Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Galeana
The warm hum of chatter fills The Honey Drop as I scrape the last gooey bit of cinnamon roll off my plate. The coffee shop is alive with the clinking of mugs, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the kind of quiet gossip that never quite stays private in a small town like Birchwood Springs.
I take a sip of my lavender latte, the subtle floral notes blending with the creamy foam, and sigh. Aiden would love this place. She’d probably offer to bake scones for them every morning, then judge them for using an electric grinder instead of an antique manual one. She’s annoyingly pretentious about coffee, but I miss her anyway.
Plus, this place is like gossip central. You want to know who’s cheating, who’s moving, or whose cousin just got arrested? This is the place to be. Which is why I’ve been having breakfast here every morning, trying to piece together whether my long-lost cousin is already in town—or hoping a bachelor with low standards has wandered in so I can proposition him.
Yep. I’m that desperate.
And you don’t even have to eavesdrop here. Not intentionally, anyway. But when you’re sitting alone at a corner table and the couple two seats over doesn’t bother lowering their voices, what else am I supposed to do?
“Did you hear?” the woman says, her voice pitched just high enough to carry. She’s wearing a floral scarf tied around her ponytail that matches her dress, as if she were auditioning for a Gilmore Girls reboot. “The Timberbridge brothers might be coming back.”
My ears perk up. I set my mug down a little too hard, the ceramic clinking against the table.
The Timberbridge brothers?
Who are the Timberbridge brothers?
I don’t have Delilah here to give me the tea about them because she’s currently lounging on some beach in Cabo, sipping mojitos and pretending work doesn’t exist. Figures.
The man across from Scarf Girl, a gruff-looking guy in a plaid jacket, snorts. “Good luck to them. I doubt anyone will roll out the welcome wagon. Everyone hates them.”
She leans in, whispering conspiratorially but still loud enough for me to catch every word. “I heard they’ve got unfinished business in town. Legal stuff, maybe. Or something to do with the estate. You know, family drama. They’ve always been so messy. From the patriarch to, well . . . all of them.”
Who is all of them? Say more please? Will it be weird if I go and ask for more details? Probably.
The man grunts again. “Yeah, sounds about right. They could never keep their noses clean, those Timberbridge boys.”
The Timberbridge boys. Family drama. Legal stuff.
I push my plate aside, my heart picking up speed as the pieces snap together in my head. This has to be about Maple Haven. The Timberbridge brothers must be my mother’s nephews—the cousins Delilah warned me about. But wasn’t it supposed to be just one cousin?
It doesn’t matter. They’re coming. And I haven’t found anyone to marry yet.
I knew it was only a matter of time before they showed up, but still, the thought of them waltzing into town, flashing their entitled smirks and probably charming half the town into siding with them, makes my blood boil.
What would Mom do? She’d pack up and leave. Start over somewhere new. Again.
But I’m not Mom. I’m not about to let a couple of Timberbridge brothers swoop in and ruin everything. They want a fight? Fine. I’ll give them one.
And we circle back to eighteen months ago. I really should’ve stayed in Italy and gotten Hot Abs’s number and maybe his name. He had the confidence—and the dirty mouth—to agree to marry me just for the inheritance. But no. I’m stuck here, trying to win a battle I didn’t sign up for with no backup plan except Tinder.
I grab my purse and head out, the crisp morning air biting against my skin as I replay every worst-case scenario in my head. If they try anything shady—like questioning my right to Maple Haven or calling me inexperienced—I’ll be polite. Professional. At first. But if they push me, I’ll hit back twice as hard.
Lost in my thoughts, I unlock my car and slide into the driver’s seat. I’m already imagining the confrontation: their smirks, my weak comebacks, and the glorious moment when I send them packing.
I barely notice the shiny black SUV parked ahead of me until?—
Crunch.
The sound of metal against metal snaps me out of my head, and my foot slams on the brakes. My heart lurches as reality crashes in.
“Oh, fuck.”
My car has kissed the bumper of the sleek, gleaming SUV in front of me.
Great. Just great.
Within seconds, the small-town curiosity machine roars to life. People on the sidewalk slow down, craning their necks to get a better look. Someone points, and the faint buzz of murmured speculation drifts through the air.
I crack my window, and the chatter becomes painfully clear.
“Is that the Timberbridge boy?” someone whispers.
“Ledger? Or is it the older one?” another voice chimes in.
“No, the older one’s already here,” a third person adds, their tone laced with intrigue.
Perfect. Because what I really needed today was a public spectacle starring me and my questionable driving skills.
I throw my car into park and step out, already rehearsing my apology. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll cover the damage. No big deal, right? But before I can get the words out, the driver’s door of the SUV opens.
A man climbs out, and I feel my stomach drop.
No.
It can’t be.
But it is.
Standing there in the middle of Main Street, looking just as broad-shouldered and infuriatingly smug as I remember, is him.
My heart does something stupid and traitorous, skipping a beat like it’s forgotten all the reasons I should hate him. Meanwhile, my brain is yelling, Oh, hell no .
“Yep, Ledger Timberbridge,” someone mutters behind me.
He looks just as obnoxiously attractive as he did in Italy. Those annoyingly defined angles, that lazy confidence, his dark hair slightly messier now. And then there are his eyes—blue, intense, and narrowing as they rake over me.
And as if the universe hasn’t humiliated me enough, his mouth curves into that infuriating smirk.
“Fancy meeting you here, darling,” he drawls, his tone low and mocking, like he’s savoring every second of this. “You really like fucking around with me, don’t you?”
I glare at him. “Wh–what are you doing here?”
That’s obviously a stupid question because I already know the answer. He’s the Timberbridge boy coming to get the legal issues squared away. Meaning: he’s trying to get my inheritance. And then the realization hits me like a slap.
Oh, God. Is this guy my cousin?
And we in Italy . . . Eww.
He raises an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest like he has all the time in the world. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who rear-ended me. Not exactly how I planned to be welcomed back to my hometown.”