Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
D eb locked up the Feed Mill, giving the door an extra tug just to be sure. The sun had dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of amber and rose, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the weight of the day pressing on her shoulders.
She was late for her shift at Roxy’s. Deb had already texted her, and she knew Clair would cover until she arrived. Roxy was still on maternity leave, and Deb had promised to fill in when needed. She actually liked working at Roxy’s little café. It gave her a chance to bake and...well, eat. She smirked at that thought. She was afraid the longer she worked there, sweats were going to be her preferred mode of dress since her jeans were getting a little tight.
She walked toward Roxy’s with a smile so wide it almost hurt her cheeks. The thought of tight jeans brought her thoughts back to her sister. Emily was pregnant. Her little sister was going to be a mom, and she was going to be an aunt. Emily hadn’t been able to look at the test she was so nervous, so Deb had the honor of seeing the pink pregnant in little letters. They had screamed, hugged, cried, and laughed.
Her heart swelled, so full it felt like it might burst right there in the parking lot. Deb was sworn to secrecy until Emily was able to tell Hunter.
She hurried toward Roxy’s with the world feeling like it shifted, just slightly, but enough to make everything look a little brighter.
Life hadn’t been easy—she’d made her fair share of mistakes and burned bridges she never thought she’d cross again. But today, something had changed in the small confines of a Feed Mill bathroom. A bridge had been rebuilt. A bond had been reforged with her sister, who she cared most about.
She wiped at her eyes, laughing softly at herself. “Get it together, Deb,” she murmured. “You’ve got shit to do.”
Her smile stayed stubborn and sure. Tonight, she wasn’t just heading to another shift. She was heading into a new chapter with her sister, and it felt so damn good.
Deb stepped into Roxy’s, the scent of chocolate and sugar wrapping around her like a hug. God, she loved that smell, which gave her that warm, fuzzy feeling. But the warmth fizzled the second her eyes landed on Linda Cadel and Darla McClain. They sat at their usual table by the window, their heads together, no doubt gossiping about some poor, unsuspecting soul.
Sadness and disgust twisted in Deb’s stomach. Not long ago, she’d sat at that table, doing the same thing. Whispering behind hands, laughing at someone else’s pain, judging the world one narrowed glance at a time. Now, she couldn’t stomach the thought of it.
Deb muttered under her breath, “Shit,” then ducked her head and made a beeline for the kitchen before either of them could open their perfectly glossed mouths.
Pushing through the swinging door, she found Clair bent over the oven, pulling out a tray of brownies that smelled like heaven on a pan.
Clair looked up, startled but smiling. “Hey! Everything okay?”
Deb winced, already reaching for an apron. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I meant to get here earlier.”
Clair waved her off, brushing flour off her cheek. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters. Want to plate these while I finish frosting the other ones?”
“Only if you don’t judge me for stealing one,” Deb said with a weak grin, trying to shake off the tangle of emotions still rolling through her.
Clair grinned. “I saved you a corner brownie.”
That made Deb smile. “You know me well.”
Clair grinned and nodded to the tray. “Can you plate a few? There’s a steady stream of sugar-starved customers, and Linda and Darla are in rare form tonight.”
“Wonderful.” Deb rolled her eyes and grabbed a spatula like it was her weapon of choice. “Got any whiskey to go with this brownie?”
Clair chuckled. “It’d take a whole damn bottle to deal with those two.”
Deb huffed in agreement, slicing into the still-warm brownies as the scent of chocolate filled the air. Comforting, familiar… a distraction she needed.
“They were asking about Brock,” Clair said, stirring a bowl of frosting. “Linda’s already got her claws out. Said something about how he ‘looked like a man who needed a real woman.’” She made air quotes and wrinkled her nose.
Deb’s stomach twisted, and not from hunger. “Shocker.” Deb snorted with a frown.
Clair glanced her way with a disgusted look. “She’s got that look—you know, the one she gets when she’s picked her next project.”
