“You aim well,” she added, taking another sip. It was strong, dark, and exactly what she needed.
“Well, don’t tell my grandfather that,” Jack said, his smirk softening into a grin. “He thinks my coffee is too strong. Says it can strip paint off a wall.”
“Weak coffee is for weak people. This is perfect.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll make sure to tell him that the next time he complains.”
“Tell him I said it. Seriously, people need to stop pretending they enjoy that watery stuff.” She took a long,satisfying inhalation from the cup, savoring the richness. “And if he doesn’t like strong coffee, he’s really going to hate the next trend in the coffee industry.”
Jack’s brow quirked. “Which is?”
“Floral coffee.” She grinned, waiting for the wrinkle in his nose as she explained. “They always talk about coffee tasting like chocolate or berries, but now they’re mixing coffee flowers with the beans during roasting to give it floral notes. People are already adding lavender and rose syrup to their drinks. Soon, it’ll be all over those fancy coffee shops.”
He raised his cup in a toast. “I’ll stick with my garden-variety drip coffee. Black.”
“Your loss,” she said with a shrug. “Now grab your keys. We’re going on a field trip.”
His eyebrows shot up, but without missing a beat he tugged his keys from his jeans pocket. “Weren’t you the one who said you don’t do mornings?”
She followed him outside, her boots crunching against the gravel as she climbed into his truck. The door closed with a solid thud behind her, and she hesitated, searching for the right words. She wasn’t a morning person. Not even close. Spontaneity had never been one of her strengths either. But something about being back in Sunrise had made her question whether it might be a good idea to toss her spreadsheets out the window every once in a while.
He shot her a sideways glance. “So, what changed today?”
“Besides the early wake-up?” She stared out the window, watching Main Street blur by in the soft morning haze. The quiet hum of the town settled into her bones, the familiar rhythm of Sunrise sinking in deeper than she’d ever let it before. “I guess I needed to feel close to Lolly. To remember why she loved this place.”
Jack’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white for a second. “Thought you couldn’t wait to sell and get back to New York.”
The more time she spent in Sunrise, the more it tugged at her in ways she wasn’t expecting. New York was her safety net, her structure, her routine. But Lolly and The Spoon were calling her back, making her question everything.
“Yeah,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I thought so too.”
Silence settled between them as the paved streets of Sunrise gave way to narrow dirt roads winding through thick brush. The sky had started to lighten, soft pinks and golds stretching across the marsh and shimmering on the water as it snaked its way through the reeds. She guided Jack toward an opening in the trees, the path barely wide enough for the truck. She winced as branches scraped against the windows, cringing at the sound.
“Sorry about your paint job.”
Jack shrugged and patted the dashboard. “Don’t worry. She’s taken worse hits in this town.”
As they bumped along the uneven path, she found herself stealing glances at Jack, noticing how the morning light played against the rough angles of his face—the scar above his eyebrow, the scruff on his jaw. She was so lost in the details that she didn’t even notice they’d stopped until he spoke.
“I think this is the end of the line.”
“Huh?” She blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts. Then she saw the small clearing ahead, the truck parked right at the edge. “Oh. Right. We’re here.”
Jack eyed her worn boots. “You sure you’re up for this?”
She rolled her eyes and hopped out of the truck, her feet sinking slightly into the damp earth. “Please. I may have been gone a while, but I haven’t forgotten how to take a walk in the woods.”
She started down a barely visible trail, a dawn chorus of birds filling the air. Jack stuck close behind, his occasional touch steadying her when she stumbled over hidden roots.Every time his hand brushed against her back, goosebumps prickled up her spine, though she was pretty sure it wasn’t the chill of the morning causing them.
“So,” Jack said, his voice teasing, “you joked about me being a murderer last night, but this feels an awful lot like one of those bad made-for-TV movies where the serial killer lures his unsuspecting victim into the woods.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Please. If I were a serial killer, I’d have way better taste in victims. And, besides, I’ve been too busy running away from my life to plot your demise.”
Jack chuckled, the sound low and warm. “What do you have to run away from?”
As they tromped down the path, the quiet surrounds made it easier to open up. She found herself telling him about Brad-slash-Alex-the-Jerk, the job she lost, and how everything had seemed to fall apart at once.
Jack gently tugged at the back of her shirt, stopping her in her tracks. “Wait. You’re telling me this guy asked you out so he could steal your work?”
