Chapter 4 Axel
Axel
Iburst through the brewery office doors twenty minutes late, two coffee cups clutched in my hands and my shirt a canvas of dark stains. Trent and Tyler are already folding up their laptops and tucking away notebooks.
“Perfect timing,” Tyler says, arching an eyebrow at my wrecked shirt. “You missed the entire quarterly projection review.”
Trent whistles. “What happened to you? You wrestle a coffee maker?”
“Something like that.” I set the one cup that survived on the conference table. Its twin didn’t make it, but my shirt took one for the team.
Tyler checks his watch. “We’re heading to lunch. You can explain your latest disaster over burgers.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I protest, but they’re already past me toward the door. Trent slaps me on the back.
“Save it for The Place,” he says. “I want the full story in front of witnesses.”
Fifteen minutes later, we slide into our usual booth at The Place, the old diner that’s been the Slade family touchdown spot forever. Tyler and Trent sit across from me, grins of amused curiosity already in place.
“Alright, spill,” Trent says as our drinks arrive. “And I don’t mean more coffee on that poor shirt.”
I roll my eyes. “Just a small accident at Pike’s Perk. Nothing worth broadcasting.”
“Pike’s Perk,” Tyler repeats, trading a look with Trent. “Shocker.”
“You’re in there more than you’re here,” Trent adds, leaning forward. “Is the coffee that good, or do you just like the ambiance?”
“It’s decent.” I force it casual. “Nothing special.”
Tyler snorts. “That’s why you’ve been there every day this week.”
“I like routine,” I snap. “It’s comforting. Builds character.”
“Since when?” Trent laughs. “You call schedules ‘spontaneity’s murder scene.’”
I take a sip of water, stalling. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Into what?” Tyler asks. “A guy who gets steamrolled by a barista and keeps coming back?”
“She didn’t steamroll me,” I say. “Mugs fell, coffee spilled, simple accident.”
Trent raises an eyebrow. “She?”
“Sadie,” I admit. “The owner.”
“Sadie,” Tyler says slowly. “Dark hair, serious eyes, runs that place like a boot camp?”
“You know her?” I blurt.
He smiles. “Been there a few times. She’s intense.”
“She doesn’t have time for bullshit,” I say, the words sticking on my tongue. “She’s running the place with one hand, raising a kid with the other. Doesn’t leave much room for anyone else.”
Especially not another man. Not unless he’s strong enough to take some of it from her shoulders. Not unless he’s me.
Trent leans back, studying me. “Wow. You’re going soft on us, Axel.”
“I’m not soft,” I say. “Just… observant.”
“About someone you claim is ‘just a barista,’” Tyler points out.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you have actual work to discuss? Brewery stuff?”
“This is better,” Trent says. “You haven’t looked this rattled since that disaster date with the yoga instructor.”
“I’m not rattled,” I insist. But she... she seems tired.
Guarded, like she’s carrying everything on her shoulders and trusts no one to help.
I wonder what she looks like when that armor slips, when she lets someone in.
How those lips would curve if she let herself smile for real.
What it’d take to be the man she lets close enough to see it… close enough to taste it.
I almost say it out loud. The whole thing…
that I think about her more than I should, that I'm not actually there for the coffee, that something about the way she holds herself like she's bracing for impact makes me want to be the thing she doesn't have to brace against. It sits right there on the edge of my teeth.
Then I look at my cousins and remember I have exactly zero desire to have that conversation in a booth at The Place.
So I swallow it.
Tyler watches me do it. He's been watching me do it since I sat down, because Tyler doesn't miss anything, which is deeply inconvenient when you're trying to act like a normal person who definitely hasn't rearranged his entire schedule around a woman who hasn't given him a single reason for optimism.
"You’re not going to tell us," he says. Not a question.
"Nothing to tell."
He nods slowly, that particular nod that means he's filing this away for later. "Okay."
It's the okay that gets me. No argument, no push. Just okay, I see you, I'll wait.
I stare at the table. “She looks damn exhausted,” I admit, voice low. “Like she’s been fighting off the world and no one’s ever stepped up to fight for her. Makes me want to step in. Makes me want to make sure she never has to do it alone again.”
