Before Our Fake Engagement Breaks

Prologue

? Heads Carolina, Tails California - Jo Dee Messina

CLIO

One Year Ago

Heads, Carolina. Tails, Willow Valley.

I fled the Crystal Coast on a whim, with just a destination and the fleeting hope I’d reunite with the sister I haven’t seen in sixteen years. We hit the road at the crack of dawn, drove twelve hours straight to get here, and I’m running on fumes.

I pull up to the curb outside a small coffee shop in the quaint town of Willow Valley, Kentucky. My daughter, Lexi, has been fast asleep in the passenger seat of Aunt Penny’s old blue sedan for the last two hours.

I nudge her shoulder. “Lex? We’re here.”

She grumbles something incoherent, the leather seats creaking as she burrows into her pillow against the passenger side window.

The back seat is loaded down with everything we own, and normally, I’d be reluctant to leave it unattended—save for the sleeping teenager—but this town seems pretty harmless.

Rows of picturesque shops line either side of the street, bracketed by window boxes and planters overflowing with flowers, and we passed the cutest white gazebo in the town square with wisteria vines hanging from the pillars.

It’s like this place was plucked straight out of a Hallmark movie, only I’m not some big city entrepreneur who inherited a farm on the verge of bankruptcy, and I won’t be running into some grumpy farm hand who’s been taking care of the estate in my absence.

It’s a shame, really. All of this perfection is wasted on me.

I climb out of my car into the sweltering heat, and the humidity punches me in the chest, sapping the breath from my lungs.

Sweat beads on my forehead and pools in places that have not been traversed by another human being since the dawn of time—or so it seems. I’m being dramatic, but I think sixteen years of celibacy warrants a little drama.

As I take the first step inside the little shop on the corner called Branch Out Coffee Co, I’m greeted by the blissful scent of caffeine and the cool bite of central air conditioning dancing across my overheated skin. I smile and breathe out a ragged sigh as I glance around the enchanting space.

It’s dimly lit with weathered brick walls and vines cascading across the ceiling. The drinks have nature-themed names like the Maple Grove Latte, the Evergreen Espresso, and the Woodland Chai. I have no idea what any of it means, but as long as there’s caffeine involved, I’m on board.

“Welcome to Branch Out. What can I get you?” A curly-haired brunette with hazel eyes and a button nose greets me. She resembles some kind of pixie who probably lives in the rafters amongst the vines and twinkle lights and only appears when the bell above the door chimes.

“Hi”—I glance down at her nametag—“Quinn. I’m honestly a little out of my depth here. What would you recommend?”

She doesn’t make eye contact as she responds in a subdued voice. “My favorite is the Into the Woods Chai.”

I grimace.

She huffs out a timid laugh. “Something stronger?”

“Please.” In my fit of desperation, the word comes out in a deep baritone I wasn’t aware I was capable of.

“You need the Live Oak Latte. Strongest thing we have on the menu.”

“Sounds perfect. Can I also get an iced lavender latte and a chocolate chip cookie?” Lexi will kill me if I don’t get her something. My stomach grumbles, and I hold up two fingers. “Make that two cookies.”

She nods and sets off to work on our order.

I trail back to a bulletin board I noticed when I entered, scanning the various advertisements and flyers pinned to it. There’s a poster for a litter of puppies looking for homes, and my thoughts run away from me for a moment before I reel them back in.

You can’t get a dog if you’re homeless, Clio. Apartment first, pets later.

In true small-town fashion, the board is chock-full of everything from a town meeting schedule to hastily drawn yard-sale signs to business cards and babysitting services.

Tucked in the back, beneath a flyer for a local petting zoo, is an apartment rental ad with those little pull-off tabs for the phone number. Jackpot.

I quietly read off the name on the bottom, “Noah Weston.”

A shadow darkens the space around me, and a warm, slightly floral yet masculine scent replaces the rich aroma of coffee.

“Are you interested?” His velvety smooth voice settles low in my belly.

When I turn, my gaze lands on two twin pools of ocean blue and an angular jaw that could cut glass. Every inch of exposed flesh from the neck down is covered in inky dark floral tattoos, delicate but somehow perfect for the man they’re attached to.

“In Noah Weston? I’m not sure. Do you know him?”

The joke falls flat as he stares down at me. He towers over me by at least a foot, which is the perfect height, I decide.

