Chapter 3
Lila
Rain blurred the street outside. It was a constant gift and curse of living here.
It meant green pastures, barns with mossy roofs, and hydrangeas the size of cabbages.
It also meant wet cuffs and the smell of damp wool clinging to everyone who came through my door.
It also meant I had to keep runners down in the rainy season and watch for slip hazards.
Being a small business owner wasn’t for the faint of heart.
By the time the rush slowed down, I was running on espresso shots and stubbornness. Saturday mornings were always crazy. There were mothers wrangling toddlers, ranchers stomping through with muddy boots, and teenagers pretending they were too cool to be seen ordering hot chocolate.
The dinosaur stunt earlier? Worth it. Every book club reveal day, I tried to make it fun. Last month, we read a super fun take on a mystery story. Today, Jurassic Park, obviously.
All month, I would feature surprise treats in the bakery case along with matching specialty drinks.
If you were a book club member and happened to visit on those days, you could get a stamp on the bookmark I printed out.
The monthly book club traffic alone helped the shop so much.
So, yeah. I’d wear whatever I needed to keep the shop open, even if I looked like a fool.
The look on Janice’s face when I came flailing out of the stacks in that blow-up costume had been priceless. Totally worth sweating through two layers of clothes and nearly cracking my shin on the coffee table.
Sure, I also managed to collide with Easton Holt, of all people, but that was a wrinkle I hadn’t expected.
I tried not to replay that moment over and over, but it was hopeless.
My big reveal turned into me half-deflating on the shop floor while Easton’s scowl loomed over me like a storm cloud.
He’d been grumpy, sure, but there was also something about the way he looked at me.
All awkward and annoyed, that had lingered longer than I wanted it to. It had been a little embarrassing.
Easton Holt was someone who had starred in a few too many of my young preteen fantasies to see me flop around in a dino suit for me not to be embarrassed.
I shook it off and rearranged the scones for today.
They were delicious, even if I said so myself —white chocolate chips, macadamia nuts, and cranberries —and had been flying out of the case.
There were only a few left under the glass dome, so I needed to get another batch in the oven.
The shelves on the bookstore side also needed straightening, and I’d have to wipe up the puddles of rainwater tracked inside across the floor.
Running Chapter & Crumb meant constant movement, but I didn’t mind.
The hum of the shop, the laughter, and even the low buzz of gossip kept me going.
Grams built this place around community. A bookstore where you could sit as long as you wanted. A coffee shop where you never felt rushed. When she passed nearly two years ago, I promised myself I’d keep that spirit alive, even if I had to modernize it a little to keep the lights on.
That meant fun events, quirky book displays, and, yes, inflatable dinosaur costumes.
It also meant rolling with the punches when grumpy Holt men ordered cinnamon rolls without enjoying the free show that I’d just given them. Hell, that was even a striptease.
I huffed out a laugh under my breath and tried to ignore the pinch of guilt that I’d answered rudeness with rudeness, but I wasn’t going to let anyone push me around anymore.
“Need a refill, Mr. Jenkins?” I called, already lifting the carafe.
“If you’re offering, darlin’. That’s me lucky.” He grinned from his corner table by the window, where he’d camped out since before I could remember. He was as much a part of the shop as the mismatched mugs and the sagging couch near the window.
I poured his dark roast, added just the right amount of cream, and carried it over. The thing about Earl was that he didn’t expect to be waited on, but I enjoyed doing it when I had time. “You really are. That was the last cinnamon roll this morning.”
“Best part of my week,” he said, taking a long sip.
The bell above the door jingled again, letting in a damp gust and two moms with toddlers in tow. The kids made a beeline for the back nook, where the battered copies of Magic Tree House lived. Their moms sighed in relief as they ordered foamy lattes, and I grinned as I slid muffins into bags.
This place wasn’t just caffeine and sugar. It was stories. It was belonging. And it was gossip.
Lately, the gossip all sounded the same.
Easton Holt was back.
The Holt boy who’d left. The one who stayed gone.
Six years older than me, Easton had never been part of my orbit.
By the time I was navigating braces, awkward crushes, and bad eyeliner in high school, he was already gone—headed to Portland, then California, and later Idaho.
