Sugar & Shadows (Maplewood #3)

1. Sabrina

Sabrina

I’d once stopped a coup with nothing but a glare and silence. Tonight’s challenge, however, could prove to be a little more difficult.

But I had prepared myself to make polite chitchat with some small-town bachelor who probably owned flannel and enjoyed foraging for mushrooms in his spare time.

As I shut my car door, I took in the building. The Timberline Brewery was part barn, part warehouse, and it was wholly Maplewood, from the string lights to the greenery and the mural of maple trees painted on the side of the building.

Immediately, my stiletto sank into ice and mud. Eww. Figured I’d have to be here in January, the worst month to visit Vermont. There was little here but limited daylight, endless ice, and barren trees.

It was the kind of mental health break that would truly send me over the edge.

I straightened my black wool coat and hefted the strap of my bag. My armor was in place.

Heels.

Bag.

Scowl.

Except the protective gear got heavier every day. Carrying it into battle was wearing on me.

As I strode toward the massive glass doors, I caught a glimpse of my reflection, and a thrill shot through me. Good. I looked terrifying.

I’d rather be just about anywhere but here, but my mother had used the word concerned in that soft, lethal librarian tone, and the idea of letting her down had caused guilt to swamp me.

She’d been talking nonstop about the lovely man she’d met at the library. A man who had just relocated to Maplewood. She insisted the two of us needed to meet, swearing he loved pickleball and classic literature and that we would hit it off.

“His name is Edward,” she said with a wide grin.

My teen obsession with Edward Cullen was a long-standing joke between us.

I’d had some sort of blackout and had agreed, and before I could tell her not to, she’d arranged for him to meet me here. It was a nice break from her constant questions about my career, my friends, my condo, and my future, I supposed.

And saying no would mean more questions and more suspicion regarding my fall from grace and just how temporary—or permanent—it really was.

It was one drink with a harmless small-town guy. How bad could it be?

Inside, the brewery was charming and fun in a rustic way, with wood beams and steel everywhere, trendy appetizers, cheerful people having a good time, and indie rock playing from speakers mounted all over the space.

It was far cooler than any establishment I’d expected to find in Maplewood, that was for sure. So I tried to unclench and put on a semi-pleasant face.

“Come on, Monroe.” I dove into one of my usual pep talks. “You’ve survived hostile committees, midnight crisis briefings, and men twice your size trying to outmaneuver you in rooms without windows. You’re a stone-cold badass with the heart of a lion and the venom of a cobra. Get it together.”

I took a deep breath and tried to look approachable as I scanned the room. The bar was filled with groups of people drinking beer from large glasses, including a table of rowdy ladies who couldn’t be a day under seventy-five.

A young woman in a red apron stood at the host stand, smiling serenely.

“I’m meeting someone here,” I said as I approached.

“Are you Bree?” she chirped.

“Sabrina,” I said, bristling. No one used that nickname and lived.

She gestured for me to follow her to a high-top table near the bar where a man sat with his back to me. Though I couldn’t see his face, a sharp spark of awareness flowed through my body as I took him in.

Neat dark brown hair, broad shoulders. Decent dress shirt. Okay. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

That conclusion, unfortunately, was smashed to smithereens when the hostess spoke again.

“Mayor Gabe,” she said, her ponytail bouncing. “Your date is here.”

The man turned—those really were some excellent shoulders—and my stomach dropped.

Gabriel. Motherfucking. Harding.

Bile rose in the back of my throat.

This man was the bane of my existence. Had been for most of my life.

Since fourth grade when he won the spelling bee after he was asked to spell “environment” while I was tasked with “bourgeoisie.” The hatred only grew in middle school where I was the scrawny nerd who was tortured by mean girls while teachers ruffled his hair affectionately and the town collective promoted him to official golden boy.

It continued all the way through high school, when he beat me for valedictorian because I got mono and got an A-minus on one physics test.

One.

Single.

A-minus.

A statistical anomaly that still kept me up at night.

He was the embodiment of everything I despised. Privilege wrapped in effortless charm. The kind of man who only had to smile, and doors opened for him. Who’d never had to claw his way into a room. Who’d never understand what it was like to wake up every morning and fight to be taken seriously.

The man had stood, and he was staring at me with a look of confusion on his face.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Are you Bree?” he responded, his tone polite but full of bafflement.

A shot of irritation hit me again. That name. “No. Are you Edward?”

He shook his head.

The sweet-looking hostess looked between us awkwardly, then slowly slunk away.