The perfect height for what? I’m not sure, but given the apparent theme of this town, I might be inclined to climb him like a tree.

“Noah, your order’s ready,” Quinn calls.

The man in question turns and starts for the counter. He must have a standing order here because I hadn’t noticed him when I arrived. He grabs the paper cup and stuffs a five-dollar bill into the tip jar. “Thanks, Quinn.”

With the cup clutched in his large hand, he points his pinky at the scrap of paper I’m still holding. “The apartment. Are you interested?”

“Maybe. Is it far from here?”

He shakes his head and brings the cup to his lips. After swallowing, he says, “About a block up the street above my tattoo studio.”

The paper bag crinkles as Quinn sets my order on the counter.

“Grab your coffee, and I’ll give you a tour,” Noah says.

I pick up the bag and drinks, then hand Quinn my card, feeling guilty that I don’t have any cash to put in the tip jar—not unless you count the lucky penny tucked safely in my pocket. “My daughter is outside waiting for me in the car.”

“She can come, too. And your husband, if he’s around.”

“No husband.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I glance at Quinn. “Am I being kidnapped? They always warn you about stranger danger, but apparently, I’ve completely forgotten the ground rules in my old age.”

She snorts, handing me back my card and a receipt. “By Noah? No. He’s harmless.”

“Are you sure? He doesn’t look harmless.

” He looks like a man who’ll make you see god, then watch you do the walk of shame back to your car because, as I’m just remembering, I am, in fact, homeless.

“I’m Clio, by the way. In case you need to make a missing person flyer for the bulletin board later. ”

Quinn laughs. Noah doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Geez. Tough crowd.”

I bring the steaming latte to my lips, close my eyes, and let out an exaggerated moan as the dark roast floods my system and revives me from the brink of death. “Quinn. I think you might be my new favorite person.”

NOAH

The apartment is a spacious two-bedroom unit with a dark industrial vibe, which, admittedly, doesn’t seem like her style. She’s completely out of place in her bright yellow overalls and fiery red hair, with blonde pieces framing her rosy cheeks, and a matching yellow scarf wrapped around it.

Her teenage daughter skips down the hallway to scope out the bedrooms, leaving us alone for the first time since we arrived about ten minutes ago.

“It’s eight-fifty a month, utilities and internet included.” It’s actually quite a bit more than that, but she’s a single mom in a new town, and I don’t really need the money.

Her striking green eyes widen, glinting in the sunlight that’s streaming in through the living room picture windows.

“What’s the catch? Haunted? Black mold? Did someone die up here?

” She sniffs the air, crinkling her freckled nose.

Her voice is smooth and sweet with a hint of a rasp like honey poured on toast with a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar—a staple of my childhood.

I slip my right hand into my pocket, producing a set of keys. “Do you want it or not?”

My tone is clipped, but the longer I stand here, the harder it’ll be to walk away.

There’s something about her that’s calling to my baser instincts, something urgent and primal.

I want to get to know her. Find out what she’s doing here and what’s hiding behind that smile.

Is she running from something? Or to someone?

Nobody shows up in Willow Valley without a plan.

But I don’t know people, and they don’t know me. I like it that way. It’s less complicated.

“Just like that?” she says, drawing me right back in. “No background check, no application, deposit, or references? You haven’t even asked for my firstborn, and I’ve gotta say, I’m kind of attached to her. She’s a dealbreaker.”

She smiles, and something inside of me flickers then dies, like trying to hot wire a car.

I don’t make a habit of getting tangled up with doe-eyed single moms, but I’m having trouble focusing on anything but the exact shade of green that reminds me of the grassy cliffside we used to run around on as kids and the way it fades into the distant sky on a hazy spring morning.

I should find some way out of this. Commitment isn’t my style, and I never waste time on anyone who needs more than a good fuck and a few orgasms before we part ways.

I don’t need to rent out the apartment. I can wait for someone else—anyone else. Not a beautiful curvy redhead who’s way too fucking sweet for me.

Instead, I do the opposite.

“You seem like a decent person. As long as you don’t throw crazy parties or burn the place down, it’s yours. We can head down to the bank and sign the rental agreement today.”

She holds her hand out. Her long fingernails are painted bright orange with little daisies on them. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Noah Weston.”

As my fingers close around her delicate hand, I can’t shake the feeling that I might’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.