Chapter Six #2
I feigned offense. “Why does everyone say that like I’m a kitchen hazard?”
“Because you once set a toaster oven on fire.”
“That was one time.”
“And it was a frozen pizza.”
I grinned. “In my defense, it wasn’t very frozen.”
She rolled her eyes and took another sip, lips twitching despite herself. I noticed the tiny smear of lipstick on the cup rim and had to look away before my brain went anywhere dangerous.
“Smells good in here,” she said after a moment, glancing at the stacks of pancakes already waiting to be served.
“Callum’s doing gingerbread men shapes or snowmen. Your choice,” I said. “Lydia’s idea.”
“Of course he is.”
“She’s going for wholesome holiday magic.”
Melanie arched a brow. “And you’re going for what? Brooding lumberjack chic?”
“Something like that.” I leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You approve?”
“Of the pancakes? Sure.”
“Of me?”
Her eyes flicked up, quick and sharp. “You’re fishing, Benedict.”
“Always.”
“Well, you’re not getting anything from me before more caffeine.”
I eyed the cup in her hand. “That’s not my coffee.”
“Correct. It’s from the coffeeshop down the lane.”
“Traitor,” I said.
She smiled sweetly. “The barista there knows how to smile. Great customer service. You should try it sometime.”
“Ouch.”
“Just feedback,” she said, taking another sip. “From a concerned customer.”
I stepped closer, dropping my voice. “You sure you’re concerned about my service, or just the competition?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
I couldn’t help myself. I had to hear it. Make sure that she cared enough to…well, care.
“Meaning,” I said, pretending to wipe the counter but mostly just inching closer, “you didn’t look all that thrilled when that blonde was talking to me last night.”
Her mouth fell open, scandalized. “You—! You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You are absolutely wrong.”
“Hmm.” I rested one hand on the counter beside her mocha, just close enough that she had to tilt her head up. “Then why’d you storm out like I’d just committed a mortal sin?”
“I didn’t storm.”
“Strategically left. Right, I forgot.”
She glared. “You are so—”
“Charming? Handsome? Hard to resist?”
“Annoying,” she finished, though her voice had gone softer.
The corner of my mouth twitched. “You keep using that word. It’s starting to sound like a compliment.”
“It’s not.”
“Feels like one.”
“You’re impossible.”
I leaned in, close enough to see the faint flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “You’ve said that before.”
“And it’s still true.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because you look like you’re about to smile.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She tried to hide it behind another sip, but the edges of her lips curved, just a little. Victory burned slow and bright in my chest.
“Careful,” I murmured. “If you start smiling, people might think you like me.”
“People think wrong all the time.”
I laughed, low. “You’re a piece of work.”
“And you’re late on your pancake orders,” she said, trying to sound businesslike, but her tone betrayed her.
“Callum’s got it handled.”
“Then maybe you should help him.”
“Maybe I’d rather stay right here.”
She glanced around the bar. “In the middle of the breakfast rush? That’s your plan?”
“Plan?” I said. “Nah. Just instinct.”
Her breath caught just slightly at the word.
I noticed it.
She knew I noticed it.
Before I could say anything else, a customer called my name from down the counter, and the moment broke.
Melanie straightened, smoothing her coat. “Don’t let me keep you from your loyal fans.”
“You mean my customers?”
“Same thing,” she said, though there was a flash of something almost jealous behind the sarcasm.
“Don’t go far,” I said, picking up a tray.
“I wasn’t planning to,” she replied, but her voice came out softer than either of us expected.
As I walked down the bar, I caught Callum grinning from the griddle. He flipped a pancake into the air, caught it neatly, and said under his breath, “Smooth, little brother. Really smooth.”
I ignored him, setting plates in front of a pair of locals who were arguing over syrup flavors.
When I looked back, Melanie was perched on one of the stools, unzipping her coat, the mocha cup propped between her chest and chin so she could keep sipping magically.
I couldn’t even fathom the engineering feat that took.
I also didn’t know why she didn’t just set it on the counter.
She was talking to someone at the next stool, smiling politely, but her eyes flicked toward me more than once.
Yeah.
She was still mad.
Still flustered.
Still mine to annoy.
I went back to the register, but every part of me was buzzing, restless. Watching her laugh, the sound soft under the clatter of dishes, I realized that calling a truce last night had been a mistake. A big one. Because peace was never what we did best.
We were friction—sparks on contact. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to feel that spark catch again.
So, when I finally circled back with her pancake plate, gingerbread man, extra butter, because I remembered how she liked it, I made sure to brush her hand as I set it down.
She froze and looked up.
And in that heartbeat, with snow still falling beyond the window and the smell of cinnamon thick in the air, every stupid thing I wanted to say rushed through my head at once.
Instead, I just smiled. “For the record, your barista down the lane might make a better mocha, but I bet she can’t make pancakes shaped like heartbreak.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
I pointed to the plate. “Look closer. He’s missing a heart. His chest has a hole.”
Her mouth twitched. “You’re ridiculous, and so is your brother.”
“And yet,” I said, leaning in just close enough to smell the coffee on her breath, “you’re still here.”
She looked down at the plate, shaking her head, but when she looked up again, her eyes were warm, bright, defiant.
And that right there was the problem. Because I wanted to dump her plate in the sink, pull her close, and kiss the fight right out of her.
But Lydia would kill me. And this town didn’t need another breakfast scandal.
So instead, I grinned. “Truce still on?”
She hesitated. “For now.”
“Good,” I said, turning away before I did something stupid. “But fair warning, sweetheart—every truce ends eventually.”
Her laugh followed me, low and dangerous and soft.
“Don’t call me that.”
And for the first time all morning, I didn’t feel tired at all.