Chapter 2 #2
“Don’t,” I say flatly. “You might be the smartest man in the room, but…” I tap the side of my head, dishing out a hint of the self I buried years ago—just for a fleeting second. “You’re not the smartest person.”
That wipes the smirk off his face. He tilts his head slightly, studying me with renewed interest like I just surprised him. I hate how gratifying that tiny moment feels.
He recovers quickly. “Fair enough,” he concedes, his tone lighter now, but there’s something in his gaze that makes my chest tighten. He’s cataloging me, dissecting me—like I’m a puzzle just out of reach.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re wasted in a small-town coffee shop?” he asks suddenly.
The words hit so fast and sharp it takes me a second to process them. My stomach twists as the molten anger rises up again—this time laced with something deeper.
“Has anyone ever told you that your urban superiority complex is showing?” I snap back, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
He doesn’t flinch, though. Instead, a faint, almost genuine smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Point taken,” he says, nodding slightly.
“But I wasn’t trying to insult you. There’s just…
something about you. The way you handle problems—fast, precise.
” He gestures to the mopped floor and the salvaged display.
“This isn’t where you learned to think like that. ”
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the nerve he’s brushing up against. Memories flare, unbidden: hours bent over code.
A whiteboard so crowded with theories and flowcharts we were practically writing on the walls.
Late nights ticking down to impossible deadlines, and the drive—the need—to build something that mattered.
But that life’s gone. Dead. Burned like the coffee splattered all over the floor.
“I run a coffee shop,” I say coolly, pulling my walls firmly back into place. “Problem-solving comes with the territory.”
He gives me that look again, like he doesn’t believe me but can’t prove otherwise.
“When do you open?” he asks, switching gears so suddenly it’s jarring.
“Why?” I ask warily.
“Because, I might want to get an early start on my day.” he says plainly.
I roll my eyes. “Six a.m.”
His lips twitch again. “I’ll see you then.”
He slings the messenger bag over his shoulder and moves toward the door, but just as he reaches it, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at me. The deliberate pace of his movement sends a flicker of irritation skittering up my spine.
“What now?” I snap, annoyed at the heat crawling into my chest under the weight of his gaze.
For a moment, he doesn’t answer—just watches me with the same analytical intensity as before, a slight, thoughtful tilt to his head. Then, finally, he says, “Nothing. Just… interesting.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
But he’s already gone, the bell jangling faintly over the door.
I glare at the rice container on the counter, his voice still trailing after me. Wasted in a small-town coffee shop. What the hell does he know? He’s got no idea who I was, or what I left behind.
But as much as I want to stay mad, I also want to know what other infuriating things he might say tomorrow.
I lean against the counter, exhaling slowly. My hands still tingle where they brushed against him during the collision. My heart beats too quickly, a physical reaction I haven't felt in two years. Not fear—something more primal. Recognition, maybe. Danger sensing danger.
The bell chimes again, and I straighten quickly, composing my features. Darlene bursts in, her PickAxe apron already tied around her waist.
"Was that him?" she asks without preamble, eyes bright with curiosity. "The California tech guy?"
"News travels fast," I mutter, turning to the espresso machine.
"Small town," Darlene says with a shrug. "Plus, I saw him walking out. Quite the specimen." She fans herself dramatically. "Those eyes! Like the alpine lakes in summer."
"If you say so." I concentrate on making her usual double espresso.
"Oh, don't play cool with me, Lily Brock. I saw your face when I walked in." Darlene leans against the counter, studying me with the keen observation that makes her the town's unofficial information hub. "You looked like someone who just touched a live wire."
"I looked like someone who just had four specialty lattes destroyed and glass shattered all over her floor," I correct, sliding her espresso across the counter.
Darlene's gaze drops to the money still sitting untouched. "Generous tipper, at least."
"It's not a tip. It's payment for damages." I finally pick up the bills, tucking them into the register. "And it's too much."
"Keep it. Consider it karmic balance for your rent situation." She sips her espresso, watching me over the rim. "Half the town's talking about it, you know. Ruth's organizing what she calls a 'community economic support initiative.'"
"A what?"
"A fundraiser," Darlene clarifies. "To help cover the increase until you can get on your feet."
Mortification washes over me. "Absolutely not. I don't need charity."
"It's not charity, it's community." Darlene's expression softens. "Angel's Peak needs Mountain Brew, Lily. You've created something special here."
The sincere compliment catches me off guard. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'll figure this out on my own."
Darlene studies me for a long moment. "You know, accepting help doesn't make you weak. It makes you part of something."
Before I can respond, she glances at her watch and curses. "Gotta run. Ruth will have my head if I'm late again." She downs the rest of her espresso. "Think about it, though. And maybe think about that California guy too—could be good for business to have a tech mogul as a regular."
After she leaves, I find myself alone with the aftermath of the morning's chaos.
The shop smells of coffee and cinnamon, with faint notes of expensive cologne lingering in the air.
The rice container sits on the table where Max left it, an unexpected reminder of the collision that felt more significant than it should have.
I never should have moved to this town to start fresh, because clearly the universe wasn't done punishing me yet. And something tells me Max Lawson is just the beginning of my problems.