Chapter Five
Sienna
Buttercup Java’s sign swung gently in the cold morning breeze as Carson and I approached, and for the first time in my life, I wished the town's espresso shop would spontaneously close for repairs. Maybe a burst pipe. Or a temporary coffee bean shortage. Or a small, contained electrical fire.
Anything that would prevent Abby, our resident barista and professional busybody, from seeing me walk into her shop with the hottest man Buttercup Lake had ever imported.
But no. The wooden door opened with its usual cheerful jingle, and warm air and espresso fumes enveloped us.
Carson held the door for me. Of course he did. Of course, he had manners to match the shoulders.
I walked in, trying very, very hard not to look like someone who had accidentally admitted in her own family kitchen that she wouldn’t get stuck in a cave with him.
Buttercup Java was buzzing with the usual local crowd.
The mismatched chairs were full of residents bundled in flannel and scarves, even though it was spring.
Fairy lights twinkled across the ceiling beams. The chalkboard menu announced a Honey Lavender Latte Special with three exclamation points, which meant Abby was in a mood.
And speaking of Abby, she spotted us instantly.
Her eyes went wide. Her eyebrows shot up. Her grin stretched from here to the Wisconsin Dells.
Oh no.
She leaned over the counter like she was about to deliver breaking news.
“Well, well, well,” she sang. “Buttercup Lake’s very own adventure Barbie and Ken.”
Carson stopped behind me.
I died inside.
“Abby,” I hissed. “Please don’t.”
She ignored that completely.
“Sienna Harper, why didn’t you tell me you were escorting a Greek god into my establishment today?”
“I’m not escorting him. And you’re married.”
“You walked in together.”
“That’s because he’s…because I…because we—”
Carson stepped forward slightly, and Abby’s eyes dragged up, up, up over him until she looked like she needed a fan.
“Hello,” he said politely. “I’m Carson Reed.”
His voice. Why did it have to sound like warm gravel in a good way?
Abby clasped her hands dramatically. “Of course you are.”
“I… yes?” Carson said, clearly uncertain of what to do with her enthusiasm.
I grabbed his sleeve before Abby could climb the counter and adopt him. “We’re ordering. That’s it. Abby, please behave.”
The joys of a small town before tourist season had hit.
Abby gave me a look that said, Sienna Harper, you must pounce.
“What can I get you two?” she asked sweetly.
“We’re not,” I started.
Abby held up a finger. “No need to explain. Yet.”
“Two coffees,” Carson said, stepping in before I combusted. “However, you usually prepare it.”
Definitely a guy who was used to coffee in a can over a fire in the middle of the woods.
Abby swooned. Actually swooned. She fanned herself with a pastry bag.
“Man knows how to trust a barista. Noted.”
I tried to hide behind Carson.
Failed.
Abby leaned toward me with a whisper I think the entire café heard. “Good catch.”
“He’s right here,” I muttered.
Carson pretended he didn’t hear that.
I turned him gently, maybe forcefully, toward the back of the shop where the tables were.
“Let’s sit. Before Abby starts knitting you into the town quilt.”
As I guided him toward a corner table, I heard Abby mutter triumphantly to the regulars: “He’s tall, polite, and he orders the barista’s choice coffee! Somebody call Millie!”
“ABBY!” I gasped, spinning around so fast I almost wiped out on the rug. “Do not. I swear on all things caffeinated, do not call Millie.”
The mention of the Sunshine Breakfast Club’s leader was enough to silence half the café in fear. They pretended to be book lovers, but they were a secret matchmaking club with ruthless tactics.
Abby held both palms up. “Fine. Your secret Ken doll is safe.”
“He’s not my…just give us the coffee!”
She winked. “Coming right up.”
I slumped into the chair across from Carson and attempted to regain a shred of dignity.
It didn’t work.
Carson studied me with a slightly confused amusement.
“Is she always like that?” he asked.
“Abby? Yes.”
“And this Millie person?”
“Worse.”
He nodded slowly. “Good to know.”
I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. “I probably shouldn’t be in public right now.”
“Because people like you,” Carson said.
“That’s not the problem.”
He considered that. “Because people like teasing you.”
“Correct.”
“I noticed.”
Something in his tone was warm, quiet, and observant, which made me want to sink under the table.
Instead, I straightened and forced a smile.
“Okay,” I said, clapping lightly. “Let’s talk about something normal. Weather. Hiking boots. The tragic state of trail mix everywhere.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Raisins.”
“I will walk into traffic,” I warned.
He smiled.
Which is rude.
Our coffees arrived moments later. Abby placed them down with the ceremony of an ordained minister. Then, to my horror, she whispered to Carson:
“She blushes when she likes someone.”
“I don’t blush,” I snapped.
Carson looked at my bright pink cheeks.
I glared at Abby. “I’m begging you. Let me keep one secret from this town.”
She shrugged. “Fine. But if Millie asks me directly, I’m rolling over instantly.”
“You’re spineless.”
