Chapter 4
I wait.
Back in Ferntree, waiting is enjoyable, the everyone-knows-everyone icing on every cake. Neighbors are friends, and friends are family.
I miss it deeply, along with my parents and Alice and the best rocky road fudge ice cream I’ve ever tasted, but this city called to my heart from the moment I learned of the world beyond the highway.
Growing up in a small town taught me the beauty of community. The value in people working together, sharing space and caring for each other. I’m determined to bring that to Chance in whatever way I can.
One day, the byline by Mia Finnegan will be proof I’ve done some good in the world, not just three words that sit under a post for “17 Succulent Meals to Keep You Warm This Winter.”
I learned great reporting from the brave and brilliant minds of Sterling Ross, Ruslan Seitov, and Aubriella Noelle. Sterling is still in his prime—he’s only eight years older than me—but he kick-started his career with an explosive piece at twenty-two, which is five years younger than I am now.
Hopefully, I’m not too late to follow in his footsteps.
As soon as I discovered he lived and worked right here in Chance, at The Observer, I knew where I wanted to be.
Huey said I forced him to move here. Maybe I did.
I’d been so set on our big, bright future together that I hadn’t wanted to see any other option.
He’d always been hesitant to change, always looking for the trap door in every decision.
I thought he was just nervous. Heck, so was I.
But I wanted to realize my dream more than I was afraid.
I still do.
“Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair now.”
Finally.
Lucky—and I’m still not over that—turns, giving me a wide smile. It is, of course, gorgeous and hugely distracting. His hair looks satin soft, as dark as his trimmed beard and equally well cared for. Then there are the tattoos.
“Floor’s all yours, love.”
Great. On top of it all, he has to be one of the sexiest men I’ve ever met.
I step forward, meeting Sarah’s smile with my own.
“A caramel latte and a fresh bacon and cheese sandwich to go.” I wince. “Please.” This is the end then. I’m finally rushed enough to forget my manners.
It’s all downhill from here.
Speaking of handsome strangers who I don’t have time for … he’s stepped to the side, but we’re close enough that I can count every freckle.
I stand a little taller, fighting the urge to hunch my shoulders, hiding my chest, which is another bad habit I’ve gained recently. You would, too, after a dozen different men stared at your breasts while telling you to smile more. As if they’d even notice from that viewpoint …
Sarah takes my money and returns with the sandwich. As I move away from the counter to wait for my coffee, Lucky joins me.
“You’re too tense.”
From this distance, I catch the notes of his woodsy cologne. It suits him.
“You’re too friendly,” I retort. “Your girlfriend could have served half of the line by now if you hadn’t been so selfish.”
His eyebrows climb up his forehead before he grimaces. “Sarah’s my cousin actually, but I’ll take that jealousy as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t,” I say, trying to cover the flush of attraction and embarrassment flooding through me. This is why I don’t talk before coffee.
“My apologies.” But it doesn’t sound like he’s sorry at all. “Let me make it up to you.” He pulls a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, casual, like they appear for him out of thin air. Maybe they do. “For your coffee.”
His face is angular, with pink lips under sharp cheekbones, and his smile moves like the tide, smooth and enticing. I take the money from him and ignore the spark I feel when our fingers touch. He might be able to treat money like it’s nothing, but I know a much more deserving recipient.
“Thank you.”
The bill folds easily into a napkin, which I place alongside Celine’s sandwich.
“I’m Lachlan,” he adds. “But you can call me Lucky.”
“Do I have to?”
Lucky’s laugh is loud and boisterous. The butterflies in my stomach jump and flutter like a puppy among fallen leaves.
“Love, you can call me anything you’d like.”
Oh God, I might be blushing.
Is he really flirting with me?
It’s hard to tell since I haven’t flirted with anyone since … hmm. Too long.
It’s not something I’m good at. Banter takes wit and a silky sort of seduction I’ve never understood, let alone had. Lucky has it coming out of his perfect pores.
“Mia,” I say, holding my hand out.
The calluses on his fingers graze my skin when we shake, and a million questions flare to life. Who is this guy who wanders the streets on a Tuesday morning just because he can?
Why can’t I take my eyes off him?
“You’re right,” he says, keeping my hand in his.
He turns it over with a look of concentration, and I have the ridiculous idea that he’s about to kiss it. The sharp tang of anticipation stings my throat.
“Coffee isn’t nearly enough to apologize. Have dinner with me.”
In shock, I pull my hand free. He doesn’t look upset about it.
“But you don’t know anything about me.”
“That’s what dinner is for.”
Unbelievable. “Have you always been this presumptuous, or did money make you that way?”
It’s an educated guess that must hit close to home because he sobers.
“It’s nice to have, but I don’t see any reason to put material shit on a pedestal. There are far better things to covet.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and I can feel myself flushing all the way to my toes.
“Clean air, equal rights, taxing the rich?” I guess. It’s what I want.
“Sure,” he says, leaning in. Everything about him is intoxicating. “There’s also art, food, and sex.”
I could set a match to my clothes and not feel the fire burn as brightly as his words do.
Thankfully, as he opens his mouth to say more, the barista calls out my order.
* * *
About time!
take your drink (go to 7)
go back (go to 2)