11. Chapter 11 Jetts Line in the Sand
Suzanne
Iwake up wrapped in Cole Harper's arms, and my first coherent thought is: I'm screwed.
Not in the fun way I was last night. What have I done that makes my stomach twist even as my body hums with satisfaction.
Cole's still asleep. His face is softer like this, all that grumpy intensity smoothed out. One heavy arm drapes across my waist, pinning me against his chest. Smokey snores at the foot of the bed like he's been appointed guardian of our poor life choices.
I should slip out. Go home. Pretend last night was a fever dream brought on by too much fear and not enough good judgment.
Instead, I stay frozen, breathing in the scent of him. Clean soap and woodsmoke and something darker that makes me want to burrow closer.
His hand flexes against my hip. "You're thinking too loud."
My cheeks flame. "I'm not thinking about anything."
"Liar." His voice is rough with sleep, and it does things to me that are wildly inappropriate for six in the morning. He pulls me tighter. "Stay."
God, I want to.
But the sun's coming up, and reality comes with it. Willa. The threats. The baby that isn't his.
"I have to open the shop," I whisper.
He goes still. Then he releases me, rolling onto his back with one arm thrown over his eyes. "Yeah. Okay."
The distance between us feels like miles.
I dress quickly, fumbling with my bra clasp, hyper-aware of Cole watching me from the bed. When I turn to leave, he's sitting up, all that bare chest on display like he's trying to kill me.
"Suzanne."
I pause at the door.
"This wasn't a mistake." His eyes are steady. Certain. "Whatever you're telling yourself right now, it wasn't."
My throat closes. I nod because I can't speak, and then I run.
Butter & Bean smells like yesterday's espresso and my own cowardice.
I flip on the lights, crank up the ovens, and start pulling ingredients with shaking hands. Flour. Sugar. Butter. The familiar rhythm should calm me, but all I can think about is Cole's mouth on my skin, his hands, his voice saying mine like he meant it.
I'm glowing. I can feel it. That post-sex flush that screams I got thoroughly ruined last night to anyone who looks too close.
Furious doesn't even cover it.
I slam dough onto the counter and knead it like I'm strangling my own stupidity. This is exactly what I can't afford. Getting tangled up with a good man who'll realize too late that I'm a liability. A good man who already promised me things I have no right to accept.
The baby flutters. Just a whisper of movement, barely there.
I freeze, hands covered in flour, and press my palm to my stomach.
"I know," I murmur. "I'm trying."
The bell over the door chimes.
I look up, expecting an early customer. Instead, it's Willa Harper, bright-eyed and smiling, holding two travel mugs.
My heart drops into my shoes.
"Morning!" She breezes in like sunshine incarnate. "Brought you coffee and an egg burrito I made this morning. Don't tell Jett this was supposed to be for him."
"Willa." I wipe my hands on my apron, trying to look normal. Not freshly loved. Not wrecked. "You didn't have to…"
"Please. You've been dealing with all this scary stuff alone." She sets the mugs down and pulls me into a hug that smells like vanilla and guilt. "I wanted to check on you."
I hug her back, throat tight. She has no idea her brother spent last night taking me apart piece by piece and putting me back together differently.
When she pulls away, her gaze sharpens. "You okay? You look…"
I find something fascinating about the espresso machine. "Tired," I blurt. "Barely slept."
Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Willa's expression softens. "Cole told me about the guy who showed up at the station. The fixer."
Something in my chest goes tight at his name. She reaches for my hand. "Suzanne, if you need anything…"
"I'm fine." The words come out too fast. "Really. Your brother's been… helpful."
Helpful. What a pathetic word for what Cole Harper does to me.
Willa studies me for a beat too long, and I'm certain she knows. That she can see it written all over my face.
But then she just squeezes my hand. "Good. I'm glad he's looking out for you."
The bell chimes again.
This time it's Mrs. Kowalski, bless her, is demanding a lemon scone and launching into a story about General Tso terrorizing her garden. Willa waves goodbye, and I throw myself into customer service like it's a life raft.
By ten, I've served half the town and avoided three separate questions about "that handsome fireman who's been hanging around."
By noon, I'm ready to scream.
That's when Jett Harper walks in.
He's dressed down for him. Jeans and a Henley that probably costs more than my rent. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes that miss nothing. He's the youngest Harper brother, but he carries himself like he's seen things the rest of them haven't.
"Suzanne." He nods, all easy charm. "Got a minute?"
My grip tightens on the rag in my hand. "Sure. What can I get you?"
"Just coffee. Black." He leans against the counter, assessing me the way Nash did. Like I'm a puzzle he's halfway to solving. "And maybe a conversation."
I pour his coffee with hands that only shake a little. "About?"
"My brother."
There it is.
I slide the mug across to him. "Cole's a grown man. Pretty sure he doesn't need you fighting his battles."
Jett's mouth quirks. "That's the thing. He doesn't fight for himself. Only for other people." He takes a sip, eyes never leaving mine. "But you already know that."
I cross my arms. "What do you want, Jett?"
"To tell you, Cole's not good at soft things." He says it gently, like he's letting me in on a secret. "He won't write you poetry or remember anniversaries. He'll probably grunt more than he talks, like my two other brothers."
"Okay."
"But he's good at showing up." Jett sets the mug down. "When it counts, he shows up. Every time. No matter what."
My chest aches. "I know."
"Good." Jett straightens, and something in his expression shifts and hardens. "Because here's the other part. If he hurts you, I'll throw him out of my bar."
I blink. "Jett…"
"And my life." His voice drops, all that easy charm gone. "I don't care if he's my brother. You've been through enough, Suzanne. I won't watch him add to it."
The air between us goes taut.
"He won't," I say quietly. "Hurt me, I mean."
"Are you sure about that?" Jett tilts his head. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone bracing for impact."
The truth of it slices through me.
I am bracing. I'm always bracing.
"He's a good man," I whisper.
"Yeah." Jett's gaze softens just a fraction. "He is. But good men can still break things if they're not careful."
He leaves cash on the counter, tips his invisible hat, and walks out.
I stand there, staring at the door, wondering how the Harper brothers all learned to see straight through me.
The afternoon crawls. I serve lattes and smile until my face hurts and try not to think about Cole. Or Jett's warning. Or the fact that I've tangled myself into a family that will tear itself apart if this goes wrong.
At four, my phone buzzes.
I pull it out, expecting a supplier confirmation or maybe Willa checking in again.
Instead, it's a photo of Cole and me. His hand cupping my face. My fingers fisted in his shirt. The kiss that shattered every rule I set for myself.
The timestamp glows in the corner: 11:47 PM.
Below it, a single line of text:
Whiskey Bend is watching.
The phone slips from my hands and clatters onto the counter.
My vision tunnels. My breath comes too fast.
Someone was there. Watching. Waiting.
Someone knows.
The bell chimes, but I can't look up. Can't move. Can't do anything but stare at the photo and realize that nowhere is safe.
Not even here.
Not even with him.