Chapter 1 #2
He’s just my best friend. That’s what I remind myself as the bike roars down the street, the world slipping away behind us. Just my best friend. Nothing more.
The key sticks a little in the lock before it turns, the old brass catching as if the building itself needs time to wake up. Liam gives it a shove with his shoulder, and the door opens with a low groan, letting in a sweep of cold morning air. The bell above the door jangles.
He flips on the lights. The soft glow spills over tables, counters coated in a thin film of dust, chairs stacked two high. The air tastes stale, like old coffee grounds and wood polish.
It’s like the place is always dusty, no matter how much we clean.
“All right,” Liam says, rubbing his palms together, voice echoing through the room. “Let’s get started.”
He sets down the little portable speaker he carries everywhere and scrolls through his phone until an easy tune fills the room. Billy Joel. He grabs a rag and starts wiping down the counter.
Dust swirls like smoke in the light cutting through the front windows. There’s a rhythm to it—the way we move around each other, the music and the squeak of rags, the scrape of chairs as they’re set right.
Liam hums as he works, a low sound under his breath. Every now and then, he glances over, that easy half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’s caught me doing something funny.
The smell of cocoa clings to the wood behind the counter.
The last few weeks since reopening, it’s been busier than anyone expected. More foot traffic from the crews rebuilding down by the docks, more curious locals, more chatter.
By the time the clock hits seven, the front windows glow gold with sunrise. Liam props the door open to let the air move through. The morning wind carries the scent of damp leaves and rain on pavement.
At half past seven, in walks a girl with a head full of copper curls and freckles across her nose. “Hey, hey,” she calls, her voice bright. “Did you guys sleep in here or something? Last in, first out, huh?”
“It’s called professionalism,” Liam says, tossing her a towel. “You’re late, Jess.”
She catches it one-handed and laughs. “I brought the good energy. You’re welcome.”
Jessica Lake has been working here for the last three months. She’s quick, talks fast, and always has her eyeliner perfect, even at ungodly hours. She’s the kind of person who knows everyone’s business but somehow makes you like her for it. Liam’s mother is totally obsessed with her.
She ducks behind the counter to check the machines, talking nonstop about how her brother finally fixed her car, how she heard the mayor’s new dog chewed through his office couch.
Liam keeps making sarcastic comments that bounce right off her.
I wipe down the pastry case, watching the sunlight climb higher, warming the glass.
The back door opens and in comes Maren, carrying two trays stacked with boxes, steam curling out from the cracks. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, hair tied up in that effortless knot she’s worn since I’ve known her.
“Morning, loves,” she says, and the whole room softens.
“Hey, Mom!” Liam smiles at her.
The smell hits first—cinnamon, butter, sugar. She bakes for the café every morning now, and the pastries are half the reason people come. Scones flecked with lemon zest, chocolate croissants that melt the moment you bite in, little apple turnovers that never last past noon.
She unloads them on the counter, kisses Liam’s cheek, and gives me a quick hug that leaves my sweater dusted with flour.
The morning rush trickles in slow. A couple of workers from the rebuilding crews. Two teachers from the elementary school who always sit in the corner booth and whisper about their students.
Jessica handles the espresso machine like a magician, foam swirling perfectly. Liam works the register, greeting everyone by name. I float between tables, learning the rhythm of serving again.
The bell above the door rings and I glance up.
Jake Marshall steps in—the youngest mayor the town’s ever had, his tie slightly crooked, hair damp like he just showered and forgot to dry it.
He grins when he sees Liam and orders two coffees and one of Maren’s apple turnovers.
The town still whispers about how he’s managing to run things after the fires, how he’s gotten the permits fast-tracked for rebuilding.
But in person, he’s just… Jake. Friendly, unflappable.
“Morning, Millie,” he says when I hand him his order. “Place looks great.”
“Thanks,” I answer, trying not to spill the foam on the lid.
He leaves with a nod and a tip that’s too generous.
The next wave of customers comes through, voices filling the space, chairs scraping the floor. I’m halfway through wiping down a table when the door opens again.
And there he is.
Shepard Hale.
He’s taller than I remember, shoulders filling out the doorway, dressed in a dark polo and a gray coat that fits like it was made for him. His green eyes catch the morning light, bright and clear. My stomach does that small, traitorous twist it always does before I remind myself to stop.
