Chapter 14
Madison
The guesthouse was still and quiet when I opened my eyes.
The only sound was the light pitter-patter of rain on the roof.
For a moment, I forgot where I was, the ceiling too high, the sheets too crisp, the faint scent of cedar instead of the lavender fabric spray I used at home.
Then, Olive’s soft snore from the other room grounded me, and the ache of reality pressed in.
Our house was broken. And we were here.
I pulled on jeans and a worn T-shirt, tied my hair into a messy bun, and padded into the kitchen.
The counter was spotless, like no one had ever cooked a real meal there.
My duffel slouched in the corner, spilling a few toys and Olive’s favorite book.
I made a mental note to tidy it later, though something told me clutter was the least of Seth Cunningham’s worries.
The driveway was empty. His black truck, the one that always looked showroom new, was already gone. Of course it was. He probably woke before dawn, fueled by coffee and ambition, running Wisteria Creek’s recovery like he owned the town. The man thrived on being indispensable.
Olive padded out in her pajamas, Bunny tucked under her arm. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
I crouched and kissed her curls. “Good, because we’re going to the coffee shop this morning.”
Her eyes brightened. “For muffins?”
“For muffins and chocolate milk!” I promised.
The bell above the door jingled as we stepped into The Beanery, the small coffee shop where I worked part-time.
The place smelled like roasted beans and cinnamon, comfort wrapped in air.
Strings of summer wildflowers hung along the front windows, and the chalkboard menu was smudged from yesterday’s rush.
“Madison!” cried Evie, the owner and one of my closest friends. She came around the counter in her flour-dusted apron and pulled me into a hug. “I was worried sick about you! You okay?”
“We’re fine,” I said quickly. “The house is a mess, but we’re safe.”
Her eyes softened when she saw Olive clinging to my leg. “Well, you two are here now. You know the drill. Olive can set up at the back table with crayons, and I’ll keep her spoiled with muffins while you work.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, more grateful than I could ever say.
By mid-morning, I’d fallen into the rhythm of my shift. The hiss of the espresso machine, the thud of mugs on the counter, the chatter of regulars swapping storm stories. Olive was happy in the corner with her coloring book, chocolate muffin smudged on her cheeks.
And then he walked in.
Seth.
Still in his work boots, hair a little damp from sweat, clipboard tucked under his arm. His presence filled the shop the way a summer storm filled the sky, commanding and impossible to ignore. He looked like he hadn’t stopped since dawn.
“Black coffee,” he told Evie, voice low, like he didn’t have the energy for more words.
I wiped my hands on a towel, stepping behind the counter before Evie could answer. “We have a menu, you know. Some people like lattes, or tea, or literally anything that isn’t sludge in a cup.”
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unamused. “Sludge is what keeps me going.”
I bit back a smile. Typical. “One sludge, coming up.”
Evie raised her brows but wisely stayed out of it, moving to help another customer. I pulled the freshest pot, poured the coffee, and slid the mug across with a little more force than necessary.
Seth caught it easily, wrapping one broad hand around the cup. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
My nickname on his tongue was sharper than it should’ve been. I opened my mouth to retort, but Olive’s voice carried from the corner.
“Uncle Seth!” she shouted, waving her crayon-streaked hand.
The whole shop went quiet. Seth blinked, startled, then, against all odds, a faint smile tugged at his mouth.
I stared, heart skipping a beat in my chest. And that was when it hit me again, this wasn’t going to be simple.
Not for me. Not for Olive. And definitely not with Seth Cunningham standing at my counter.
Who looked grumpy and aggravating, and, unfortunately, like someone Olive already trusted with her whole world.