“Sorry. I’m meeting someone. A blind date,” he said, his voice barely audible over the music. “My mom set me up.” He sighed. “It’s embarrassing, I know, but I didn’t have the heart to let her down.”

The wheels in my head ground to a screeching halt.

“Your mom set you up?”

“Yes.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “My mom sent me here. To meet a blind date. A guy named Edward.”

“Oh.” The bewilderment on his face melted away and recognition dawned. “My middle name is Edward.”

“Motherfucker.” I hissed. I hadn’t checked recently, but I was almost certain matricide was illegal in the state of Vermont.

Gabe Harding continued staring at me.

Not with horror.

Not with recognition.

With fucking polite confusion.

Because the asshole had no idea who I was.

Jaw clenched, I flexed my fingers and inhaled deeply. “Do you seriously not know who I am?”

He studied me, squinting, like he was trying to place me. Probably running through a mental Rolodex of people he’d met at conferences or a town festival years ago.

Of course he didn’t recognize me. I’d been nothing more than a rival, and that was a long time ago. To him, I’d never been anyone worth taking seriously. He’d been my enemy, but I’d just been the weird poor girl with bad teeth and great test scores.

Every cell in my body was screaming, urging me to run out the door and not look back. This person was not worth my time.

But my ego wouldn’t allow it. Not until I made sure he knew who he’d just encountered. Because if he didn’t know who I was, he hadn’t yet realized that this blind date was about to become a blood sport.

“I’m Sabrina Monroe,” I said, ignoring the attention we were attracting from the patrons around us.

His eyes widened as he cataloged me from my stilettos to the crown of my artfully blown-out hair.

I lifted my chin. That’s it. Take it in.

“This has to be a joke,” he finally said, slumping into his chair.

A server appeared, the big smile plastered on his face falling as he caught sight of our expressions.

“Sit,” Gabe said, gesturing to the other chair.

I stared at it and then him. “No.”

“I’ll just leave these here.” The young man dropped two menus onto the table and pretended to be preoccupied by other tables.

“People are staring,” he grumbled. “Sit down.”

I turned around. Sure enough, every set of eyes in the place was fixed on us. No stranger to an audience, I tossed my hair over my shoulder and slowly unbuttoned my coat. Then I gently draped it over the back of my chair and sat.

He hung his head, and when he looked up again, he continued to stare at me open mouthed. “I thought you lived in DC.”

“Visiting,” I replied.

“I thought you were too good to come back to Vermont.”

“I’m benevolent.” I fiddled with the menu. My mother would never hear the end of this.

Sure, I’d been far from the perfect daughter, but this was just plain devious.

That was as far as we’d gotten when the server returned.

“We’re so thrilled to have you tonight,” he said. “Laurie Monroe called ahead and prepaid for your dinner. Can I get a drink order?”

My mother. Of course she’d called ahead. I was absolutely putting her in a home.

Gabe, always a people-pleaser, turned on a megawatt mayor smile. The look made me want to stab him under the table with the heel of my stiletto.

“Thanks, Matt. I’ll have the Birch IPA.” He turned to me with that same fake-ass smile. “It’s new this season. I highly recommend it. Do you want one?”

The urge to gag was difficult to fight, but I managed.

“No. IPA tastes like lawn clippings and pretension.” I hesitated for a moment.

Since my mom was in recovery, I never drank when I visited her, but if any situation warranted alcohol, it was this one.

“Whiskey,” I said to the server. “Neat. Do you have Redbreast?”

He shook his head. “Bushmills?”

“Sure.” Crossing my legs, I settled.

“The beer is great,” Gabe said awkwardly. “My brother co-owns this place.”

“Which one?” I folded my arms. If memory served, there were several smiling Hardings running around this town.

“Nate,” he said.

“Oh, so he’s the successful one? It’s nice your parents have one child they can be proud of,” I quipped.

His eyes narrowed, that kind mayor smile fading into a sneer. “Not quite. Sam graduated from West Point and is stationed in North Carolina. And Mabel’s in school in Pennsylvania.”

“Lovely, so you’re the only disappointment? Three out of four is pretty good.”

“Why are you here?” he asked, leaning in. “No one comes to Vermont in January unless they’ve hit rock bottom.”

I bristled, clenching my hands where they were hidden beneath my elbows. Fuck this guy.

For an instant, I considered fishing out my taser and taking him down in front of his beloved constituents. That would bring him down a peg or two.