The booth goes quiet.
"Okay," Tyler says again, softer this time. "Yeah."
"I’m not saying I’m doing anything about it," I add. "I’m just… aware of it."
Trent picks up his drink. "Sure you are."
Tyler’s smile fades. “You sure you’re okay? This isn’t your usual.”
"I'm fine," I lie. "Really."
Under the table my knee is bouncing. I press my palm flat against it and make it stop. Tyler's watching me with that quiet, forensic patience, the kind that's gotten worse since he settled down, like happiness gave him extra bandwidth to analyze everyone around him.
"You’re doing the jaw thing," he says.
"I don’t have a jaw thing."
"You’ve had a jaw thing since you were nine. You do it when you want something you can’t figure out how to get." He tilts his head. "When’s the last time you couldn’t figure out how to get something?"
The honest answer is never. The honest answer is that I've coasted on easy my entire adult life and I didn't know that was a problem until I walked into a café and a woman looked straight through my best smile like it was made of tissue paper.
"It’s just coffee," I tell him. The words land hollow even to my own ears.
Tyler looks at me for a long moment. "Okay, Ax."
"Okay?"
"Okay." He picks up his drink. "Whenever you’re ready."
That's somehow worse than being pushed.
"Whatever you say, man," Trent adds. “Just be careful. Sounds like she’s juggling a lot.”
“There’s no situation,” I say firmly. “I’m just a regular customer. End of story.”
Already, though, I’m planning tomorrow morning. I’ll swing by Pike’s Perk under the pretense of supplier checks. Practical relationship-building with local businesses and all that.
It's a flimsy excuse, and I know it. But it's the one I'm going with.
It's exactly 8:17 a.m. the next day when I pull into Pike's Perk's parking lot. I've got a perfectly legitimate reason this time. The brewery board meeting needs catering, and Pike's Perk has the best pastry selection in town. That's all. Just business.
I check myself in the rearview mirror, running a hand through my hair before catching myself. "Get it together, Slade," I mutter.
The folder with our catering requirements sits on the passenger seat. I grab it, along with my phone, and head toward the café entrance with what I hope passes for casual confidence. The morning rush seems to have died down, with only a few tables occupied.
I spot Sadie the moment I walk in. She's behind the counter, head bent over paperwork, a pen tucked behind her ear. She hasn't noticed me yet, and for a second I just take her in, the focused furrow between her brows, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair back without looking up.
"Can I help you?"
The voice stops me cold. Not Sadie's voice. This one is sharper, more direct. I turn to find Rowan blocking my path, arms crossed over her chest. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are anything but friendly as she looks me up and down.
"Morning," I say with an easy smile. "I'm here to set up a catering order."
"Interesting." She doesn't move. "Because yesterday you were here for coffee. And the day before that. And the day before that."
I hold up the folder like evidence. " Multitasking. It's a gift."
"Is it?" Rowan steps closer, lowering her voice. She doesn't smile back. But something in her posture shifts a degree or two, like she’s analyzing me. "You always personally handle catering for your company?" she asks.
"Only when the stakes are high enough." I hold her gaze. "I take my board meetings seriously."
"And my sister?"
Direct. I like it.
"I take her seriously too," I say. Same easy tone. Nothing to hide. "Which is why I’m placing a catering order instead of asking her to dinner."
Rowan studies me for another long beat. Then, almost imperceptibly, her chin dips.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Sadie watching us, her expression unreadable, body tense like she's ready to intervene.
"And it has nothing to do with the fact you always show up when Sadie’s on the counter?"
I let my gaze linger on Sadie, just enough to make the point. "Your sister’s got the only coffee worth drinking in this town. But I’m not here just for the caffeine."
Rowan’s mouth twitches. "So what is it?"
I don’t look away. "Like a side, a very important catering order for a very important meeting."
She studies me, not missing the subtext.
"As long as you’re not wasting her time," Rowan says.
I lean in. "If I ever get her time, I won’t waste a second."
Rowan studies me a moment longer, then glances back at Sadie, who quickly pretends to be absorbed in her paperwork again.
"You know she's got a lot on her plate, right?" Rowan asks, quieter now.