It’s been six weeks since the library was damaged. Since late nights sorting donations together, his laugh too close, the quiet that followed when I realized I’d been reading something into his smiles that wasn’t there.
He walks toward the counter, nods at Liam, then sees me. That same polite warmth touches his face. “Hey, Millie. Didn’t know you were working here now.”
“Yeah,” I manage.
He leans against the counter, casually. “We’re looking for funding to rework the library,” he says. “I thought you might want to know. Maybe you could come by sometime, see the plans.”
“That’s great,” I say, forcing a smile.
He hesitates, eyes softening. “I miss you.”
The words land too gently, like he doesn’t realize how heavy they are. I hate the way my chest tightens, the way memory stirs like something waking.
“I miss you too. I’ll come by as soon as I can,” I say, glancing past him.
He nods, and I can feel the shift—the one that always happens when people mean well but don’t mean enough.
I’ve had a crush on the library director since way before he even met his current girlfriend. She came into town to work on murals around the town, a part of the beautification project, now all turned to ash.
There have been rumors around town that her exes were responsible for the fires, but that has never been confirmed.
Speak of the devil…
Sadie appears at the door then, all pink hair and paint-splattered jeans even under her coat, her hand linked loosely with Boone’s. Captain Gabe Ashford follows behind, talking to her about something to do with the fire department’s next inspection. They look happy. Complicated, but happy.
Shepard chats with his pack members, orders two hot chocolates and a coffee, thanks Liam, and turns back to me. “Take care, Millie.”
I nod. That’s all I can manage.
When the bell jingles behind him, it’s like the air goes still for a moment. I stare at the empty spot where he’d been standing, and the ridiculous part of me—the one that still remembers the smell of dust and old books—aches.
Six weeks ago, I was shelving paperbacks in the quiet of the library. Now my whole world is made of steam and chatter and the clang of the register.
I catch Liam watching me. “What?” I ask, trying to sound lighter than I feel.
“Nothing,” he says, focusing on the register, but his mouth twitches.
The morning blurs into noise and motion. The music changes, Jessica tells a story about a raccoon stealing someone’s picnic, Maren scolds Liam for eating half a croissant before lunch. By the time the clock nears eleven, the lull between rushes finally arrives.
That’s when Maddox walks in.
The bell rings and I know it’s him before I look up—something about the quiet shift in the air.
He’s in his navy work shirt, sleeves rolled up, forearm scar visible against the tan skin.
His scent hits first, rain and pine, familiar and electric.
His hair’s shaved close now, and his eyes—steel-blue, sharp—are shadowed with exhaustion.
“Hey,” he says, voice low.
“Hey yourself,” I reply, smiling despite the heaviness in him.
He orders a black coffee, no sugar, then leans on the counter to talk with Liam about some new video game they’re obsessed with. The two of them fall into quick banter—names, levels, missions. I half-listen, cleaning tables, my mind drifting.
By the time Maddox calls my name, I realize I’ve been standing there staring at nothing.
“I’m heading out,” he says. “Got to check on a crew near the ridge.”
I follow him to the door. “Can I walk you out?”
He glances at me. “Sure.”
Outside, the wind has picked up. The sky’s a pale wash of gray. He looks worn down, shoulders tight, dark smudges under his eyes.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “Still clearing debris. We’re close to done. Just… long days.”
“You should rest,” I tell him.
He huffs a small laugh. “You sound like my mother.”
“You’re my best friend,” I remind him.
“I know.” His voice softens. “And I’m fine. Promise.” He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll come by tonight around seven. We’ll do dinner, all of us.”
I nod. “I’ll make sure Liam doesn’t burn anything.”
He smiles, that real one that’s all teeth and warmth, and then he’s gone.
When I go back inside, the café smells like cinnamon and fresh coffee again. Liam glances up from the counter, eyes flicking toward the door.
“I’m making sure he’s okay,” he says quietly, like he already knows what I’m thinking.
“Okay,” I reply.
The clock ticks toward noon. The light slants across the tables, golden and soft. Somewhere in the corner, the speaker hums with the next song.
The town outside moves on, rebuilding itself one small piece at a time, and somehow, we’re part of it now—this café, this strange new rhythm, this life that keeps changing even when you’re not ready for it.