Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
MARILEE
T he bell above The Pine and Petal Café door jingles as I step inside, and the smell of cinnamon and espresso makes me drool. Sami and Clara make the best pastries and coffee in town, and I love it here.
Sami’s behind the counter, her curly brown hair tucked behind one ear.
“Triple-shot almond milk latte?” she asks without looking up from the espresso machine.
“You’re a gift,” I say, stepping up to the counter.
“Don’t I know it.” She grins. “You look like you’ve had a morning.”
“I’ve had a something.”
I lean on the counter and scan the café. It’s calm here—soft music, scattered regulars, hanging plants thriving in macramé holders, and mismatched chairs that somehow still work together. The light filtering through the tall windows makes everything feel washed in gold.
A voice from the pastry case calls out, “Morning, Red.”
Clara smiles at me as she balances a tray of muffins. Her green café apron is slightly crooked, and her curls are barely wrangled into a headband.
“Hey,” I say, grateful for the distraction. “How are you?”
Sami sets my latte on the counter. “You want gossip with that caffeine?”
“What’s the news?” I ask. Usually, the gossip is about long-standing rivalries with the year-round residents or the crazy shenanigans the tourists get up to.
Clara leans in and smiles like the Cheshire cat. “I hear you’ve got a roommate.”
I freeze for a moment, and they pounce. I just got away from that man—I don’t want to talk about him now, too.
Sami arches an eyebrow. “Roommate?”
“This town’s got faster gossip than broadband,” I mutter, taking a cautious sip of my coffee.
Clara’s eyes sparkle. “I heard Beast was back. He’s already been on the phone to Hank, hollering about renting his place without warning. And you’re staying in his cabin, so…not much detective work needed. Tall, scowls a lot, grumptastic. Ringing any bells?”
“Beast? He said his name was Milo.” I’m confused. I’ve heard about Beast before, and everyone has always made him sound like a hard-core SOB, but Milo wasn’t like that. We sparred last night, but who wouldn’t when they came home and found someone renting their home?
Sami leans her elbows on the counter. “Apparently, you really know him now.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, maybe a little too fast. “There was a mix-up with the lease. I’ve been renting that cabin all summer. He wasn’t supposed to be back until fall. He showed up last night.”
“Sure,” Clara says, far too innocently. “But now he’s back. And you’re still there. Maybe some love will be in the air?”
I hold my coffee like it might shield me from the way they’re both looking at me.
“We’re not sharing anything but square footage,” I say.
“Uh-huh.”
“Clara, please,” I plead. She acts as the town matchmaker, and so far, she’s stayed away from me. If Milo really is Beast, then I want nothing to do with him. People make him sound like the most misanthropic grouch that ever existed.
“I bet you two would make a great couple. You could tame him,” Clara teases, winking at me.
I cringe. My brain does not need that image right now. The man may be sexy as hell, but he’s still infuriating.
“He’s quiet. Kind of intense. But not awful.” I try to deflect. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”
“He’s famously private,” Sami says. “Doesn’t come to town events. I’ve lived here four years and only heard him speak once. It was one word.”
“Was it ‘no’?” I ask.
“‘Coffee,’” she replies, her eyes crinkling as she laughs. “But it sounded like a threat.”
That makes me laugh, and I let some of the tension ease out of my shoulders. It’s not that I’m ashamed of the situation. It’s more that I didn’t come here looking for drama. And I definitely didn’t come here looking for a man.
He hasn’t even done anything wrong. Not really. He’s grumpy, but it’s also his cabin, so it’s hard to be mad at him for being mad at finding me there, even if I have a lease. And even though he was angry last night, he was still respectful and unexpectedly considerate.
Yet when I saw him when I was having coffee…I thought I was going to combust from my libido going from zero to a gazillion in the blink of an eye.
I take another long sip of my latte.
“We should give her a break,” Sami says. “If you want a distraction, I’ve got a book rec.”
“Please,” I say, grateful for the change in subject. I love these two, but I’m still a little in shock at Milo showing up last night and suddenly having a roommate.
She pulls a slim paperback from beneath the counter and slides it across to me. The title— Just Peachy! —is printed in playful script, with a cracked heart sketched beneath it.
“Peachy Malone,” Sami says. “Comedian. Pure chaos. She turns all her worst dating disasters into brutally honest essays. It’s hilarious and smart and a little sad in that way that feels good.”
“I’ll swing by Evergreen Books later and pick it up,” I say, flipping the book over to read the blurb. “Honestly, that sounds like exactly what I need.”
Sami nods, approving. “It’s weirdly cathartic. And it makes you feel like it’s okay not to have your life together.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I’m currently living with a man I barely know, in a cabin that’s barely big enough for one person, and now, apparently, everyone in town knows about it.”
“Sounds like chapter one,” Sami says, grinning.
I grab my latte and start backing toward the door. “You two are dangerous.”
Sami salutes with a stirring spoon. “Only when properly caffeinated.”
Outside, the air is warm for late morning. I walk slowly to work, coffee in hand, letting the rhythm of town chatter and shop doors and distant birdsong settle my nerves.
But I can’t stop thinking about Milo. Or Beast. Regardless of what name he goes by, he’s infuriating, and I can’t stop thinking about him.
He’s also sexy as sin.
Heaven help me.
“Do we have any coffee back there? I’m running on fumes right now.”
Hank glances up from the taps, his brows arching over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Stay up all night?”
“Ha.” I laugh. “No, but I didn’t sleep well. Just busy, and I need a pick-me-up,” I say, ducking under the bar to grab a fresh stack of napkins. “But seriously—caffeine. Please tell me there’s a pot brewing.”
He finishes pouring an IPA and pushes it and the rest of my next order toward me. “Deliver these. I’ll pour you a cup.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” I grab the tray and balance it with one hand.
