But it was hard, standing there with every nerve sparking like a live wire.
Briana, of course, wasn’t finished.Shetook a slow sip of her coffee—like she was tasting victory more than caffeine—then leaned just slightly closer.“Anyway.I’mon my way to meetDeclan.He’shelping me find someone reputable to buy a registered poodle puppy from.Youknow how hard it is to find someone around here for things like that.”
Rose’s pulse spiked.Declan?Workingwithher?
Her grip tightened on the towel until the fabric bit into her palm.“You’reworking withDeclan?”
“Mm-hmm.”Brianahummed the sound, soft and satisfied.“He’sbeen so helpful.Thatman notices everything.”
The double-meaning wasn’t subtle.
The coffee shop was too small, too hot.Rose’sbreath caught in her chest as ifBrianahad reached across the counter and pressed a finger directly over her heart.
“Well,”Brianasaid after a pause that stretched too long, “Ishould go.Lotsto do.Thistown isn’t going to impress itself.”
She turned, hips swaying as she walked out, strappy sandals clicking against the tile.Thedoor swung shut behind her with a sound that felt like a gunshot in the silence that followed.
Cindy blew out a sharp breath.“Thatwoman has the emotional range of a viper in a sundress.”
Rose stared at the closed door, throat tight.“She’sjust warming up.”
The buzz of the shop slowly resumed, customers whispering to one another, pretending not to watchRose.Butshe felt every glance, every unspokenbless your heartaimed her way.ThiswasPickwickBend, after all—where gossip traveled faster than cell service.
Cindy nudged her gently with her elbow.“Ignoreher.She’sonly here for one thing.”
Rose shook her head, still staring at the door.“No.She’shere for three things.Acen.Declan.Andtrouble.”
“Then she’s gonna get herself a full plate,”Cindymuttered.
But the words didn’t settleRose’sstomach.Notwhen she thought aboutDeclan, steady, kindDeclan, caught inBriana’sorbit.
The towel slipped from her hand onto the counter.Forthe first time all day,Roseforgot the line of customers, forgotCindy’srant about the festival, forgot everything except the stormBrianahad just carried in like a trophy.
Because storms didn’t come toPickwickBendwithout tearing up roots.
AndRosehad the distinct feeling that this one wasn’t passing quick.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
That evening, after a full day at the coffee shop,Rosefound herself pacing in her living room.Thehardwood floors creaked faintly beneath her bare feet, each step marking out the rhythm of her restless thoughts.Thewindows were open, the evening breeze drifting through lace curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of honeysuckle and damp earth.Itshould’ve been calming.Instead, the quiet only made her thoughts louder.
The same questions spun in her mind, a carousel she couldn’t step off.
Why wasBrianatargetingDeclan?
What was her endgame?
What exactly was she implying with her comments about rewriting history?
Rose wrapped her arms around herself, standing near the mantle where old family photos were lined up in mismatched frames.Onecaught her eye—her andRileyat twelve, grinning with matching missing front teeth.Another, her mother in aSundaydress, holding a youngerRosein her lap.Thosememories were supposed to be safe, untouched byBriana’ssharp tongue or carefully crafted drama.Butlately, even the most ordinary things felt like they had shadows lurking behind them.
She turned away, moving to the couch and sinking down.Herbody was tired from the long shift.Coffeespills,Cindy’srants about the town council’s poor budgeting for the fall festival, and the subtle hum of gossip that ran like electricity through every small-town establishment.Buther mind wouldn’t quiet.
Acen had said he was done withBriana.Hadshown it, too—his words steady, his choices clear.ButBrianawasn’t the type to accept “no.”Shewas the type to pry open old wounds, wedge herself in like a splinter, and smile while doing it.Andnow she was circlingDeclanlike a hawk over new prey.
Rose rubbed her temples, the pads of her fingers pressing into the tension that had settled there.
Should she warnDeclan?Hewas a grown man, after all.He’dalready proved he wasn’t naive.Thoughtful, yes, but not blind.Still… the thought of him getting dragged intoBriana’sgame made her stomach twist.Declandidn’t deserve that.Hedeserved a clean slate, a chance to plant roots inPickwickBendwithout somebody weaponizing the past against him.
