“We’ll get to the store tomorrow. Stuff the fridge with all your favorites. Maybe I’ll even attempt dinner.”
“Spare us both.”
“How did I get such a cynical but beautiful child?”
I give her a dull look. “I think you know.”
“Except I cover my sarcasm with sweetness.” She slid a thin dagger into the magnetic wall rack she’d already installed because, of course, priorities. “Stay on the sidewalks.”
“Are you sure the middle of the road wouldn’t be safe?” I retorted.
Her lips twitched. “Smart-ass.”
I knew she worried about me, perhaps more than other parents, but I also understood why. She’d witnessed firsthand the horrors that lived in the world. Out on my own, she wasn’t there to protect me, but she tried to let me have some independence, regardless of how difficult it was for her, especially because of what she did. Her biggest fear was that someone she hunted would find me before she found them.
I grabbed my tote bag from the hook by the door, slinging it over my shoulder, and stepped outside. The late-July wind trailed its fingers through my hair as I walked, the air warm and floral, carrying faint notes of pine, sugar, and sea salt even though the ocean was still hours away. Well-kept homes linedthe road, many with craftsman porches, cottage windows framed by ivy, and flower boxes spilling over with petunias.
It didn’t take long to find a coffee spot amongst all the shops downtown. Daily Dose, it was appropriately named and seemed to be a popular spot. The exposed brick inside gave it an industrial vibe. Paintings by local artists hung on the walls. The furniture was charmingly mismatched and inviting. The chalkboard behind the counter was scribbled with curly handwriting, advertising daily drink specials.
If they served a decent matcha, it was over. I’d be here daily, just as the name suggested.
I waited in line for at least ten minutes until I reached the barista, a girl with purple hair and approximately seventeen ear piercings. “Welcome to Daily Dose. What can I get you?” she greeted. She looked near my age, and I wondered if she attended Elmwood Public, not that I was about to ask her.
“Um, a strawberry matcha, please, and an almond croissant,” I added.
“You’ll love the croissants,” she said, tapping on the tablet. “I’d eat them every day if they didn’t go straight to my ass.”
I smiled in return. Was everyone in town this nice? I wasn’t used to the friendly small talk.
The barista rattled off my total, and I quickly paid, moving down the line to wait for my order, which only took a few minutes.
There were plenty of people around; the downtown area was quite busy. Even the coffee shop was nearly full with only a single table unoccupied. I took that as a sign and slid in. Sunlight poured through the glass, warm and golden. I positioned myself directly in its path, desperately needing vitamin D.
I took a first sip of my drink, gazing out the window to people-watch. The matcha was pleasantly delicious, and I took a bite of the croissant with high hopes. It didn’t disappoint.
I was mid-chew, scrolling through nothing on my phone, when a shadow fell over my table. My head tilted up, and I spotted a guy. He was tall, probably six-foot-something, with tousled dark hair intentionally messy. Good-looking by most standards, but something about his crooked grin made me wary. Perhaps it was the damn dimples I didn’t trust.
He was staring at me, and it made me think perhaps I had food on my face. Why else would he be looking atme?
“I’ve never seen you here before,” he said, his voice like liquid honey as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You visiting?”
I swallowed the bite I’d taken along with the commentary I wanted to unleash and went with what I hoped was toned down. “Do you normally keep tabs on everyone coming and going in this town?”
His light-green eyes glimmered. “If they look like you, typically yes.”
Was he hitting on me? If he was, he was doing a poor jobandinterrupting my peace. “I’m not interested.” I took another bite of croissant, maintaining eye contact to establish dominance.
His gaze ran over me before he pulled the chair out from across the table and plopped down. The fucking audacity. Did my expression look like I was in the mood for company? Perhaps I was being too polite.
“Why not? I’m charming as fuck.”
Oh, I bet he was, which was precisely why I wanted nothing to do with him and his damn dimples. “I don’t trust anyone who’s prettier than me.”
His fingers tapped lightly on the table, his eyes never breaking from mine. He wasn’t afraid of eye contact. I had a hunch there wasn’t much he was afraid of. “Fair. They can be a curse and a blessing. You’d have to stick around to find out.”
I put the pastry down and went for my matcha. “Hmm. That depends on whether this town has a no-dimple policy. Because if not, I’m filing a complaint.”
His grin widened, deepening those damn, criminal dimples. “Harsh. I’m Mason, by the way.”
