Chapter One #2
I turned, giving them my back as I wiped down the custom-built espresso machine.
The rich wine color was shining by the time I was done, and because I couldn’t help myself, I stepped back to admire my work, twisting the towel in my hands.
I’d been working at Rossy’s for a few years now, having started during the darkest time of my life.
The busy morning and slow afternoons helped me in more ways than one.
People counted on me to be here on time to make their coffee.
The way I saw it, if the townspeople of Astoria didn’t get their coffee before heading into work, someone would have burned it to the ground by lunch.
It was an extreme thought, but it forced me to pull my head out of my own ass and take the first steps to getting my life together.
“Good morning!” Sarah chirped from somewhere behind me.
I winced, bracing for the stern look she probably had painted across her doe-like features.
Come on, Margo. You haven’t been late in over a year.
With that thought in mind, I slowly turned around, finding the espresso bar empty and Sarah standing just outside of the first row of stacks.
Behind her, the bricked walls were lined with dark stained bookshelves and above her, there was a loft area filled with bean bags and children’s books.
As she called out my name, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of my neck.
My eyes shot over to the front counter. Carrie was back in her normal spot, perched on the stool, head bent as her blue eyes scanned over the supply order sheet, a hot pink pen in her hand.
“Margo?”
I blinked and shook my head. “Sorry, Sarah. It won’t happen again.” The words spewed out of my mouth before I could stop them, perfectly practiced, tone even but sincere.
My boss’s head leaned to the side, her brows coming together slowly, her light brown hair sliding off her shoulder. “I asked if you were all right, honey,” she said softly.
I stiffened. “Oh.”
“Yeah, okay,” she muttered, turning and setting the small pile of books in her arms onto the nearest shelf, the sale stickers perched on top.
Carrie and Sarah were preparing for our harvest sale next month.
I didn’t move a single inch as she straightened, smoothed down the skirt of her plum-colored dress, and made her way to me, her heels clicking softly along the wooden floors. “Margo, what’s going on?”
Her tone set off alarm bells in my head.
“Nothing.” I turned and tossed the towel onto the edge of the small sink. “Just tired.”
She leaned on the counter, clasping her hands. “Did you bartend last night?”
The sounds of 2000s rock music filled my ears as the faint smell of beer and cigarette smoke filled my nostrils, bringing me back to the moment that son of bitch walked in.
I cleared my throat and reached for a mug, just to keep my hands busy. Sarah had waited for the perfect opportunity to strike—when I had no customers and, therefore, no excuse to blow her off. “Yeah, it was packed. Didn’t get home until late.”
“I see.”
I gave her a thin smile. “You want me to make you a second cup before you go check on the twins?”
Sarah had four children. Whenever the store was slow, she would usually take a few minutes to walk over to the next street and check on them.
Her husband, Michael, who also happened to be the sheriff, didn’t see the point in her checking on the twins so much.
Sunny Side Up Daycare was the best in town, according to, well, everyone who had children in Astoria.
There was a yearlong wait list to get your kid enrolled.
“Oh, yeah,” she sighed. “Michael and I had a talk about that. I’m going to stop checking in on them. If I keep going, then they’ll get used to me coming in. So they’ll expect it, which isn’t good for their independence.”
I raised a brow, thankful for the subject change. “What the hell does Mike know?” I asked in a teasing manner. “The babies need their momma.”
She glanced at her watch before leveling me with a look. “Margo, I have a meeting with BB Books in five minutes. I would really like it if those five minutes weren’t spent talking about my babies or my husband.”
A lump formed in my throat. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“How’s the harvest sale prep coming along?” I asked, grinning at her.
She shook her head, her bow-shaped lips pressing together in a firm line. “Don’t play this game with me, Margo.”
“It’s not a game; it’s a genuine question.”
She clicked her tongue. “Speaking of questions, you never answered mine.”
I tucked that damned stray hair behind my ear and pressed my tongue into my cheek. “And what question was that, Sarah?”
“Are. You. Okay?” Each word was firm but filled with a loving warmth that, even after years of being here, was something I was still getting used to. When Sarah got mad, her anger was soft. It wasn’t toxic or cold. Somehow, her anger was filled with love.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I lied, holding her eyes.