He was a foster kid turned adopted Holt, leaving a streak of trouble in his wake, and then he left this town as fast as possible.
Everything I knew about him was secondhand from his sister Sage, and she didn’t realize I took greedy pleasure in every detail about her interesting family and even more from any Easton-related information.
Don’t get me wrong, all three of the Holt men were unfairly fine, but Easton had always been extra handsome.
And now, apparently, he had a scowl sharp enough to cut through my best customer-service smile. Too bad he’d grown even better looking in that rough-cut way he had. He was even finer in his thirties than he was when he was a teenage heartthrob. I never would have believed it.
“Thinking hard about something,” Mia teased, sliding another shot of espresso across the counter toward me. Her pink streaks glowed under the overhead lights. “Or someone.”
I shot her a look. “Don’t start.”
She smirked. “Who, me? I’m just saying that man looked like he walked straight out of one of those moody cowboy romances. Broody, broad-shouldered, rude in a hot way. You’re welcome to him since I have a boyfriend and everything. I’m tempted, though.” She fanned herself.
I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks heated. “He’s not my type,” I lied.
“Sure. And you didn’t just rearrange the romance section so that every hot cowboy cover was facing forward.” The words drifted over her shoulder as she headed to the back kitchen.
I ignored her, stacking clean mugs and adjusting the chalkboard menu. Maybe I had done that. Shoot. The shop was quieting down now, drizzle tapering to a mist outside, and the lull always made me thoughtful.
“He’s not a moody cowboy.”
Maybe not exactly, but he’s got the vibes for it—those jeans and those boots,” she whistled softly. “Save a horse …” she smirked.
I needed to get this back on track. Already, I could see the two moms leaning a little as they listened in. “Hey, did you call Ed at the bowling alley about the light?” I tried to steer the conversation to neutral territory.
“Yep. He said he’d break out his ladder today and get up and put in a new set of bulbs. Doesn’t want his favorite girls in the dark.” She winked at me.
We both loved Ed. He owned the bowling alley right behind us, which was accessible through our tiny, shared postage-stamp parking lot.
“Awesome. I hate going in the back if the lights are out. Even small towns have weirdos.”
“Agreed. Got to be careful. Park in the front if the lights aren’t on in the back. We can always move cars before opening.”
She nodded as we hummed through our bakes. We both came in early, and it was typically dark. It was spooky in the back when even one light was out.
I thought of Grams, humming as she baked. Of her gentle reminder to fold dough slowly, never rush the sugar, and always give the yeast time to rise. Patience, she used to say, made for better bread and better people.
Mia’s teasing was in fun, but I had been thinking of Easton Holt and all that came with it.
Grams would probably tell me to stand tall now.
To stop letting one scowly Holt boy get under my skin.
She’d tell me to live my life and not be afraid to date.
The sad thing was, despite always wanting to take her advice, I couldn’t.
There were areas where I was happy to live loudly, but there were others where I was a little more cautious now.
Of course, he hadn’t seemed interested in the least, so I had nothing to worry about.
As I polished the counter and watched the rain bead against the glass, I knew one thing for certain.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, not even to myself, I was almost sure Easton Holt would walk into my business again. (In those fine Wranglers.)
I caught myself glancing at the window, just once, just in case he was still out there. All I saw was Main Street glistening with rain, a delivery truck rolling past, a pair of teenagers dashing across the street under one umbrella. Normal life, carrying on.
Still, a restlessness settled in my chest, one I didn’t want to name.
I’d built this place on rhythm and routine, on steady cups of coffee and shelves of books where everything had its place.
But Easton, back from wherever he’d been, scowls and scars and all, felt like the kind of thing that tipped the balance.
And if I were being really honest, the part of me that could still put on a dinosaur costume and make a room full of people laugh wanted to see if he’d scowl again.
The smarter part of me, the part that still flinched when the phone rang at night, that kept changing my locks every few months even though no one asked me why, knew better.
I’d already let one mistake carve too deeply, and I wasn’t sure I was going to give another man the opportunity to do the same.
Maybe a quick roll in the hay, but he was Sage’s brother, and it would be poor form to do the deed with him and then kick him to the curb.
Maybe I was flattering myself. He probably didn’t want to do the deed with me.