Chapter Nine
Callum
I knew I should’ve waited ten more minutes in my truck when I saw her in the coffee shop. Maybe fifteen. Long enough for her to leave with her friend and all their shiny, hopeful, city plans.
But no. I walked in, ran straight into her, literally, and ended up in a room that suddenly felt too small and far too bright.
She didn’t even look surprised. Like she’d expected me to appear, ready to scowl and growl and play my assigned role.
I gave her what she was waiting for and added a little extra for good measure. Not proud of it, but hell, I wasn’t about to start pretending we were best friends just because she could drink her coffee without flinching and stare me down equally as hard.
When she and her glitter-bombed friend left, the place felt like it exhaled. Or maybe that was just me.
What bothered me most about Lydia was that she wasn’t what I expected. I’d concocted an image of what she looked and acted like, and so far, none of my guesses were on target.
I stepped up to the counter and took Riley's coffee without saying much. She didn’t comment right away either; she just gave me that squinty-eyed look of hers, as if she was mentally deciding whether I needed caffeine or a swift kick.
It was probably both.
She returned to organizing the pastry case, but I could feel it coming. Riley didn’t hold her tongue for long, especially not when I stomped in like a bear who hadn’t eaten all winter.
And sure enough, she straightened up, hands on her hips, and said, “You planning to scare away every woman with a business idea or just this one?”
I took a sip of my coffee and gave her a look. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Good,” she said. “Because neither am I.”
I sighed. “Look, I just… She’s trying to take away the charm of this town. Dress it up like something it’s not. Make it shiny and marketable. Reckless River doesn’t need a facelift. We don’t need more visitors.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Riley raised both eyebrows. “Huh. If you say so.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s it? If you say so?”
She pointed to the ceiling. “Have you looked up lately?”
I tilted my head, reluctantly following her finger.
There it was. The same brown water stain that had been there since last fall. Probably from the same leak that left a permanent ring on the cabinet above the fridge. The tile was sagging slightly now, the edge curling like it was embarrassed to still be hanging on.
“That’s not charm, Callum,” Riley said, voice soft but firm. “That’s rot. That’s patchwork. That’s me ignoring it because I’ve been doing this alone for a long time and couldn’t afford to fix it, and you know the Ludlowes weren’t in a position to keep this place how it needed to be .”
I didn’t have a response for that.
She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the soul of this town. But soul and decay aren’t the same thing. If someone wants to help, maybe don’t assume she’s trying to tear it all down.”
I looked away, jaw tight.
She didn’t press.
Riley wasn’t like that. She just handed me a napkin and nodded toward the door.
“Go stomp around outside if you have to, but maybe think about whether you’re protecting the town… or just your pride.”
I took my coffee, muttered a half-hearted thanks, and stepped back out onto the sidewalk.
The breeze had picked up, rustling the hanging flower baskets along the awning's edge. A couple of kids with helmets rode by on their bikes, one of them shouting something about jellybeans and dinosaurs. The usual morning chaos of a sleepy little town that pretended it didn’t care about much but knew everyone’s birthdays and which dog belonged to which porch.
I leaned against the building, took another sip of coffee, and stared down the street.
Of course, I didn’t see her.
That would’ve made too much sense…her waltzing back up to deliver another smug remark or offer me a dandelion.
Still, I looked for her.
A flicker of a denim jacket, a bounce of dark curls, that quick little smirk she had when she was holding back something clever.
Nothing.
And I shouldn’t have been looking anyway. I wasn’t ready to even think about the opposite sex.
Just my luck, I’d have to run into her later when I was elbow-deep in grease or hauling kegs, and she’d comment on rustic authenticity while I pretended not to care that her eyes lingered for half a second too long.
I shifted my weight and looked down at the sidewalk. A crack split one of the squares clean down the middle. Someone had stuffed a penny in it, right between the lines. Probably a kid.
Probably someone who hadn’t yet figured out how complicated it could be to care about a place so much it hurt.
I did care. That was the whole damn problem.
This town had roots. People with history. Businesses that held each other up when times got hard. The Rusty Stag wasn’t just a bar. It was a living room for the whole damn town. And yeah, the floors creaked and the lights flickered when someone ran the microwave too long, but it meant something.
The thought of someone coming in with blueprints and Pinterest boards, eager to replace that meaning with modern charm and updated fixtures , made my blood boil.
But then there was Riley.
And her ceiling tile.
And that expression she got when she thought no one was looking, like she was tired in a way that went deeper than sleep.
Maybe the town did need a little help.
But that didn’t mean I had to like who was offering.
Especially not if she smelled like lilacs and wore sarcasm like it was perfume.
Even more so if her laugh had somehow lodged itself in my head like a song I couldn’t stop humming.
Damn it.
I took another sip of coffee and stared at the corner where she’d disappeared, willing my day to start over before it all got more complicated.