We stared at each other for thirty-seven more seconds before she checked her watch again. “Okay, good. That’s all I wanted to know.”
My shoulders relaxed, the tension in my neck dissipating. “I promise,” I added.
She moved then, coming around the bar, her arms outstretched.
I wasn’t much of a hugger, but when it came to my Rossy Books family, I was.
I stepped into Sarah’s embrace with a rushed greediness, needing to feel another body against mine that wasn’t Captain Top Gun Asshole’s.
Sarah was close to the same height as me, but she was taller today thanks to her nude pumps.
The scent of raspberries and vanilla surrounded me as she squeezed me tight, humming.
“Thanks for checking in,” I whispered, feeling her hair tickle my cheek.
“Thanks for being honest,” she whispered back.
As she pulled away, my stomach fell to the floor. Still, I managed to play it off with a smile just as two more customers came in, the bell above the door jingling.
“Welcome to Rossy’s!” Cardinal greeted.
I turned my head, my lips parting at the sight of the pair.
The man was tall but broad, and he had his arm around one of the local tattoo artists, Maria.
My gut picked itself up off the floor and twisted painfully at the sight.
The man with her was the light that complemented her dark.
From his golden blond hair to her box-dyed black, they were polar opposites. And yet? They fit together perfectly.
“Hey Margo,” Maria greeted, taking a seat on the stool at the end of the bar.
“Sup, Maria?” I said, forcing my feet to move as the blond man disappeared into the stacks. “What can I get ya?”
Maria was a year or two older than me, and her uncle owned the tattoo shop at the end of Main Street.
He’d opened it about twenty-five years ago, and when he was ready to retire, Maria would be taking it over.
I wouldn’t say that we were friends, because I didn’t have many of those.
But she was my tattoo artist, and, in some ways, that was sort of like a friend. Right?
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “There was something that Pam recommended I get…” She trailed off, pulling her phone out of her jean jacket. While I waited, I scanned the store, looking for the man. “Ooh. She said it’s some caramel drink that you were testing out for the harvest sale.”
My neck snapped back toward her. “Pam wasn’t supposed to blab about the secret menu,” I growled.
Cardinal’s laugh filled my ears. “That was me, not Pam.”
I looked over to her, raising my finger. “I do believe I gave you the caramel cinnamon swirl latte, not the boutique owner.”
She raised her hands in the air. “Look, I had to run down there to pick up a dress and I gave her a sip. She said it smelled divine and then, of course, I told her it tasted even better.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Cardinal, how is anything supposed to be a secret in this town if you keep sharing everything?”
Maria cleared her throat, forcing me to give her my attention. Her jacket was now draped over her lap, revealing her tattooed sleeves to the world. She smirked at me. “Oh, come on, Margo. Just give it to me.”
“No.”
“Margo!” Carrie laughed.
I put my hands on my hips. “It’s part of the harvest menu, dammit.”
“Darling, please.”
I tipped my head back, closing my eyes, hearing Rossy emerge from his secret spot in the store.
“Don’t use foul language in front of the customers.”
“Carrie shared the secret menu,” I told him, turning around to find him coming behind the bar, helping himself to another cup of tea.
“Well, I’m sure Maria could be an excellent judge of the caramel one,” he mumbled, plucking the electric kettle from its base.
“Rossy, have I ever told you that you’re my favorite?” Maria purred.
“Whoa, I thought I was your favorite,” a deep male voice sounded.
All eyes landed on the man as he walked out of the history section with a copy of Off With Her Head by Eleanor Herman in his hands.
Hmm. Good choice.
“Nah, I just happen to like you today,” Maria said, beaming at him.
“All right, well, off I go again. If you need me, call Sarah,” Rossy announced, raising his teacup to all of us before disappearing again.
I sighed. “Hot or iced?” I asked Maria, trying not to look at the blond man.
He looked nothing like Hayes, yet his very presence made the sting resurface.
This man’s hair was wild; Hayes’ was short and perfect.
The man had brown eyes, and they had nothing on Hayes’ green ones.
The man was also pale. Hayes was not pale.
Top Gun looked like he’d been kissed by the sun.
No matter what time of year it was, his skin was golden.
Everything about him seemed golden and perfect.
Except it wasn’t.
It was all a lie.