Deb recognized that look all too well—like a cat eyeing its next meal. Linda always had a way of locking onto a man with laser precision, staking a silent claim before the poor guy even knew what hit him. Deb herself had only done that with Garrett. Her insides churned, thinking of how awful she had been toward Janna. God, she had been so evil.
“He doesn’t need that kind of attention,” Deb mumbled more to herself as she pressed the spatula a little too hard into the brownies, the edge digging into the pan.
Clair raised a brow, observing her. “Mmm. Sounds like someone’s a little protective.”
Deb shot her a dry look, trying to downplay the sudden heat in her cheeks. “I just think Linda’s exhausting, that’s all. The poor guy hasn’t been here long. He should at least have a grace period before she throws herself at him like a drunken prom queen.”
Clair snorted, barely hiding her grin. “You’re not wrong.”
Deb sighed and leaned on the counter, watching the swirl of frosting smooth out under Clair’s expert hand. “It’s just… he’s not the kind of guy who plays around. You can tell. He’s quiet. Steady. The kind that actually listens when you talk. Men like that are rare.”
There was a pause, and when Deb glanced up, Clair was watching her with a softness that made her feel a little too seen.
“You like him,” Clair said gently.
Deb’s mouth opened, but no words came out. So, instead, she scoffed, reaching for a plate to cover the awkward silence. “I like brownies.” She countered, revealing nothing. Emily had told her today while they waited for the pregnancy test results, that Brock had been asking Hunter questions about her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Clair chuckled but didn’t press; she just smiled as she handed her the frosted tray. “Well, then, go share the love… but try not to kill Linda with kindness or throw the brownies like ninja blades.”
Deb grinned, but under her smile was a thread of tension she couldn’t quite shake. She wasn’t ready to name what she was feeling—not yet. But she knew it wasn’t nothing. But as she pushed through the door and back into the café, brownies in hand her mind played visions of snatching Linda bald if she went near Brock. Holy shit, she was in serious trouble.
Her smile was locked and loaded like armor. Spotting Linda and Darla still there, had her cursing under her breath again. They were draped in fake friendliness like it was designer couture—shiny on the outside, shady as hell underneath.
“Well, if it isn’t the talk of the town,” Linda said sweetly, folding her manicured hands over her coffee cup. “How have you been, Deborah? I haven’t talked to you for a while. Have you been avoiding me?”
If she only knew, Deb thought, biting back the smirk that threatened to rise as she arched a brow and set the tray of brownies down behind the counter. She could already feel the storm brewing, the familiar prickle of tension curling around her spine.
“Peachy, Linda. You?” she replied, voice sweet as honey but edged with steel. She didn’t give Linda the reaction she was fishing for—no way. Deb had played that game before, and she’d played it better.
Linda’s grin was all smug satisfaction as she rose from her chair and sauntered toward the counter, her ever-present sidekick trailing behind her like a shadow. “Not as good as you, apparently,” she said, eyes gleaming with false innocence. “Heard that handsome new stranger was fighting over you. What’s his name again… Brock?”
Deb’s hand faltered for a moment before she slammed the display case door shut, the sound sharp and final. No. She wasn’t doing this. Not with Linda. Not today. Not ever again.
“The brownies are fresh,” she said, voice clipped as she straightened, pasting on a smile so stiff it hurt. “Can I get you one?”
Linda’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing just enough to betray the flicker of irritation she tried to mask. She smoothed the expression over with a practiced, sugary grin. “No, thanks,” she said coolly, waving off the brownie. Her voice was polite, but her eyes told a different story—sharp, probing, laced with something darker. “So, how well do you know?—”
“I don’t.” Deb cut her off, her voice low and firm, shutting the door on that conversation before it had a chance to open. Her gaze didn’t waver, her stance unyielding. She wasn’t playing.
“Oh, come on, Deborah,” Linda huffed, rolling her eyes with a forced laugh, trying to keep it light but pushing harder beneath the surface. “Give your girl some information on that handsome man. What happened to you? You used to know everything about everyone in this town.”
