“I’m working on it,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie. I’m always working on it. Working on it is basically my full-time job alongside my actual full-time job.
The bell over the door jingles, triggering me to look up.Sawyer Stockton fills the doorway like he belongs there, filled with confidence and early-morning cheer. He’s wearing jeans and a dark Henley that fits him in a way that my tired brain notices before I can stop it, and he’s holding a cardboard drink carrier with three coffees like this is the most natural place in the world for him to be.
“Morning,” he says easily. “I come bearing peace offerings.”
My brain stalls. Completely. All I can think is two things simultaneously:Oh. The giant’s awake now.And:I cannot afford to find this man with his sexy vibe attractive right now.I have an $847 problem, a missing-father breakfast problem, and approximately zero bandwidth for noticing how someone’s shoulders fill out a Henley.
“Hi,” I say, which feels inadequate but is the best I’ve got.
He steps inside, careful not to brush against anything, eyes flicking to the plants like he’s memorized Rule One. There’s something about the carefulness—the way he’s moving through my space like he understands it matters—that makes my chest flutter in the most inconvenient way possible.
“I wasn’t sure what everyone drinks, so I went with a variety. Black. Oat milk. And…something aggressively sweet.”
“That one’s mine,” Charlie says immediately, delighted.
Sawyer grins and hands him a cup. “Knew it.”
“You’re a legend.” Charlie accepts it like a prize. “You’re off to a strong start, kid.”
Sawyer turns to me, offering the remaining coffee. “For you.”
I hesitate for half a second—because accepting things is a slippery slope—and then take it. “Thank you.”
Our fingers brush for a moment. His hands are warm, softer than I expect, and the touch lands like a quiet shock, traveling further than it has any right to before I pull back.
“You’re early,” I say, because my mouth insists on participating.
“I was told ‘on time,’” he says. “Didn’t want to push it.”
“Okay, points for you,” I reply. “The coffee helps, too.”
His smile widens like he’s filed that away as a small victory, and I realize with creeping horror that I’m trying not to smile back.
Charlie takes a loud sip behind me. “Congrats on the win Saturday night,” he says, tipping his drink in the air. What a traitor, but I can’t get mad at him. He’s been a Dominion fan from the moment it was announced they were coming here.
But, something happens that surprises me: Sawyer’s cheeks go bright red, flushing fast before settling into a softer, almost endearing pink. “Thanks, man,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Means a lot.”
Sawyer’s blush makes him look younger. More human. Less like a PR problem I didn’t ask for and more like an actual person who just wants to be liked. Is he a little embarrassed right now?
“While I have you both here, I need you to know that at some point in the next few weeks, a mystery shopper will be coming in.” I turn to Sawyer to explain what Charlie already knows. “The store is up for a business grant, and the shopper is the last step in the process. So, if you aren’t confident when someone asks you a question, please make sure to get one of us. Got it?”
“Got ya, boss lady,” Sawyer answers with a mock salute.
“No.” I hold up a hand, slicing it through the air. “Don’t do that. We don’t do that.”
Sawyer’s hands immediately fly into surrender. “You’re right. I’ve been told that before. Got ya…you.”
I fight my jaw’s sudden urge to unhinge itself, but it’s hard to do when your face insists on twisting into a shape that I’m sure does not reflect trust and confidence in the situation.
“Thanks for the update, Juliette.” Charlie grins as he inclines his head toward the back of the store. “I’m going to leave you two to it. I’ve got a box of stationery in the back that’s judging me for ignoring it.”
He disappears through the doorway, coffee in hand, only to pop his head back out a second later. “Forgot to tell you that Carol from the Community Program was here bright and early.She dropped off that envelope on the counter for you and Sawyer this morning.”
I cast a glance at the large manila envelope resting against the cash register, with my name written across it in red magic marker.
Sawyer watches him go, then looks around again, eyes landing on the shelves of notebooks and cards. “So,” he says, nodding toward the walls, “Leaf & Letter. Plants and stationery.”
“You got it,” I say, grabbing the envelope and tearing it open. “It’s a dual-threat situation.”