The Rusty Elk is louder than usual today.
Tables are packed elbow to elbow, tourists glowing with sunburns as they drink the microbrews Hank says he orders only for tourist season, as the locals nurse pints and side-eye the chaos. Two guys are arguing over pool rules in the back corner.
I weave through it all with a tray balanced on one hand, three drinks tucked into the crook of my other arm. My boots stick slightly near table seven—someone dropped a cocktail earlier and didn’t bother telling anyone. I sidestep the slick spot, force a smile, and set a beer in front of a guy in a backward hat who grunts a thanks without looking up.
The boost from my latte earlier is long gone, and my energy level is crashing…hard. I feel like a zombie. I barely slept after the confrontation with Milo last night, and my muscles ache from this non-stop busy shift. My feet are throbbing.
I duck back to the bar, set the tray down with more force than necessary, and lean in toward Hank.
I cross the floor again, dodging elbows and half-hearted line dancers near the jukebox. Table ten’s been nursing a buzz since I clocked in. Trail gear, suntans, big grins. The guy sitting closest to the edge has been eyeing me all night like I’m part of the menu. He reminds me too much of Mark for me to even consider giving him the time of day.
“Here we go,” I say as I set down the pints. “Two IPAs, one cider, and a whiskey sour with extra sour.”
The guy leans back in his chair, arms spread, grin wide. “You remembered.”
“I tend to,” I say. Of all the attempted pick-up lines, this is lame by anyone’s standard. “It’s my job.”
“You make it look good,” he adds, and his voice slides low like it’s meant to mean something more. Does he think he’s sexy? Blech .
I shift the tray under my arm and prepare to turn.
Then his hand lands on my ass, and I freeze. Not my arm. Not my hand. Right on my ass, like he’s marking his territory.
A flush burns through me, and I go completely still. There’s a split second when I don’t even breathe like my mind can’t even process the audacity of this asshole. Not after everything else. Not after every leering tourist who thinks a tight shirt means I want their number or a forced smile is an invitation to touch.
This is my job. I like my job. But I’m so sick of handsy tourists like this guy thinking it’s their right to grab whatever they want.
My voice comes out low and clipped. “Move it,” I say. “Or the only thing you’ll be touching is an ice pack.”
The guy laughs loud enough to make the table shift uncomfortably. But he doesn’t move his hand, and none of the men he’s with call him out on his behavior. Figures.
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he says. “But seriously, don’t wear tight jeans if you don’t want to be touched.”
My stomach twists. The sharp edge of fury is so familiar it makes me want to scream. I take another step back, my hand curling into a fist.
And then suddenly, Milo is beside me, and the guy’s smirk falters.
Beast doesn’t say a word. He stands there—towering and terrifying in a silent way that doesn’t need volume.
“Get your hand off the lady,” Beast growls.
The guy’s hand is immediately gone from my ass as he darts his eyes away from Beast and me. “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he mutters, voice unsteady now.
Beast says nothing.
He shrinks back. “Look, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was taken.”
I head back to the bar before I say something that gets me fired. Hank knows how it is for me, but there are limits to how much we can mouth off to a customer, even if it’s a guy getting handsy. I’m supposed to get him, but that always feels like being a tattletale and not being able to handle a situation on my own.
I turn and see Milo following me. His face is calm, but his jaw is tight. His arms hang loose, and he reaches up to massage his right arm, which is covered in tattoos. But even so, I can see his muscles flexing, like he’s itching for a fight. His chest rises and falls slow and steady, and his sharp blue eyes hold mine like he’s waiting for me to thank him.
“I had it handled,” I say, my voice shaking in anger. He probably thinks I was scared.
“Didn’t look that way.”
“I don’t need backup.”
“You shouldn’t have to need it.”
He says it like it’s obvious, which obviously . But this is real life, not a fairy tale. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what I was signing up for when I applied for the job.
I can still feel the heat of his presence in every nerve ending. My body hasn’t caught up with my brain yet. Too much is going on in my chest—rage and relief and something stupid and warm that makes me want to punch a wall.
He stepped in without asking.
I hadn’t even realized he was in the bar.
I hate myself for liking that he stood up for me. Not that I would tell him that. It’s been a long time since I felt like I was worth standing up for. Mark certainly didn’t make me feel worth it.
Still, I’m scared that if I ask for help or accept help I didn’t ask for, I’ll fall into the same trap with men.
Milo stares at me, exasperated, and I sigh. What is it with this man?
When I get back to the bar, Hank has a large travel mug of coffee waiting for me. He doesn’t ask questions and slides it my way.
“Thanks,” I mutter, and I take it with both hands, needing the burn of it to focus.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. It was just another handsy ass…jerk. Same shit, different day.”
Behind me, I can see Milo’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He stares at me with an intensity that would make me uncomfortable at any other time, but I’m tired. I don’t have the time or energy for whatever he thinks he’s doing.
I fake-smile my way through the rest of my shift and refuse to look in Milo’s direction. He said he was there to talk to Hank, and that’s not any of my business, though it doesn’t take a genius to know what’s on his mind. By the time I’m almost done, I realize Milo isn’t here anymore. Thank heavens for small mercies.
Eventually, the rush fades and I finish wiping down the back bar after the bar empties. Hank gives me the nod to go.
I toss my apron into the bin and push through the front door into the cool night.
The stars are out. The parking lot smells like old gravel and pine. I breathe in deep, finally alone.
Despite being exhausted to the bone, part of me doesn’t want to go back to the cabin. If Milo is awake and wants to hash out tonight, I literally don’t have the energy. Even thinking about that conversation is stressful.
I need to make it through the next few weeks, and then we never have to see each other again.