Chapter Eight
Lydia
Reckless River smelled like cinnamon, pine, and righteous small-town judgment the next morning. Which was to say, it was perfect.
Melanie and I strolled down Main Street, sipping coffee from ceramic mugs we hadn’t paid for yet. Apparently, June at the bakery ran on the honor system and the power of baked goods. She’d handed us mugs and a brown bag of warm croissants before we could say “please,” then shooed us out the door like we were grandkids she hadn’t seen in a while.
“This place is adorable,” Melanie said, biting into her pastry. “I’m moving in.”
I gave her a look. “You hate small towns.”
“Yeah, well. I also hate sweats with no pockets, but I still own five pairs.”
“That’s not even a comparison.”
“It is when there’s pastry involved. I’ll need more sweats if I keep eating like this.”
We turned the corner and passed a shop with a hand-lettered sign that read "Nailed It: Manicures & More." The sign was framed by potted lavender and a window display of fake hands dramatically holding nail polish bottles like they were auditioning for a soap opera.
“That’s the spot,” I said, pointing.
Melanie stopped, squinting at the sign. “Wait. You made an appointment here?”
“Yeah. Desiree’s one of my tenants, and I figured it was time to introduce myself and, you know, make sure she didn’t hate me on sight.”
“I love that you’re bribing your tenants with manicure appointments.”
“Bold of you to assume I won’t bring snacks too.”
We stepped inside to a burst of soft pop music and the unmistakable smell of acetone and coconut lotion. The interior was bright and beachy, with turquoise walls, whitewashed cabinets, and a wall of glittering nail polish bottles organized like a rainbow exploded and decided to stay.
“Lydia!” A woman in a lemon-yellow jumpsuit and five-inch heels waved from behind the front counter. Her hair was styled in a cascade of curls, and her nails sparkled like disco balls. “You’re early. That’s either impressive or suspicious.”
“Impressively suspicious,” I said, grinning. “Hi, Desiree. This is my best friend Melanie, who insisted on tagging along.”
Melanie wiggled her fingers. “I heard there were foot massages.”
Desiree eyed her shoes. “And judging by those ballet flats, you need one.”
Melanie gasped, delighted. “You get me.”
Within five minutes, Melanie had her feet soaking in a pink glittery bowl, and Desiree had already talked me into a polish change and possibly a life-altering brow tint. I hadn’t decided yet.
“So,” Desiree said, settling onto her stool and pulling on gloves. “How’s the new landlady gig treating you?”
I hesitated. “It’s… great. Still figuring things out, of course. But everyone’s been welcoming.” I laughed and shook my head. “Well, you’ve been welcoming. You’re the first I’ve met.”
“Well….” Melanie’s voice went up an octave. “Technically, you’ve met one other.”
I shot her a warning glare over my mug.
Desiree’s eyes lit up like she’d just been asked to spill the best tea in Washington state. “Ah. You must mean Callum.”
“I didn’t say that,” I mumbled, suddenly very interested in the wall of nail polish colors.
“He’s not exactly subtle,” Desiree said, laughing. “That man could scowl at a rainbow and make it apologize.”
Melanie snorted. “Oh good, so it’s not just Lydia.”
I kicked her ankle under the table, missed, and splashed water on my feet.
Desiree leaned in. “Let me give you the full scoop. He’s loyal, stubborn, protective as hell, and built like a man who could carry three kegs on each shoulder. Which, coincidentally, he probably has.”
“Sounds charming,” I muttered.
“He is , once he trusts you,” she said, dipping a brush into a glittery lavender polish. “But good luck getting there. Took me a year before he started saying more than ‘morning.’”
Melanie looked way too pleased with this information. “And now?”
“Now he says ‘morning’ with a nod,” Desiree said, laughing. “Which is practically marriage in the Callum language.”
I rolled my eyes. “So he’s just naturally cranky. Good to know.”
Desiree smiled. “Cranky, yes. But it doesn't mean. He’s just… cautious. Doesn’t like change. Doesn’t trust it.”
“Well,” I said, “that will make this next part awkward.”
Desiree raised an eyebrow.
“I want to make some upgrades,” I said. “Not huge things. Just freshen things up. Paint and lighting, maybe rework the front stoops so they’re safer. That kind of thing.”
Desiree didn’t blink. “Thank God. I’ve been waiting for someone to touch up the outside for years. I do nails, Lydia. Not facades. I welcome anything you can do to help.”
I relaxed instantly. “So… you’re okay with it?”
“Are you kidding? You want to paint? I’ll hand you a roller. You want to install new signage? Tell me what glitter font you’re using.”
“I wasn’t planning on glitter font,” I said.
“Missed opportunity.”
I laughed, and Melanie sighed dramatically from the foot spa. “Desiree, I think I love you. Tell me more about Cranky McBroodypants.”
“Melanie,” I hissed.
“What? I’m conducting local research.”
Desiree grinned. “You want the long version or the good stuff?”
“Oh, we always want the good stuff,” Melanie said.
I groaned and slumped deeper in my chair, so much for keeping a low profile.
“Callum’s been here a long time,” Desiree said. “That bar’s his pride and joy. Practically lives in it. Fixes it himself. Keeps it running with spit, duct tape, and sheer willpower. So yeah, he’s gonna bark about changes. He’s single. Doesn’t seem to date much. Can break up a bar brawl with just one look.”
Melanie smirked. “But deep down… is there a heart of gold?”
