Chapter 1
Lauren
“Here you go,” Caleb says gruffly and sets down a mug in front of me, filled to the brim with a nice, hot latte macchiato.
A grin stretches my lips into a wide grin as I glance up to meet his signature frown.
“Thank you,” I say, honey-sweet, and pick up the little cookie he put on the saucer, popping it into my mouth. Then I reach for my bag.
His eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I told you not to bring this pumpkin spice syrup shit in here,” he scolds me, but it only widens my grin.
That tone might have worked on me for the first two hours upon meeting him.
But now that I’ve lived in this little Hallmark-esque town called Wayward Hollow for almost three months already, I’ve grown immune to his bad moods.
Nay, dare I say, I see it as a challenge now. Deep inside that grumpy café owner with his blue eyes and chocolate brown hair with the cutest curls that’s usually hidden under his backward cap, is a sweet guy.
I know it. And I’m determined to catch a glimpse of him, with the help of my natural charm and hard-trained ability to annoy the bejeezus out of people.
“That’s why I didn’t bring pumpkin spice syrup,” I point out as my fingers wrap around the cold glass. I pull it out, set the huge bottle on the table and shoot him a triumphant smirk. What can I say? They only had the 1.5-liter bottle available. “I brought gingerbread syrup.”
A murderous glimmer appears in his narrow eyes, and his face turns so red I’m afraid he’s about to explode. It looks hilarious, like he’s a character in an old Tom his parents weren’t too happy with his career.
And finally, there’s Caleb, the grumpy owner of the town café, who I don’t think I’ve ever seen without anything covering his head or the gruff attitude. A few days back, he began wearing a beanie instead of his backward cap, and I barely recognized him.
I don’t know his backstory. It seems like nobody in this town does. I’m a nosy woman, so of course I asked around.
I think the only person in this cute café with its exposed brick wall, wooden furniture and black metal accents, who gets along with their parents is Henry.
“Anyway, how’s your library coming along?” Kieran subtly reaches for the syrup as well, ignoring my glare.
Hypocrites, the whole lot of them.
“It’s going one step forward, two steps back,” I tell him and shake my head in annoyance. “The bookshelves have declared war on me, and I hate to admit it, but they’re winning.”
“How so?” Nic blinks confused. “Are they infiltrating your bedroom?”
“Firing nails at you?” Kieran adds, and both of them giggle, while I sit back and pout. Jensen, Henry’s dog, appears by my legs and puts his head on my thigh.
“At least someone here takes me seriously,” I coo and stroke his head.
“Do you want me to come over and help?” Kieran offers, but I shake my head.
“Please. You said yourself there’s a higher chance of lightning striking your house than of you successfully putting together furniture.” I breathe out a deep sigh.
“Maybe,” he admits with a chuckle. “But it would be a lot of fun.”
“I’ve had my fun,” I point out. “In fact, I’ve had longer fun with much less success than all those DIY channels suggested.
Now I’d love to have the finished furniture.
” I exhale a deep sigh. “I’ll think of something.
There must be a tutorial somewhere on the World Wide Web that I haven’t found yet, and it will solve all of my problems.” One by one, I scan everyone around the table, ignoring the skepticism written all over their faces.
“Mark my words. By Christmas, they will be standing.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kieran says, and before he can protest, I snatch the syrup out of his hands and put the bottle back into my bag.
“Hey!”
“Shun the non-believer,” I whisper, while holding eye-contact and putting my bag on the ground.