Chapter Ten
Lydia
Melanie was being weird.
Not dramatic weird, which was her usual charm, but twitchy weird.
Quiet.
Which was, frankly, more alarming. She’d just poured herself a second cup of coffee and reorganized the sugar packets on our tiny kitchenette counter like a competitive event.
“Are you… good?” I asked, folding the top of the croissant bag and setting it down.
“I’m great ,” she chirped.
Suspicious.
Melanie only chirped when she was up to something. Usually, that something involved meddling, matchmaking, or prank-level revenge involving red nail polish and passive-aggressive Post-it notes.
I narrowed my eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
There it was.
She used that squeaky, overly chipper tone when she knew she was on thin ice and skating anyway.
“Melanie.”
She turned around, mug in hand, and smiled too widely.
“Why do you assume I did something? I can’t just be enjoying a peaceful morning with my best friend in her adorable fixer-upper apartment in a town that smells like muffins and pine trees?”
“Because you’ve been stirring that coffee for four minutes, and your eyes did a weird panic-blink when I asked.”
“I don’t panic-blink.”
“You absolutely panic-blink.”
She set her mug down and sighed. “Okay, fine. I may have stopped by The Rusty Stag this morning.”
I froze. “You what?”
She winced. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just… had a little chat.”
“With Callum ?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Oh my God.”
“It was a short conversation!” she said quickly. “I walked in, gave him a few choice words, told him to be nice, and then left. Kind of. I might’ve bumped into Drew on the way out.”
I put my hands on my head. “Please tell me you didn’t threaten him.”
“I didn’t threaten him. I delivered a strongly worded...warning.”
I groaned and leaned against the counter. “Melanie.”
“What?” she said, completely unrepentant. “He was being a dick.”
“Yeah, because you antagonized him!”
“He was antagonizing you first!” She frowned. “And something tells me that he’s always a dick.”
I snickered and shook my head, knowing she was probably right.
“I’m not five. I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
“You don’t. But you looked like you wanted to punch something yesterday, and I happen to be very good at verbal combat.”
“Mel.”
“I told him you’ve been through a lot, and if he wasn’t going to be decent to you, I’d be back with a wine cork and bad intentions.”
I just stared at her.
She paused. “In hindsight, that part might’ve been too much.”
“You think ?”
She gave me an apologetic shrug. “Look, I know you can handle yourself. But I also know what it looks like when you’re trying to pretend you’re not hurt by something or someone.”
“I’m not hurt,” I said, which was only a little lie. “I’m just… annoyed. He’s judgmental, grumpy, and acts like I’ve personally offended every nail in the floorboards of his bar.”
Melanie leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You like him.”
“I do not .”
“You do .”
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
Because the truth was that I had been thinking about him.
More than once.
Okay… more than once.
Callum Benedict, with his dark, messy hair and those brooding green eyes that always looked like he was one bad idea away from setting something on fire. The way he leaned against the bar like it belonged to him, which it did, and the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth when he was two seconds away from being insufferable.
And the way he looked at me…not like I was fragile or delicate, but like I was a challenge.
I hated that I liked it.
I despised how much I enjoyed flipping it back to him and making him nervous, if that were even possible.
Melanie watched me flounder, smug as hell. “Busted.”
“I’m just… confused,” I said, collapsing onto one of the mismatched stools near the window. “He’s rude and condescending and completely against everything I stand for. And yet...”
“You want to nibble his ear.”
“Melanie!” I scowled. “I don’t want to nibble anything.”
“Just saying.”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Why do I always fall for the emotionally unavailable ones with commitment issues and deep-seated grudges against decorative throw pillows?”
“Because you like a project,” she said. “Only now the project has biceps and a scowl. Much better than the last one, who struggled picking up a grocery bag.”
I laughed and shook my head. “You have a point.”
I peeked at her through my fingers. “Is it obvious?”
“Not to him,” she said. “He’s too busy convincing himself you’re the harbinger of renovation and doom.”
“Excellent. That’s exactly the vibe I was going for.”
Melanie softened then, the teasing slipping into something gentler. “I know you didn’t come here for a guy. And I know you're not looking to fall into something when you’re still climbing out of the last chapter.”
I nodded slowly.
“But I also know you,” she continued. “And you’ve got a thing for people who don’t know what to do with you or even themselves.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is exhausting. But also kind of hot.”
I cracked a smile despite myself. “Please tell me you at least left him rattled.”
“Oh, he was rattled.” She picked up her coffee, sipping like a woman entirely satisfied with her chaos. “If nothing else, I think he’s slightly terrified of me.”
“That’s the dream.”
We fell into a quiet rhythm for a minute, the sunlight creeping across the kitchen counter and the scent of strong coffee warming the room.
I glanced toward the window, eyes drifting down Main Street.
There was a lot to do.
A building to manage. Tenants to support. Repairs to make. A life to rebuild.
I didn’t have time for this…him.
Not for brooding bar owners with stubborn streaks and unexpected charm.
Not for the late-night thoughts about what his laugh might sound like when he wasn't irritated.
Not for the memory of his hand sliding that drink across the bar, dandelions and all.
“Don’t get attached,” I whispered to myself.
Melanie raised an eyebrow. “Too late?”
“Maybe.”
And that was the part that scared me most.
“Let’s go get some groceries.” I smiled and cleared my throat, hoping to keep the Callum thoughts at bay.