“I’m a businesswoman,” she countered, gathering the cups’ cardboard sleeves. “Information is my currency.”
I thunked my head softly on the table.
Carson leaned back in his chair, watching this exchange like he couldn’t decide if he’d stumbled into a sitcom or a cult.
Finally, mercifully, Abby drifted away.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“It is… entertaining,” Carson replied.
I winced. “Don’t look too closely at anything in this town. They sense fear.”
He sipped his coffee. “It’s good.”
“Abby will put you on her Christmas list for that comment.”
“I didn’t realize there was a list.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “A terrifying list. Millie cross-references it with the Sunshine Breakfast Club roster. They coordinate matchmaking like generals planning a campaign.”
He blinked. “Your town is… organized.”
“Against me? Yes.”
His mouth twitched. “Why against you specifically?”
“Because I am the last unattached Harper.”
He nodded once. “I see.”
Something in his tone, very calm and unreadable, made my stomach dip.
I needed a subject change fast. Something that wouldn’t make me accidentally confess to more cave fantasies or explain how I sometimes hugged trees to thank them for shade.
“So,” I said, lifting my cup, “how long have you been guiding?”
“A long time,” he said.
I waited.
He didn’t elaborate.
“You like being outdoors?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Still nothing more.
A rock had more backstory than Carson Reed.
“So what were you doing before coming here?” I tried.
He finally looked at me fully, meeting my eyes in a way that made warmth spread up my throat.
“Working,” he said. “Traveling. Keeping to myself.”
Translation: Please stop poking me with emotional sticks.
I nodded. “Cool. Cool. Super talkative guy.”
That got an actual laugh from him.
Before I could process that miracle, he surprised me by adding,
“I spent last fall guiding a group who insisted they could out-hike a herd of elk.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“Did they try to take selfies with the elk?”
“Yes.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “People are unhinged.”
He nodded. “One of them also packed three scented candles in her pack because she thought it would attract mountain energy.”
I snorted coffee up my nose. “Oh my God.”
“She lit one. A pine-scented one. While standing next to actual pine trees.”
I wheezed into my sleeve. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
“It is a miracle they survived,” he agreed.
“No, seriously,” I said, wiping my nose, “I once guided a guy who brought twenty-two protein bars and nothing else. Not even water. But he had flavors. A selection. Like he was curating snacks for the apocalypse.”
Carson smiled again. An honest, unexpected one that made my insides flutter like they were auditioning for a dance competition.
“And yet you survived them all,” he said.
“I’m a wilderness professional.”
“That is debatable.”
He laughed softly, and something warm twisted beneath my ribs.
Too warm.
Too friendly.
Too easy.
This was the problem. Carson and I should have been awkward and distant and entirely incompatible conversationally. Instead, we were talking like we had been swapping stories for years.
And I hated how good that felt.
Because good was dangerous. Good chipped at my walls. Good made me think about things I did not allow myself to think about.
Romance.
Wanting.
Being seen.
No. Absolutely not. Denied. Rejected. Return to sender.
I gulped my coffee to drown the thought, but nearly choked when I saw Abby leaning over the counter, watching us with binocular-grade intensity.
She mouthed, “Millie?”
I mouthed back, “No.”
She gave me an angelic smile and made the universal phone call gesture.
I wanted to fling myself into the snowbank outside, except it was too tiny to hide me.
Carson followed my gaze, looked at Abby, then back at me. “Should I be concerned?”
“Yes,” I said honestly.
“What will she do?”
“Nothing,” I assured him. “As long as she doesn’t tell Millie.”
“And Millie is…”
“The mayor of meddling,” I whispered. “She runs the Sunshine Breakfast Club. She decides whose love story this town is writing next.”
He sipped his coffee. “And she would choose us?”
“Yes,” I groaned. “She has the matchmaking accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.”
He looked at me for a long moment before saying, “Interesting.”
“Interesting, bad, or interesting run-away-now?”
“Undetermined.”
I dropped my head onto the table again. “I hate it here.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “If Millie thinks there is even a faint spark of anything between us, she will summon the entire elderly female population of Buttercup Lake to accidentally interfere in our lives. There will be no peace this spring or summer for either of us.”
He set his coffee down. “There is no spark.”
“Exactly,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “Perfect. Great. We agree.”
A silence stretched between us.
Too warm.
Too charged.
Too… spark-like.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
I stood abruptly. “We should probably go before Abby decides to livestream this.”
He rose smoothly, his height a little too distracting, and nodded. “All right.”
As we walked toward the door, Abby called out, “I expect updates!”
“You won’t get any,” I shouted over my shoulder.
Carson held the door open for me again.
I stepped outside, cheeks burning, heart doing something entirely illegal in my chest.
And the worst part?
When I glanced up at him, his gaze was already on me, warm and steady.
Dangerous.
My shields slammed back up. Hard.
Because Carson Reed was a man who unsettled things in me.
He was the kind of man I did not fall for, the kind I could not fall for, and the kind that the universe seemed intent on throwing directly into my path anyway.