“Morning,McAllister,” he said, sliding into the booth next to her without waiting for an invite.“ThoughtI’dfind you hiding out here.”
“Not hiding,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction.“Strategicallyavoiding.”
“Ah.”Heleaned back, grin lazy.“Theart of small-town survival.I’mstill learning.”
She tried not to notice the way people’s heads swiveled.Becauseof course they did.Declanwas new enough to still be shiny, and sitting withRoseonly poured gasoline on the rumor fire already blazing through town.
“You want half this cinnamon roll?”she asked, mostly to distract herself.
“Darlin’,Icame in for coffee, but if you’re offering…”Hereached over, tore off a piece, and popped it into his mouth like they’d been sharing breakfasts forever.
Rose forced a laugh, though something low in her stomach twisted.Becauseit wasn’t lost on her what this looked like.
And apparently, it wasn’t lost onAceneither.
Because when the bell jingled again, and she glanced up, there he was.
Acen froze just inside the door, scanning the coffee shop like a man bracing for a hit.Hiseyes on her corner booth, on her andDeclansitting shoulder to shoulder over half a cinnamon roll.
The muscle in his jaw ticked.
Rose’s breath caught.
Acen didn’t move for a long moment, and she swore the air shifted, heavy with unsaid words.Then, without a sound, he turned and headed for the counter, nodding stiffly toCindyas if he hadn’t seen a thing.
ButRoseknew better.
Declan followed her gaze, his grin fading as he leaned closer.“Thathim?”
Rose cleared her throat.“Yep.”
“Ah.”Declanstudied her a moment, thenAcen’sbroad back at the counter.“Guessthe stories aren’t exaggerated.”
Her heart kicked up.“Whatstories?”
“That you two have enough history to fill a library.”Histone was teasing, but his eyes were careful.“AmIwalking into a minefield here?”
She stared at him, fork still in hand, cinnamon icing smudged on her napkin, the whole coffee shop holding its collective breath like they were all waiting for her answer.
Maybe she was walking into a minefield too.
The rest of breakfast blurred around the edges, half conversation withDeclan, half awareness ofAcenat the counter.Hedidn’t come over.Didn’teven look her way again.Hejust grabbed his coffee, muttered thanks toCindy, and walked out with that steady stride that screamed control—butRoseknew it for what it was.
Restraint.
And that almost hurt worse than if he’d made a scene.
Declan noticed too.“Man’sgot discipline,” he said, shaking his head.“NotsureI’dhave the same if the roles were reversed.”Hiseyes smiled into hers.“Iknow you have your hands full with practices and the tournament and that’s as it should be.ButIwant you to knowI’dlove to get together again soon.”
Rose pressed her napkin flat against the table, her pulse unsteady.“You’reright.Ihave a lot going on right now.It’scomplicated.Let’sget past the tournament and circle back, okay?”
“Complicated,”Declanrepeated, then softened it with a smile.“That’sjust another way of saying interesting.”
But she wasn’t sure interesting was what she wanted anymore.
By the time she leftSouthernSips, the sun was high and the heat oppressive, but the bigger weight was inside her.Declanhad walked her out, his hand brushing lightly against her arm as he promised to see her at the game.Itwas easy with him.Comfortable.Heliked her without ghosts.
But she couldn’t shake the look onAcen’sface—the flash of hurt, quickly buried.