The grocery store sat on the edge of Main Street with a carved wooden sign that said Reckless River’s Goods & Groceries and a little hand-painted mural of vegetables smiling at each other. That alone would've been enough to charm me, but the bell that jingled above the door when we walked in sealed the deal. It was the kind of place where apples were stacked like artwork, and the check-out guy probably knew your dog’s birthday.
I grabbed a cart, and Melanie immediately tossed in a bag of caramel popcorn.
“Necessary,” she said. “Survival food.”
“You’re here for two more days.”
“I plan to survive hard.
We meandered through the aisles, tossing in the basics—milk, eggs, and cereal—and the not-so-basics, like strawberry shortcake ice cream bars, instant noodle soup, chicken tenders shaped like dinosaurs, three kinds of cheese I couldn’t pronounce, and a bottle of fancy elderflower soda that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale.
“This is the most joy I’ve gotten out of a grocery run in years,” I said, holding up a jar of locally made peach preserves.
Melanie grinned. “It’s because you’re free now. No more soul-sucking job, no more city traffic. You rid yourself of an icky, unsupportive ex. And now, maybe you can start to heal and feel your mom’s presence with snacks and small-town gossip.” She muttered something else I couldn’t decipher.
“What?” My brow raised.
She grinned. “I said, and I hope you’ll find love with a cranky mountain man who owns a bar.”
I threw a box of granola bars at her, which she managed to lodge into the cart. We were mid-aisle, arguing about whether we needed two types of tortilla chips, when I heard someone call my name.
“Lydia!”
I turned, startled, and spotted a familiar face jogging toward us with an easy smile and a basket on his arm.
Drew.
Callum’s brother.
Naturally good-looking in that I-chop-wood-for-fun way, only with less scowl and more sparkle. His basket had bread, peanut butter, something green that looked like spinach, and a box of cereal with a cartoon tiger on the front.
Not that I was keeping tabs or anything.
“Hey,” I said, a little warily.
Melanie stopped beside me, already intrigued.
Drew grinned. “Glad I caught you. I hoped to get a minute without my brother breathing down my neck or yours.”
“That does seem like a rare window,” I said cautiously.
He chuckled. “Yeah. So, uh—first off, welcome again. I know the town has quirks, but it grows on you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “So far, so good.”
He shifted the basket on his arm. “And second, I wanted to apologize. On behalf of Callum and the entire Benedict family.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“He’s, uh… he doesn’t like change. And he’s a dick ninety-eight percent of the time. It’s kind of a family trait. Like the eyebrows and jawline.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I just stared at him for a second. “That’s… honest.”
Drew nodded. “He doesn’t mean to be rude. Well, okay, sometimes he does , but usually it’s just preemptive. He’s convinced anyone new is here to ruin something, and he liked how things were in the past.”
“That’s comforting,” I said dryly.
He smiled. “I’m not saying you should excuse him. Just… don’t take it personally. He’s been here so long, he thinks protecting this place means barking at anyone who walks in with ambition.”
I looked down at the handle of my cart, fiddling with it. “I’m not trying to ruin anything.”
“I believe you.” He looked at me kindly, with none of the edge or suspicion I’d come to expect. “Anyway, I just wanted to say that. You don’t owe him anything, but I figured someone ought to at least acknowledge the grumpy elephant in the room.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “Grumpy elephant. That’s accurate. More like a wooly mammoth.”
Drew smiled again, then glanced to his left directly at Melanie, who was suddenly very focused on comparing jars of peanut butter with the dedication of a food scientist.
Something in his expression shifted, barely a flicker, but I caught it.
She caught it, too.
“Anyway,” he said, blinking like he remembered he had a basket of groceries. “I should probably go before I talk myself into buying twelve types of sourdough. But it was nice running into you.”
“You too,” I said.
He nodded at Melanie with a polite smile. “Have a good weekend.”
Melanie gave him a look that was one part innocent and two parts knowing. “You too, Drew.”
He turned and wandered toward the dairy section, whistling softly.
The moment he was out of earshot, Melanie wheeled around to face me.
“Okay. Maybe there’s hope after all.”
I blinked. “Hope? For what?”
She raised her eyebrows. “For this weekend to turn into something besides nail polish, cheese sticks, and me listening to you dreamily mutter about Callum’s biceps in your sleep.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t do that.”
“You definitely do that. But no, I wasn’t talking about you . I meant me .”
It took a beat for her words to click.
Then I laughed.
Loudly.
“Oh my God. You have a crush .”
“I do not ,” she said, grabbing a can of whipped cream and dramatically tossing it into the cart. “I’m just saying, if a handsome man wants to flirt with me while I pick out produce, I’m not going to stop him.”
“You don’t even like spinach.”
“I like possibility .”
I kept laughing as we rounded the next aisle, nearly crashing into a display of canned soup.
Melanie just smiled, smug and satisfied.
“Seriously,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “Let’s enjoy this weekend, okay? You’re starting a new chapter. I’m crashing on your couch and living vicariously through you. Who are we to argue if the universe wants to throw a little fun our way?”
I looked around at the sleepy, charming grocery store, the list of projects in my head, the uncertain pieces of my life finally starting to shift into something hopeful, and thought, maybe she was right.
Maybe the world wasn’t ending just because a certain flannel-wearing bar owner was giving me heartburn.
“Okay,” I said, bumping her cart with mine. “Let’s have fun.”
Melanie grinned. “I knew you had it in you.”
And just like that, the weekend didn’t seem quite so daunting after all.