Because something told me this was just the beginning.
And I wasn’t ready.
Not even close.
I found myself at the bar, alone, the place dim and quiet in the best way I liked.
No customers.
No music. Just the low hum of the fridge, the scuff of my boots on the floor, and the occasional creak from the old beams that had held this place together longer than I’d been alive.
I sat at the bar, one arm draped over the back of a stool, coffee in hand, my phone in the other. Scrolling through the news, sports updates, and the occasional meme Drew sent at two in the morning like a teenager with unlimited data.
I wasn’t thinking about her.
Not Lydia, with the spark in her eyes, the careful words, and the laugh that made the walls feel warmer than the heat ever did.
Nope.
I was not thinking about her.
The front door slammed open like a shotgun blast, nearly taking the hinges.
I looked up, startled.
Melanie.
Wearing a cropped denim jacket, an expression that could shatter glass, and boots that hit the floor like war drums.
I didn’t even have time to set down my coffee before she was in front of me.
“You,” she snapped, jabbing a finger toward my chest like she wanted to carve her message straight into my ribs. “We’re having a chat.”
“Morning to you, too,” I said, lifting my cup in mock greeting. “Coffee?”
“Save the charm, Brontosaurus.”
I blinked. “Did you just call me a dinosaur?”
“If the shoe fits. Stomping around like the town sheriff in a spaghetti western. Growling at Lydia like she’s the villain in some slow-burn soap opera. You’d think you were protecting national secrets instead of an outdated jukebox and a leaky beer tap.”
“She’s not exactly subtle,” I said, sipping. “You’re all floating in here on a cloud of glitter and ambition like this town’s just waiting to be Instagrammed.”
“Spare me,” she huffed. “I’m leaving on Monday. But before I go, I want to ensure you understand something.”
“Can’t wait.”
She stepped in closer, practically toe-to-toe now, and lowered her voice. “Lydia’s my best friend. She’s been through hell and still wakes up every morning trying to build something good. You don’t get to tear her down just because you don’t like change.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So, she sends her friend to fight her battles?”
“No,” Melanie snapped. “She’s too damn classy for that. I, however, am not. Which is why I’m here.”
I set my coffee down. “You always this aggressive before lunch?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think you’re funny. But here’s the thing…I will come back if I hear even a whisper that you’re treating her like trash.”
“Oh, I’m trembling.”
“You should be.” She stabbed her finger toward me again, poking my chest. “If I get so much as a hint that you’re being anything less than a gentleman, I will drive four hours back here, and I will take you apart with a can of dry shampoo and a borrowed wine cork, bit by ever-loving bit.”
Okay, a little brutal.
I stared at her.
She stared right back.
And then I smiled. I couldn’t help it.
“You practice that speech in the car?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. Just glared harder. “Don’t test me, flannel boy.”
Before I could toss another smartass remark at her, the front door banged open again , and Drew walked in, eyebrows raised and brows knit like he’d just missed a fistfight and was disappointed about it.
Melanie spun around and crashed right into him.
“Whoa—” he caught her by the shoulders. “Where’s the fire?”
“Behind the bar,” she muttered. “But it’s all yours now.”
“I’m not an it,” I shouted back.
“Prove me wrong.” She gave me one last withering look and stormed out, ponytail bouncing with indignation.
Drew watched her go, then turned back to me slowly. “What the hell did you do?”
“Breathed,” I muttered, lifting my coffee again.
He leaned against the counter. “You do have a way with women.”
“She’s leaving Monday.”
He smirked. “She’s got a point, though. You’re wound up tighter than a drum. You gonna keep snapping at everyone who wants to make things better around here?”
“This town doesn’t need sparkly paint and murals.”
“No, but it wouldn’t kill you to say hi without sounding like a warning siren.”
I didn’t answer. Just took another drink and looked around.
Drew followed my gaze.
“You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “Dad would be proud of this place.”
I stiffened.
Here it comes.
“But,” he added, “there comes a point where you have to ask yourself, are you doing this because it’s your dream? Or are you still living someone else’s?”
I turned to glare at him, but he didn’t flinch.
“I built this place,” I said. “I fixed it, kept it going when we didn’t know how we were gonna keep the lights on. She and I…”
I stopped, feeling my throat tighten. Not now. I wasn’t going to go down that path today. Not ever.
“I know,” he said. “But sometimes what starts as yours becomes something else. Something you’re holding onto just because you’re scared of letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t have anything to say.
Because maybe he was right, and I didn’t want him to be.
Because every night when I locked up, I told myself I was living my dream.
Even if sometimes it felt more like a weight than a win.
I looked down at the coffee in my hands.
Still warm.
Still strong.
Still mine.
But maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to drink it alone forever.
And that was the most unsettling thought of all.