"I've noticed," I say, dropping the charm for a moment of honesty. "I'm not here to complicate things."
"Everyone complicates things," Rowan replies. "It's just a question of whether it's worth it."
Behind her, I see Sadie set down her pen, shoulders tight. She's definitely listening now, though trying not to show it.
"Look," I say, meeting Rowan's eyes. "I just want to place a catering order. If Sadie's too busy, I'm happy to work with you or anyone else."
Something in my tone must pass whatever test Rowan's running, because her stance relaxes slightly.
"Fine," she says, stepping aside. "But I'll be watching you, Slade."
"I'd be disappointed if you weren't," I reply with a grin.
As I approach the counter, Sadie straightens, her expression carefully neutral. "Catering order?" she asks, all business.
"Yeah," I say, sliding the folder across to her. "For next Thursday. Nothing complicated."
Her fingers brush mine, a jolt sharp enough to have me clenching my free hand follows. She pulls back like she’s been burned. She’s not the only one. I bite back the urge to close the gap, to make her hold on a second longer. To remind her she’s not untouchable.
"I can put this together," she says, not quite meeting my eyes. "Need a quote today?"
"No hurry. Unless you want to give me a reason to come back."
She glances up, eyes meeting mine, then slides away.
"I’ll call when it’s ready."
"Or I’ll stop in," I say, holding her gaze a second too long.
"I’m not hard to find."
I turn to leave, feeling Rowan's eyes tracking me the whole way. At the door, I can't help glancing back. Sadie's watching me now, her expression a complicated mix of suspicion and something else. Curiosity, maybe.
Our eyes meet for just a second before she looks away, turning to say something to Rowan. But that brief connection is enough to make my stomach flip.
Yeah, I'm definitely in trouble here.
I’m halfway out the door, still keyed up from that brush of her fingers, when a flash of black catches my eye, a dark sedan parked on the curb across from the café, engine idling.
It’s not even in a marked spot. An unexpected cold settles in my gut.
I narrow my gaze, cataloging the vehicle, tinted windows, Maryland plates.
Doesn’t fit in this town. Doesn’t belong anywhere near her.
My jaw tightens. Is someone watching—her? I don’t like it. Not one damn bit.
"Weird place to park," I murmur to myself.
I turn back toward the counter. Sadie’s there, frozen mid-step, folder pressed against her chest. Her skin has gone as white as a sheet, like she just saw a ghost. Every muscle in her shoulders and neck is locked tight, as if she’s been struck by electricity.
“Sadie?” I say, stepping forward.
A blink, and just like that she exhales, her shoulders easing and her face smoothing into a casual mask. She shuffles papers, then slides her apron straight. Perfectly normal.
Too perfect. Fear this acute doesn’t vanish that fast.
“Need anything else?” Her voice is steady, too steady, and pitched a hair higher than usual.
I nod toward the window. “That car out there. It’s been running for a while.”
Her eyes flick upward but don’t track my gesture. She already knows I mean that sedan.
“Probably waiting on someone,” she says, forcing a shrug. “More for the order?”
Her knuckles go white where she grips the counter. This isn’t annoyance. It’s terror, deep in her bones.
I keep my posture loose. “That’s it for now.”
Rowan steps out from the back, glances at the car, then zeros in on Sadie. She moves to stand behind her sister, silent and alert.
I clear my throat. “I’ll… get going. Call me if you need anything.”
Sadie offers a quick nod, jaw tight. “Sure. Thanks.”
Outside, I pause before heading to my truck, eyes never leaving the sedan. As I reach for my door, the sedan eases away from the curb, slowly rolling down Main Street before turning off at the intersection.
I slide behind the wheel, adrenaline still buzzing through me.
Through the café window I see Sadie and Rowan leaning in close, Sadie’s face drawn, arms folded defensively. Rowan’s posture says she’s braced for an argument.
I should drop it. It’s her business. But I can’t shake the raw look on Sadie’s face when she first spotted that car. That pure, unguarded fear.
I’m not going to force her to explain. But I’ll stay alert. Keep my distance but stay within reach. Because whoever sent that sedan wants something, something that terrifies Sadie Calloway to her core. And I’m not about to let her face that alone.