Page 6 of Revival in Laurel Valley

“I’m standing right here,” Blaze said, grabbing his coffee and bear claw. “Just waiting. Don’t mind me.”

“I never do,” the stranger said, but his gaze stayed locked on Liza.

She put one of her specialty eclairs in a bag and passed it to him, along with a cup of coffee.

What was she doing? She should stop this. Should remember that she was leaving, that getting involved was the last thing she needed. But looking at him, she wanted to forget every lesson she’d learned.

“You’re not from around here,” she said.

He shrugged and pulled out his wallet. “Neither are you.”

“Canadian.” She reached for the money and their fingers brushed. The contact sent electricity straight through her. “I spent my summers here as a kid. Though I’ve been in New York the past couple years.”

“That’ll do it.” He didn’t pull his hand away. “I enjoy a woman with an attitude.”

“Lucky you. My attitude is pretty much like this all the time. I’ve got it on good authority that I’m a real pain.”

“Good grief,” Blaze muttered, heading for the door. “I’ll be outside.”

Neither of them looked at him.

“You have a name?” Liza asked.

“Grant Boone.” His voice wrapped around her like smoke. “Detroit. Though I spent my summers here as a kid too.”

She nodded slowly. “I figured somewhere Midwest. You’ve got that no-nonsense thing going on.”

“And you’ve got that trouble thing going on.”

“So I’ve been told. What brings you to Laurel Valley? Visiting?”

His expression shuttered. “Something like that. Figuring out what’s next.”

“Sounds familiar.” She leaned forward. “Maybe you could tell me about it over dinner.”

His eyes sparked with surprise and heat. “Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe I am.”

The dimple that appeared in his cheek should have been illegal. “Then yes⁠—”

The roar of a motorcycle engine cut through the morning air, growing rapidly louder. Grant’s head snapped toward the sound—too fast, too close, wrong⁠—

The world exploded.

Chapter Two

A black motorcycle blasted down the pedestrian-only Main Street, a figure in dark clothing firing an automatic weapon as they passed. Glass shattered inward in a deadly spray. The rapid-fire bursts were deafening in the enclosed space.

Grant’s training overrode everything else. He launched himself over the counter, grabbing Liza and pulling her down. They hit the floor hard, his body covering hers as bullets ripped through the bakery.

The glass showcase exploded. Wood splintered. Pastries and dishes flew through the air. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the space.

Five seconds. Maybe six. Then the motorcycle roared away, the sound fading as quickly as it had come.

Grant stayed down, covering Liza, waiting to see if there’d be a second pass. His ears rang from the gunfire. Something warm dripped down his face—blood from flying glass.

“Blaze!” he yelled.