Riley sets our drinks on the counter, breaking whatever thought had just taken hold. “Here you go, loves.”
I reach for my wallet when the doorbell chimes again. The sound cuts through the bakery, followed by a low voice that I know even before I look up.
Dorian James.
The man fills the doorway like he’s walked out of some glossy magazine shoot. Coat tailored to perfection, dark jeans pressed, hair styled in that careless way that I couldn’t achieve if I tried. The scent of expensive cologne trails behind him.
Riley lights up. “Well, if it isn’t Dorian James! You back for the holidays?”
He smiles, polished and easy. “Something like that.” Then his eyes land on me. “Ryker.”
“Dorian.”
The difference between us couldn’t be clearer. His watch probably costs more than the entire lumber order I placed thisweek. I stand there in my flannel, boots crusted with snow, feeling like the world’s most obvious contrast.
He looks at Norah next, and that smooth confidence falters just slightly. “Hey.”
Her smile tightens. “Dorian.”
“Didn’t know I’d find you here,” he says.
“I live here.”
Riley fusses with the register, pretending not to listen, though every ear in the bakery is tuned in.
I focus on my bag of muffins, willing myself not to care. But it’s hard not to notice the tension between them. Norah’s shoulders draw tight, her expression hardening.
“I thought we could talk,” Dorian continues, voice lower now.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she answers, grabbing her cup from the counter. “Enjoy your visit, Dorian.”
Before he can respond, she turns and walks straight out the door.
He hesitates for only a breath before following her.
The bell jingles again, and the bakery goes still except for the hum of the espresso machine.
Riley glances toward me, her brows raised. “Drama before sunrise. Must be holiday season again.”
“Seems that way,” her sister Cora says.
I collect my coffee and Jude’s muffins, slipping a few bills onto the counter. The warmth of the bakery fades the second I push open the door.
Outside, the snow falls harder, thick flakes swirling against the wind. Norah and Dorian are halfway down the block, her shoulders tight, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.
She moves fast, head down, refusing to look back.
I watch them for a breath, then pull up my collar and head for the truck. Whatever’s going on between them isn’t my business. I’ve had my fill of heartbreak for a lifetime.
The wind howls across Main Street, snow piling against the curbs. I grip my coffee, climb behind the wheel, and start the engine. The heater groans to life, fighting the cold.
Fox Hollow stretches ahead, white and endless. Somewhere behind the clouds, morning light hides, waiting for a break.
I take a long sip, the bitterness grounding me.
Whatever today brings, I’ll handle it. Just like always.
CHAPTER THREE