Deb’s chest tightened. There it was—the jab, the not-so-subtle reminder of who she used to be, of the part she played in this town's constant churn of gossip and secrets. But that version of her was gone. Done were the days of knowing things that weren’t her business, done feeding fires just to feel the heat.
She looked at Linda squarely. “People change,” she said quietly, but with enough weight to let the words hang in the air. “Some of us grow up.”
That’s when the mask cracked and the real Linda slithered out.
“Listen, bitch,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous, just above a whisper—meant only for Deb and Darla, who was practically vibrating with anticipation beside her, eager for drama. “Don’t forget I know things about you. Things you don’t want making the rounds in this town. You got me?”
The threat hung in the air like the stench of something rotten. And just like that, Deb felt it—the shift, the snap of restraint. The old Deb, the one she had locked away, buried deep under self-control and second chances, stirred awake and stepped into the light with a wicked little smile.
“You want to play this game, Linda?” Deb arched a brow, her voice steady but sharp, slicing clean through the moment. “Because don’t forget—I know things too. Real things. The kind that would burn that perfect little image you cling to like your last breath.”
Linda blinked, caught off guard, just for a second.
“That’s why you’ve kept that big painted-ass mouth of yours shut about me all this time,” Deb continued, stepping forward just enough to ensure the message landed. “I’ve changed, yeah. But don’t confuse change with weakness. I may not go looking for fights anymore, but I sure as hell know how to finish them. You got me ?”
For the first time, Linda didn’t have a comeback—just a twitch of her lips and a flicker of something in her eyes that Deb knew was a warning to watch her back. They continued to stare at each other, neither of them backing down.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Brock’s voice cut through the tension, deep and calm but laced with curiosity.
Linda let out a dramatic gasp, her hand flying to her chest like she’d been shot instead of startled. “You scared me!” she cried, her voice pitching up an octave. And, of course, the theatrics didn’t stop there—she batted those ridiculous fake lashes so fast Deb half-expected one to take flight right off her face.
“Oh, you must be, ah, Brock, isn’t it?” Linda cooed, voice dripping with forced sweetness as she turned toward him, the venom from moments ago suddenly nowhere to be found.
“I am.” His reply was short and to the point.
“Well, Brock,” The way Linda said his name made Deb want to projectile vomit. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. I’m Linda, by the way. Linda Cadel. I figured I would introduce myself since Deborah is being rude.”
“While I’m being rude and you’re being Ms. Congeniality, why don’t you introduce your sidekick also.” Deb couldn’t help herself. The bitch in her had been set free and wasn’t ready to go back into hiding yet.
“You’re so funny, Deborah.” Linda laughed, sounding like a wounded hyena, but the look she shot her when she turned from Brock to Darla was anything but friendly.
Deb didn’t say a word; she just watched Linda’s performance as she introduced Brock to Darla. Her stare was flat, and her brow raised, her pulse still buzzing from their earlier confrontation. She could feel Brock’s eyes flick between the three of them, sharp and steady, taking in the tension that still crackled in the air.
Deb could practically see the wheels turning behind those cool eyes of his. He was reading the room like someone who’d walked into a minefield barefoot. Each glance a careful step.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Brock said politely, then his gaze finally landed on her—and lingered. Something flickered there. Curiosity? Concern? “If you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with Deb.”
Deb held his gaze, her eyes softening just enough to let a flicker of gratitude shine through. A small, almost imperceptible nod of thanks passed between them. At that moment, she was so close to throwing her arms around him, right there in front of God, Linda, and everyone else.
But instead, she pulled in a slow breath, even as her heart thumped against her ribs like it was trying to get out.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Linda watching Brock with narrowed eyes, her smile long gone. There was nothing subtle about the glare she was shooting his way—it was sharp, cold, and full of poison.
Deb didn’t even have to guess what was going through her mind. How dare he dismiss me! Yeah, she knew Linda that well to know her thoughts.
Yeah… she definitely needed to warn him. Because whatever he thought he walked into, it was a hell of a lot messier. And if looks could kill, she and Brock would already be lying side by side, six feet under, while Linda planned what flowers to not send to their funeral.