My heart stutters against my ribs, skipping beats like it’s trying to process something that doesn’t compute.
“That’s not possible,” I murmur, my head swiveling between the idyllic scene ahead and the storm we just drove through, searching for some logical explanation that doesn’t make me question my grip on reality.
The man beneath me leans closer, close enough that his breath caresses my ear when he speaks, his voice carrying undertones of something that sounds almost like reverence.
“Welcome to Ruby Springs, Miss Thorne.”
Chapter
Two
THIS IS EITHER MAGIC OR I’VE LANDED IN A HALLMARK MOVIE
“Please don’t call me that,” I blurt immediately. “Miss Thorne sounds like I should be haunting an attic somewhere. It’s Keisha, or Ki-Ki for short.”
The driver glances over at me, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“Maceo,” he says.
“Ezra,” adds the quieter one beside him.
“Lucien,” my nice seat says, squeezing my waist gently.
Great. Three men with strong names and entirely too much composure.
Lucien’s voice slides right into my ear like silk, soft and smooth. The way he said, “Welcome to Ruby Springs”, each word carefully chosen and deliberately placed. Like he has welcomed a hundred people into Ruby Springs over the years and somehow saved this particular welcome, just for me.
The shiver that runs down my spine makes no sense. I have never set foot in this place. I was born here but I’ve never known it. I have never even seen it outside of my mother’s carefully edited stories and a handful of faded photographs thatlooked more like folklore than documentation of actual life. Still, something deep inside me reacts anyway, immediate and instinctive.
My head swivels toward the windshield again, my mind refusing to accept what my eyes are insisting is real.
One second ago, the world was gray and hostile.
Now? Now everything is impossibly bright. Golden, even. Warm sunlight pours over the town square. People stroll along pristine sidewalks like they have nowhere urgent to be, like the concept of stress is foreign to them. Children weave around an ornate fountain while adults sip coffee from ceramic mugs and laugh like the weather never tried to take me out five minutes ago.
It’s like someone hit a reset button on reality.
My mouth opens before my brain can catch up and stop it.
“Please tell me that was magic. Because that was definitely not the effects of climate change,” I blurt, because if this is just some weird meteorological coincidence, I’m going to lose what’s left of my sanity.
Maceo’s low chuckle rumbles through the cab, deep and rich like good coffee. He glances at me, catching my expression, then turns his attention back to the road with something that feels like amusement and satisfaction rolled into one perfect, insufferable package.
Ezra, the quieter one with the analytical eyes, does not laugh. He watches me like he’s trying to decide whether my reaction falls within normal parameters or if I’m about to become a problem that needs solving.
Lucien, beneath me, leans back slightly into the seat like he has all the space in the world, even with me sprawled across his lap in what has to be the most undignified entrance to a new town in recorded history. His hand rests at my waist with a steadiness that makes my body feel oddly safe, like a tether Ididn’t know I needed. His voice comes again, close enough that I can feel the words against my ear.
“You know what this place is,” he says. It is not a question.
“I know what my mother told me,” I correct quickly. My pride refuses to let me be seen as naive in front of three gorgeous strangers who look like they walked out of a calendar shoot titled ‘Men Who Could Carry You And Your Emotional Baggage Without Breaking A Sweat’. “She told me Ruby Springs was hidden. Ward-protected, I guess. She told me stories, but. . .” My eyes sweep the street again, still struggling to reconcile what I’m seeing with what should be possible. The cognitive dissonance makes my voice drop without my permission. “It looks like somebody tried to build a small town out of a Pinterest board and succeeded beyond all reasonable expectations.”
Maceo laughs outright at that, deep and warm and entirely too attractive. He slows the truck as we roll deeper into town, the oversized tires humming over a road so smooth and well-maintained it makes my own travel misery seem personally targeted by the universe.
“It cleans up nice,” he says with obvious pride.
The town absolutely does.
Colorful storefronts line the main street, each one bright and cheerful like they’re competing for ‘Most Likely To Be Featured In A Romantic Hallmark Holiday Movie’. Hand-painted signs swing gently in the breeze, advertising everything from handcrafted soaps to fresh-baked bread. Flower boxes spill over with blooms so vibrant they look almost too perfect to be real, like someone cranked the saturation up by a thousand. The sidewalks look clean enough to eat off, which is not something I would ever trust anywhere, because I am a woman who has lived in cities and knows the uncomfortable truth about public surfaces.
