Page 27

"I have the invoices for the festival, the updated room roster, and a monstrous appetite," Emma said, sliding onto the stool next to her friend. "Nate, if you don't put a plate of fries in front of me in the next five minutes, I'm going to pass out on your counter."

Nate laughed, tossing a basket of fries into the fryer. "Coming right up, drama queen. So? Surviving up on the hill with the mortal enemy?"

Emma opened her mouth to answer, but at that exact second, the sky ripped open, dropping a literal ocean onto Rosebrook.

Exactly six minutes after marching off with her chin in the air, the café door was shoved open. Victoria Sterling stepped in—apocalyptically drenched. Her wool coat dripped a steady puddle, her perfect blowout was plastered to her face, and her designer shoes squelched pathetically with every step. She looked ready to draft plans for a mass murder.

Emma bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. Nate stopped whatever he was doing; Lucy’s eyes went wide. Instead of surrendering, Victoria’s pride took the wheel. Ignoring the stares, she tilted her chin up, marched straight to the furthest, dimmest booth, and sat down staring down at her phone in vicious silence.

"Oh my god," Lucy whispered, leaning toward Emma. "Tell me that's not her."

"Oh, it's her," Emma confirmed, her voice cracking with suppressed glee.

"She looks like she wants to set the place on fire with her mind."

"She's probably trying to get the Wi-Fi to connect," Emma said, watching Victoria furiously tapping at her wet screen. "She has a very important video call in two hours she needs to prepare for, you know."

"Should we bring her a towel? Or does she bite?" Nate asked, sliding a hot plate of fries in front of Emma.

"She bites. I'll do it." Emma hopped off the stool, swiping a clean dish towel from Nate's stack, and headed toward the booth. But halfway there, she stopped to pick up a dropped sugar packet from the floor.

As Emma bent over, her worn denim pulled tight across her hips and lower back. Across the room, Victoria looked up from her screen. Emma stood back up slowly, adjusting her belt, oblivious. But Lucy, sitting at the counter with a direct line of sight to booth four, saw the whole thing.

“Okay," she hissed under her breath, just loud enough for Emma to hear as she looped back to the counter to grab a second towel. "Em. Why is the soaking wet girl at table four looking at you like you're the dessert of the day?"

A mortified flush crept up Emma's cheeks. She cast a covert glance over her shoulder. Victoria had immediately dropped her eyes back to her phone, but the flush climbing up her pale, wet neck gave her away.

Emma recognized that look. It was the exact same dark, focused stare Victoria had given her across the bar in Oakbridge right before sliding her room key across the sticky counter. A sudden rush of heat washed over Emma, sending a frantic flutter of pure gay panic straight to her stomach. For days, this woman had been driving her out of her mind. And now, sitting in a café, looking like a drowned rat while trying to maintain her untouchable aura, Victoria had just checked her out.

Emma turned back to the counter, propping her elbows on the scratched laminate. A shameless grin spread across her face. "Funny you should mention that, guys..." Emma murmured, keeping her voice low just for the dramatic effect. "There's a tiny detail I haven't mentioned yet."

Nate leaned in. "Did you cave and agree to sell The Amber House?"

"No. Do you remember the gorgeous girl I picked up at Oakbridge on Sunday? The one I hooked up with?" Emma paused for exactly one beat, then gave a microscopic tilt of her head toward the back booth. "That's her."

Lucy inhaled a gulp of coffee at the exact second Emma finished the sentence. She instantly started coughing violently, her wide eyes snapping back and forth between Emma and table four. Nate turned into stone before bursting into a booming laugh that he desperately tried to smother into his fist. He reached across the counter and slapped Emma a high-five.

"You are my absolute hero, Hayes," Nate wheezed.

All three of them turned their heads to look at the booth.

When Victoria finally glanced up from her Wi-Fi settings, she found Nate doubled over, Lucy coughing up a lung, and Emma grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary. Probably assuming these provincial townies were merely laughing at her ruined coat, Victoria lifted her chin with a fierce dignity—totally unaware she had just been spectacularly outed.

Emma couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed the towel and strolled over to the booth, soaking in every second of the farce. "Here you go," Emma said, tossing the dry cloth onto the table. "Before you die of hypothermia and miss your very important call with New York."

Victoria snatched the towel, drying her face with sharp, angry motions. "The Wi-Fi is useless. The cell service is non-existent. And your friends are insolent."

"My friends are delightful," Emma shot back, sliding her hands into her pockets to keep them from shaking. "Come on, dry off and let's go home. Though I doubt Betsy’s heater is going to do you much good."

"I prefer the freezing temperatures of your truck to the braying laughter of the local peasantry," Victoria hissed. She stood up, pulling her heavy coat tighter around herself. She didn't deign Nate or Lucy with a single glance, marching straight ahead.

The drive back was a masterpiece of passive-aggressive tension. Victoria shivered in the passenger seat in absolute silence, while Emma hummed under her breath with a permanent smirk. The snob from Manhattan wasn't so untouchable after all.

At the B&B, Victoria marched straight upstairs without a word, shivering visibly as she left a trail of rainwater on the hardwood.

Smirking, Emma carried the deliveries into the warm kitchen. She went to reach for the vanilla extract to start tomorrow's lemon frosting, grabbed a bottle of balsamic vinegar instead because V was now on the top left shelf instead of the counter, and her anger over the hijacked pantry flared right back to life.

Above her head, the ancient copper pipes in the ceiling groaned to life with a familiar, rattling hiss. Victoria had just stepped into the master suite shower to thaw out.