Chapter 2
SAbrINA
By the time I ran a few errands and got back to the coffee shop, my hands were still shaking.
Not from my interaction with the demanding, over the top wedding planner.
I could handle her with my eyes closed. The leftover adrenaline still racing through my system was from seeing Trace again.
I’d been avoiding him for months, ever since the damn Ex-List had been posted.
Being so close after pretending I was over him had every single one of my nerves buzzing like a live wire.
I pulled into my usual parking spot behind Morning Wood, cut the engine, and sat there staring at my own reflection in the rearview mirror.
Strands of hair stuck out from my lopsided bun, sawdust smudged my cheek, and there was a slight tremor in my lower lip.
Great, just great... I looked exactly how I felt, like a woman who was barely holding herself together.
Inside, the shop was quiet except for the low hum of the espresso machine.
Thank goodness for the mid-day lull. It was my favorite time of day.
Late enough that the customers needing their morning fix had come and gone, but too early for that afternoon rush of folks looking for one last burst of energy to get them through the end of the day. But today it felt too quiet, too still.
I set my bag on the counter and tried to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the guilt.
Trace Quade.
He was the man I’d loved since before I was old enough to know what love was. He was also the man I’d broken the second I wrote his name down on The Ex-List.
I pressed my palms into the butcherblock countertop. The wood was warm from the sunlight coming in through the window, solid and steady. Trace had built it for me last fall when I’d told him I wanted to open up the shop. It wasn’t the counter’s fault my chest hurt every time I looked at it.
“Hey, boss.” Paige, my part-time barista-slash-college-student-slash-professional eavesdropper came in from the back room. She was balancing two boxes of syrup bottles against her hip. “I grabbed the hazelnut and caramel you wanted. The supplier said to tell you the cinnamon’s still backordered.”
“Thanks.” I forced a smile. “How have things been going so far today?”
“Pretty good. A few regulars came in. Everyone wants to know if we have any idea about who’s getting married at the Inn next month.” She wiggled her brows. “Apparently someone online said this wedding’s going to be ‘the rustic event of the year.’”
“Rustic,” I muttered, reaching for the register. “Because nothing says down-home Montana like imported orchids and a champagne tower.”
Paige laughed and set the boxes down on the counter. “Oh, and guess what? That podcaster guy’s coming back next week. The one doing The Ex-List: Hard Timber Uncut. Everyone’s freaking out.”
I froze. “How do you know about that already?”
“Marla told Nellie, Nellie told half the breakfast crowd, and now the whole town’s wondering how he’s going to spin the next episode.” Paige grinned. “I bet he’s going to try to corner Trace. He’s the last guy on the Ex-List. Plus, he’s got the whole broody mountain man thing going.”
“Broody,” I repeated. “Yeah. That’s one way to describe him.”
Paige didn’t notice my hands tightening around the rag I’d been using to wipe the counter. “You think he’ll stop by here? The podcaster, I mean. You’re, like, the queen of coffee and drama. He’d be crazy not to.”
“Lucky me.”
Paige cocked her head. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I met the wedding planner over at the Inn today. She’s going to be here for the next few days and has some big ideas.”
“Did she tell you who the bride and groom are?” Paige’s eyes widened. “I heard the lead singer of Tumbleweed Crossing proposed to that woman he’s been seeing. Do you think it might be them?”
“Really?” I didn’t care about celebrity dating news but was more than happy to keep the conversation on someone else.
“Yeah. They met when he was doing a concert in some small town in Texas. She owned the bakery and he came in every day for a honey bun.” Paige let out a sigh.
“Maybe that could happen to me too. We should put some special bourbon cinnamon rolls on the menu when everyone’s in town for the wedding.
I’d love to meet the guitarist. That would give the podcaster something new to talk about, wouldn’t it? ”
I didn’t respond. My brain was still trying to sort through what might happen if the podcaster pushed Trace.
Paige studied me for a second, then shrugged. “You want me to close tonight? You could go home, take a bubble bath, read one of your swoony books where everything works out okay in the end.”
I almost smiled. “Tempting. But no, I’ll stay. Go enjoy the sunshine.”
“Sure thing. See you tomorrow.”
When she left, I sagged against the counter and let my shoulders drop.
The Ex-List.
I’d tried so hard to distance myself from it—to pretend it was something I’d outgrown.
But the moment Mimi mentioned the podcast, it all came rushing back…
the night Gillian and I sat on her couch with a bottle of wine and a stupid idea, laughing as we talked about Hard Timber’s most eligible men and their worst habits.
I’d written Trace’s name on that list.
The Heartbreaker.
And I’d meant every word, at least at the time.
Back then, I thought he didn’t see me. That he never would.
Now, a couple of years later, I knew better.
He’d seen me just fine. He just never chose me.
And I’d made damn sure he regretted it, even if he didn’t know I was the reason his name had been listed along with the others.
The final joke was on me though. I was the one with the biggest regret. I never should have put his name on that list. It had been months since it somehow went public, and I still felt sick to my stomach every time I thought about it.
I’d hoped the list would fade away, but it wouldn’t die.
The front door opened, and I plastered on a smile and lifted my head. “Sorry, we’re closing early today—”
“Good thing I know the owner,” Nellie said.