“Oh, honey,” Desiree said, twirling her polish brush. “That man’s got a heart. It’s just hidden behind twenty layers of sarcasm, a refusal to ask for help, and a flannel collection.”
I tried to picture him laughing, dancing, or even smiling for over half a second. It felt like trying to imagine a mountain cracking a joke.
“Well,” I said slowly, “I’m not here to pick a fight with him. I just want to make things better.”
Desiree nodded. “Then keep doing what you’re doing. He’ll come around. Or he’ll sulk and mutter to himself while secretly approving everything you do.”
“Reckless River’s finest.”
Melanie leaned her head back. “This place is better than cable.”
When we left Desiree’s nail salon, my fingers sparkled, Melanie was practically floating from her foot massage, and I had a running list of everything I wanted to fix without stepping on any toes.
Mostly. Probably.
We pushed the door open and were immediately hit with the scent of espresso from two doors down. When we walked inside, the door chimed with too much enthusiasm—three notes that sounded like someone had programmed a doorbell with jazz hands. The shop was charming… from about fifteen feet away. The closer I looked, the more I noticed things that had been loved to death.
Bean There, Done That , had a sign with a crooked letter B and a little steam swirl painted above a cartoon mug. It was adorable in a way that made you root for it, even before you stepped inside.
“Coffee?” Melanie asked, like I was going to say no.
“I’ve already had two cups.”
“You’re a business owner now. That barely counts as your starter fuel.”
I followed her down the sidewalk. “Do they have cinnamon rolls here, too?”
“If they do, we’re moving in.”
The ceiling tiles were stained from old leaks, the kind that left splotchy watermarks like coffee rings. One of the fridges buzzed with the anxious hum of an appliance that had seen too much, too often. The laminate floors were dull and discolored, and a few chairs had cushions that looked like they'd survived at least one chili spill and a toddler with a marker.
It wasn’t terrible. It just… needed help.
“Hi!” A voice practically sang across the room. A woman behind the counter popped up from where she’d been crouched under the espresso machine. “You’re Lydia, right?”
I blinked. “Yes?”
“I’m Riley.” She came around the counter, all bright eyes and an apron that read I like you a latte . “I own this place. Oh my gosh, it’s so exciting that you’re the new landlord. The Ludlowes said you’d be stopping in!”
I was still trying to keep up with her volume and general sparkle. “It’s great to meet you, Riley. This place is adorable.”
She waved that off. “You’re sweet, but I know it needs work. The Ludlowes were kind, but let’s just say attention to detail was not their legacy. I’ve been saving up to do some updates, but the plumbing’s old, and I’m still paying off the espresso machine that broke twice last year. One more surprise repair and I might be selling lattes out of my car.”
I glanced around again. The layout was solid, open, and welcoming, but it could be much more. The potential tugged at me like a dog on a leash.
“I’m not here to change anything that’s working,” I said gently. “But if you ever want some help making small updates or repairs, I’d be happy to look at what I can do. I’m a sucker for good bones and it would be nice to use the degree I earned.”
Riley’s whole face lit up. “Yes! Thank you. Honestly, even some help brainstorming or figuring out what’s possible would be amazing.”
I nodded, already imagining how a few simple touches, some paint, fresh lights, and fixing the floorboards could transform the space without breaking the bank. I could already picture the Pinterest board in my brain.
“I’ll email you,” she said, bouncing back toward the counter. “What are you two having?”
“Whatever your go-to is,” I said. “Surprise me.”
“Same,” Melanie added. “Bonus points if it comes with extra caffeine and low-key euphoria.”
“You got it.”
As Riley got to work behind the counter, I turned to say something to Melanie and promptly collided with a wall of muscle and flannel.
“Oh, sorry…”
“Figures,” came the low rumble of a voice I knew too well.
I took a half-step back and looked up.
Of course.
Callum Benedict.
Standing in the doorway like a storm cloud in jeans. His flannel sleeves were rolled to the elbows, his jaw was unshaven, and he looked like he hadn’t slept since sometime last week. In other words, ruggedly broody, as advertised.
“Of all the coffee shops in all the world…” I muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re already planning the remodel?”
“I was just getting coffee,” I said sweetly. “But now I think maybe I should put in a window seat.”
“Good. Then you can watch as the town's soul gets sanded down and refinished second by second.”
Melanie leaned against the counter, grinning. “You two have the weirdest flirt-fight dynamic I’ve ever seen. And I once dated a guy who proposed during a hot sauce eating contest.”
Callum didn’t flinch. “This isn’t flirting.”
“Debatable,” she said, sipping her drink.
Riley popped her head up from behind the espresso machine, beaming. “Callum! Your usual?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, but his eyes never left me. “Unless Lydia here wants to add lavender foam and glitter.”
“Just wait until you see the art installation I’m planning for the sidewalk.”
“I’ll bring the jackhammer.” His eyes narrowed on mine, and I felt an odd flutter.
“Perfect,” I said, smiling to show my teeth.
Why? I didn’t know.
Riley handed him a black coffee, then set two to-go cups in front of me and Melanie.
“On the house,” she said. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Callum looked between us, his brow furrowed like he couldn’t decide whether to warn Riley or install surveillance cameras.
“Well,” I said, turning toward the door, “this has been charming.”
“Like a root canal,” Callum muttered behind me.
But I didn’t respond. Because despite the backhanded comments and the brooding, something about this morning felt like a small win.
One more tenant on board.
One more space I could make better, without stripping its soul.
And one very grumpy man who was starting to feel just a little bit predictable.
Dangerous.
But predictable.