flushed immediately. I shot Belle a look so sharp it could’ve stripped paint.
Belle blinked, all false innocence. “What? I meant the lighting’s nice. And the cookies are aphrodisiac-level good. Want one?”
“Belle,” I said flatly.
“Fine,” she said, smirking. “What can I get you, lovebirds?”
Eleanor laughed nervously. “Coffee, please. And maybe one of those magical cookies?”
“Coming right up.” Belle turned away, but I could hear her quietly hummingKiss the Girlunder her breath.
I pulled out my wallet before Eleanor could even reach for hers.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said softly.
“I know,” I said. “But I want to.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Thank you.”
Belle slid the coffees and two still-warm chocolate chip cookies across the counter with a wink. “On the house if you promise to name your firstborn after me.”
“Out,” I said, pointing toward the kitchen.
She laughed and disappeared through the swinging door.
Eleanor was still smiling as we found a small table by the window, the kind with mismatched chairs and a vase of fake daisies. The sunlight hit her hair just right, catching every shade of gold and copper.
I took a sip of my coffee. “So . . . are you from here originally?”
She nodded, stirring hers absentmindedly. “Yeah. Born and raised right here in Briar Glen.”
“Small world,” I said. “I moved here about ten years ago.”
“I left as soon as I could,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “But . . . life brought me back.”
I tilted my head. “Family?”
She hesitated, eyes flicking down to her cup. “Yeah. My mom. The Tremaines.”
