Meeting said boyfriend—well,ex-boyfriend—was a notoriously bad idea, but I’d dug this hole myself. I’d offered Eli whatever closure he needed. Besides, the more I dug, the more I learned how fucked up Nate was. Cheating was just the tip of the iceberg with him. Eli was better off.
I felt bad for the guy. I was no saint, but I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t in the business of ripping apart a happy home. Then again, how happy could it have been?
I’d almost forgotten about Nate entirely until Eli texted me late one night, asking if I could meet him for coffee after his overnight shift. He was finally ready to talk. Luckily, I was horrible at remembering to delete things from my phone, so I still had plenty to show him.
Mornings in July were a shocking contrast to the stifling heat of my hometown. Cool enough that I wouldn’t sweat in my leather jacket, it wasn’t so cold that I’d need anything heavier—and it made for a perfect day for riding. Summer mornings in Woodland Park had me reaching for my helmet and donning my signature riding jacket. More durable and snug than my every-day one, it protected my skin in case of an accident yet with minimal fabric to prevent causing one.
After pulling it out of the garage, I mounted my 2016 Heritage Classic. With the key in the ignition, I twisted the throttle and the engine revved to life. The bike vibrated between my legs, pumping adrenaline through my veins. I accelerated, my heart thumping to the beat of the dad-rock that played through my helmet’s speakers, and I welcomed the cool breeze on my face through its visor. I took in a deep breath of fresh mountain air, remembering why I’d moved to Woodland Park in the first place.
Nearly a decade ago, I’d needed a clean slate, and the quaint suburb of Evergreen Grove provided it. It was exactly the kind of place I needed: Everybody smiled and waved, and nobody asked any questions—even if they gossiped about the mysterious new neighbor behind my back. I didn’t go out of my way to dispel any of the rumors either. It was better for them to assume that I had ties to the mafia or ran a secret drug ring out of my basement than to admit the truth: That I’d fallen into the hands of a dirty cop and it backfired. So, I let the house spouses do their chattering.
It was just shy of nine in the morning when I pulled up in front of the indie coffee shop in town. In the mecca of all things coffee, everyone within driving distance of Woodland Park knew the best java came from Mike’s. They only had one espresso machine, grew and ground their own beans, and worked closely with other small businesses in town. The owner was a bit of an enigma—no one had ever seen them in person—but whoever they were, they didn’t skimp on the small-town coffee shop experience.
I slid my helmet off and shook out my dark hair. It was long, nearly brushing my shoulders, and damp with sweat along my hairline. After removing my gloves, I tucked my helmet under my arm and strolled toward the door. A couple of women at one of the outdoor bistro tables eyed me and whispered to each other, but I only threw them a wink and continued inside.
I’d perfected the art of not caring.
Mike’s was refreshing and inviting. Pausing in the doorway, I let the air conditioning cool my sweaty brow for a moment, basking in the scent of freshly roasted espresso. The machine behind the counter hissed with the release of pressure.
“Hey Zach!” Julie, the regular morning barista, stood behind the bar and was busy pouring steamed milk into a cardboard cup. She returned my smile, her brown eyes lighting up. “Your usual today?”
“That’d be great,” I said, crossing the room and parking myself at a table. Since the lone customer at the counter strolled away with their to-go drink, I assumed they weren’t Eli. I didn’t know much about him, only that he worked nights at the local hospital. I wondered if he would be in any state to have such an emotional conversation. I’d offered to push it to another time, but he insisted.
The espresso machine hummed to life again as Julie wordlessly started making my drink. That was what I liked about her: She was kind and cheerful, but she didn’t force me to talk—unlike most of the folk ofEvergreen Grove. I had done my research before moving and chose an area with a reputation of people keeping to themselves, but I underestimated the neighborhood factor. Hoping I would get left alone, I found myself bombarded with fresh muffins and more wine than I could possibly drink on my own, all so people could catch a glimpse of me and try to figure out my deal.
But Andrew Mayer made the best damn blueberry muffins I’d ever had.
“Good morning, Eli!” Julie called over the machine. “Or… night for you, I guess.”
“Morning, Julie,” came a familiar, fatigued voice.
I hadn’t even heard the chime of the bell over the door. Trying to catch a glimpse of him, I lifted my attention from my phone.
Julie reached for a to-go cup, but Eli stopped her. “I’m meeting someone, actually.” He scanned the room, landing on where I sat. Tired hazel eyes raked over my body, absorbing my messy hair, old T-shirt, and distressed jeans.
Even after a long shift, his brown hair was neatly combed and tucked behind his ears. He wore dark jeans, with a deep mustard-toned shirt that made the green in his eyes pop. The only evidence of his exhaustion was the drooping of his eyelids—and the yawn he stifled when Julie asked if she should bring our drinks over. He nodded and came over to the table.
His eyes landed on my helmet, and he gestured to the front of the shop. “That your bike outside?”
“That’s right.”
“Hottie with a Harley,” he muttered, dropping into the chair opposite me.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nate didn’t have your name in his phone,” he explained. “You were just ‘Hottie with a Harley’.”
My mouth opened and shut as I floundered for something to say. “Wow,” I settled on. Nate was even more of a piece of work than I had thought. I shook my head to clear it. “I’m Zach.”
Eli let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you. I didn’t want to sit here and call you Hottie all day.”
In spite of the circumstances, I found myself crooking a brow. Eli was wildly attractive, even if he looked like he wanted to flee at the first opportunity. I wouldn’t have minded if he wanted to call me Hottie. The longer I stared, the warmer Eli’s cheeks grew, and I got a glimpse of the soft, sweetman beneath the heartbreak. Flustered, he broke eye contact and picked at his fingers. He didn’t deserve any of this.
Nate was a fucking idiot.
Julie placed a mug in front of me, with one of my favorite caramel chocolate cookies on the saucer. “Your flat white.”
I gave her a smile. “Thank you.”
