Ghost led the way across Main, boots silent on the wet sidewalk. He didn’t bother to check for traffic. Just moved like he was too dangerous for any car to hit. She kept pace, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders stretched that old jacket or the way his long, jean-clad legs ate up the sidewalk. The man didn’t just move. He prowled, and watching him had all kinds of fantasies unspooling in her brain, none of which involved a businesslike chat with a local dirtbag developer.
Ugh. Focus. She wasn’t here to drool. She was here to catch a killer.
As they passed under Nessie’s sign, she slowed for just a second to admire it, watching rain drip from the iron scrollwork. After the bakery had burned down this summer, the men of Valor Ridge and the townspeople had rallied to rebuild it, and now it looked better than ever, all fresh and bright in the gray morning.
The new sign was carved from a warm brown wood, with crisp, hand-painted lettering. A cheerful green sea monster lounged in a steaming cup of coffee, her tail curled into a heart and long lashes half-lidded in contentment. The logo alwaysmade Naomi smile—whimsical and welcoming, a promise that inside, the coffee was strong and the world was a little kinder.
Something loosened in her chest by half a notch.
Home.
She washome.
She’d been so caught up inside her own head since coming back to town, she hadn’t taken the time to breathe. She’d been running on fumes and old anger since the second she crossed the county line and had mostly settled for coffee and granola bars for breakfast when she remembered to eat.
So, yeah. She was overdue for a real breakfast.
Ghost waited at the entrance, holding the door open for her. When she didn’t move right away, he let the door fall shut and followed her gaze up to the sign. “Jax carved that.”
She turned toward him, surprised that he offered any information without prompting, even something so inane. “Really?”
He looked vaguely uncomfortable, like the words had slipped out without his consent. “He learned just so he could make that sign for Nessie and discovered he had a knack for it. Anson did the ironwork.”
“Anson Sutter?” She’d heard the name, but couldn’t place a face with it. “I don’t think I’ve met him.”
“He mostly keeps to the ranch. Doesn’t come to town often.”
“There’s someone more antisocial than you? Hard to believe.”
Ghost still didn’t crack a smile, but his mouth twitched again as she closed the distance between them.
“So if Jax and Anson made the sign, what was your contribution?” She knew, but she wanted him to talk, open up like he had last night. She remembered walking into Nessie’s last week with her stack of Missing flyers and seeing Ghost buried in the electrical panel. It was the first time she met him.
Strange, how quickly someone could become a fixture. This time last week, she wouldn’t have bet so much as a cold cup of coffee that Owen “Ghost” Booker would matter even a little bit in her orbit. Now, he was a fixed point. The first person she thought of when she woke up, and the last person she thought about before she went to sleep.
She stopped next to him and breathed in the scent of rain and cedar and Ghost’s clean, spare aftershave. Something in her nerves fluttered. She shoved the reaction down and gave him a sidelong look.
“Your contribution?” she pressed.
He didn’t speak for a second. Then: “Lights and security system.” He nodded at the new alarm pad beside the door and the little black lens above the threshold. “Figured after all Nessie went through, she deserved a safe restart.”
Her heart squeezed again. “That was kind of you.”
“I’m not kind,” he grunted and pulled the door open again.
The mere fact that he was waiting for her to go in first disproved his statement. Unkind men didn’t hold doors for others. But she didn’t point that out as she brushed passed him.
Inside, the air smelled of coffee and cinnamon. Warmth and light spilled across the entry, chasing every trace of Montana gloom right back out onto the sidewalk. It was the first time Naomi had been in since they finished the renovation, and the update was beautiful—instead of the badly nostalgic seventies diner it used to be, it now looked like something out of a magazine. One wall was restored to its original red brick and decorated with local art, while the others had been softened with fresh paint to a buttery cream. Along the back ran a long, butcher-block counter, smooth and well-oiled, lined with charming mismatched stools. A chalkboard menu hung above the register, hand-lettered in looping script with the day’s offerings—apple hand pies, brown butter biscuits, MonsterMuffins. Mason jars filled with sugar, cocoa, and flour sat on reclaimed-wood shelves with various houseplants and photos of locals helping with the rebuild.
Naomi took it in and felt the knot in her chest ease another notch. This place wasn’t just new. It was proof that broken things could be remade stronger.
The kitchen was fully visible behind the counter, and Nessie was there at the center island, kneading dough, flour already streaked across her cheek despite having just opened. Her dark hair fell down her back in a thick braid, and she wore a bright yellow apron covered in spatulas and mixing bowls that proclaimed, “You Batter Believe It.”
When the bell chimed, she looked up, and her welcoming smile dimmed a few degrees when she spotted Ghost.
Weird. That wasn’t like Nessie at all. She was always warm, inviting, and as sweet as the baked goods she served.
Naomi glanced over at Ghost to see if he’d noticed, too, but as usual, his face gave nothing away.