She breezed in wearing one of her aprons from The Huckleberry Café, a pie tin wrapped in foil balanced on one arm. Her gray curls had been tamed into a tight bun, and she smelled like sugar and sass.
“I brought you a gift.” She plunked the pie on the counter. “The season is over, and it’s my last strawberry rhubarb pie. For my favorite overworked barista.”
“Your favorite?” I looked at her through narrowed eyes. “ You say that to everyone.”
“Maybe, but only you believe me.” She winked, then leaned an elbow on the counter. “So, I hear you and Trace are going to be working together on the big wedding. How’s it going?”
I groaned. “News travels fast.”
“This is Hard Timber, sugar. What did you expect?”
I sighed. “It was…fine.”
“Fine.” She drew the word out like she didn’t believe it for a second. “Meaning you didn’t throw your clipboard at his head?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, that’s progress.” She unwrapped the pie, cut two slices, and handed me a plate. “Eat. You look like you’ve been trying to survive on adrenaline and espresso.”
I stabbed a bite with my fork just to make her happy. “Marla roped me into helping with the wedding prep. I couldn’t say no.”
“Marla could talk a wolf out of its fur coat.” Nellie chewed thoughtfully. “Still, must be something working closely with him again.”
I hesitated. “He looks the same.”
“Handsome, broody, built like the side of a barn?”
I rolled my eyes. “And impossible. He acts like nothing’s changed, like—” I stopped. “Like he doesn’t care.”
“Maybe he’s trying to protect himself.”
“Or maybe he really doesn’t give a flying fig about me anymore.”
Nellie’s gaze softened. “Honey, I’ve watched that boy look at you since he was knee-high to a fencepost. If that’s indifference, I’m a size two.”
I laughed despite myself. “You always say that.”
“Doesn’t make it less true.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The sugar hit my bloodstream and almost made me feel human again.
Finally, Nellie said, “So what’s this I hear about that hotshot podcaster stirring things up again?”
I groaned again. “You, too?”
“Marla told me he’s coming back to do a few shows around the wedding.” She arched a brow. “I would have thought he’d be done trying to air all our dirty laundry in the name of journalism.”
“I wish he’d pick another town.”
“Why? You got something to hide?”
I froze. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Nellie gave me that sharp, knowing look only she could pull off. “Some of us more than others.”
She had to know what I’d done. Her expression confirmed it. I set down my fork, wondering how it would feel to finally admit my mistake to someone. “What do you mean, Nellie?”
She got super still. “I found a copy of the list at the café, hon. You and Gillian had been sharing that booth in the back and when I cleaned off your table, I picked up a crumpled ball of paper. I didn’t know for sure if the two of you wrote it, but I thought it would be a good way to give the men in this town a loving nudge to take a good, hard look at themselves. ”
My throat went dry. “It was supposed to be private. Just something we wrote for fun. No one was ever supposed to see it.”
Her sigh was long and quiet. “Lord help me, I thought I was doing a good thing.” She reached across the counter, covering my hand with hers. “What’s done is done, sweetheart. All we can do now is tell the truth when it comes knocking.”
I looked down at her hand—steady, warm, unflinching—and wondered if I’d ever be that brave.
The front door opened again, and both of us turned.
Trace’s Aunt Marla bustled in. “There you are, Sabrina. I’ve been looking for you. The planner wants to schedule another meeting the day after tomorrow, bright and early. Does seven work for you?”
“That early?” I winced. “I open the shop at six—”
“She said the podcaster’s team might want to stop by. Something about gathering background info for his pre-wedding episode.”
My pulse spiked. “He’s coming here?”
Marla smiled like she’d just announced free coffee for life. “Isn’t that exciting? He’ll want to see where all the Hard Timber gossip started.”
Nellie choked on her pie. “This town’s got more drama than a possum in a hen house.”
I forced a steady breath. “Marla, maybe you should tell him to focus on the wedding. Not…anything else.”
“Oh, nonsense. He’s harmless.” She waved her hand. “Besides, I told him he could interview Trace. You know how much people love a redemption story.”
The blood drained from my face. “You what?”
“Relax. He’ll make the town look good. You’ll see.” Marla clapped her hands, oblivious to the slow-motion panic attack unraveling in my chest. “Now, I have to get back to the Inn. Don’t be late, sweetheart.”
Marla turned to go. The wind caught the door and slammed it against the wall just before she pulled it closed behind her. I slumped onto the nearest stool, cradling my head in my hands.
Nellie let out a low whistle. “Well. Looks like your past is about to get its own episode.”
“Fantastic.” My laugh cracked halfway out of my throat. “I can’t wait to hear the sound of my own humiliation broadcast around the world.”
Nellie offered a gentle smile. “Or maybe it’s time you told your version before someone else does.”
I looked at her, the air thick with memories I couldn’t escape. “What if my version just makes everything worse?”
She gave my hand a squeeze. “Then at least it’ll be the truth. And Trace will hear it straight from you.”
Outside, a steel-gray truck rumbled past, the sound heading out of town and toward the mountain. I didn’t need to look to know who was driving.
Trace Quade.
Hard Timber’s Heartbreaker.
The man I never stopped loving, and the one I might break again when the truth came out.