Page 4

Stepping onto the sidewalk, I inhaled spring air tinged with pine and something sweet from the bakery two doors down. Main Street stretched before me, all quaint storefronts and hanging flower baskets, like something from a postcard nobody actually sent anymore.

This was all I’d wanted when I’d moved here, a quiet life in a small town. Coffee on Sunday mornings. Maybe a garden. Or a friend who’d laugh at my terrible jokes.

Instead, I’d gotten Ben.

But standing here wasn’t getting me any closer to freedom. Planning required caffeine, and I’d never tried the local coffee shop. Ben preferred the chain place near his office, which meant this small rebellion felt almost revolutionary.

After glancing around one more time, I headed inside the café. The rich aroma of coffee enveloped me, layered with vanilla and a hint of cinnamon. Two customers stood ahead at the counter, giving me time to study the menu board. Lavender latte? Maple bourbon cold brew? When had coffee gotten so complicated?

I noticed the chair against the wall that would give me a perfect view of the door. Or I could sit at the table far enough from the counter no one would ask if I wanted a refill.

Only three people occupied spaces, none of them paying me any attention. Two were on their laptops and one was scrolling through her phone, all oblivious to my presence.

Movement behind the counter caught my attention, and my brain stuttered to a complete stop. Sweet merciful gay gods.

Dark hair was combed back, the sides shorn, the beard thick enough to run your fingers through. He worked the espresso machine with expert ease. His shirt stretched across shoulders that belonged on someone who rescued people from burning buildings, not someone who made lattes.

When he turned to grab another cup, greenish-amber eyes caught the light like honey mixed with jade.

Look away before he catches you and thinks you’re interested.

I studied the menu board with sudden fascination. House blend. Safe. Boring. Perfect for someone who definitely wasn’t noticing how those forearms flexed when—

What in the hell is wrong with you?

“Next.”

That voice, warm as the lighting, pulled me forward. Up close, those eyes were even more unusual, green with flecks of amber that shifted in the light. The barista’s smile reached them, creating tiny lines at the corners that suggested he smiled often and meant it.

“First time here?” The barista leaned forward slightly.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, fighting the need to scan the café again.

“Well, you’ve been studying our menu board like it’s written in ancient Sumerian, so either you’re new or really passionate about font choices.”

A surprised laugh escaped me. The hell?

“Just moved to town a few months ago.” The lie came easily. It was safer than explaining I’d been too terrified to leave my routine.

“I’m Drift, local caffeine dealer.” He gestured to the shop around us. “Welcome to my humble establishment. Opened it a few months ago.”

“Phineas.” Why did it feel as if I was talking to an old friend? At work, I moved like a ghost between cubicles. Lunch invitations flowed around me like I wasn’t even there. My coworkers traded weekend stories across breakroom tables while I ate alone. No personal calls, no after-work drinks, no chance for questions about the bruises. I had built these walls myself, brick by careful brick, yet the emptiness they contained followed me everywhere.

“Like the inventor?” Drift’s grin turned playful. “Promise not to tie me to any railroad tracks?”

“Wrong Phineas. Mine was more into winning a wager than villainy.”

“Ah, Phineas Fogg. Around the World in Eighty Days.” Drift leaned against the counter. Even from this distance, Drift was so much taller than me. I wanted to be brave enough to close the distance and discover our exact height difference. “Though I’d argue there's treasure to be found in good coffee too.”

“You’re thinking of Phileas Fogg.”

For a second time I laughed.

“I stand corrected. What’s your poison?” Drift asked.

Ben.

“And please don’t say house blend.” He gave me a playful stink-eye. “I’ll judge you.”