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“Did an ex wrong, and now I’m here to make it right. This was just her letting some of that anger out. She’ll get past it.”
At least I hoped she would. Maybe if I put it out in the universe enough I could make it true.
“In fact, that’s what I’m off to do right now. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Mr. Gates. I hope you get lucky.” Her eyes bulged when she realized what she said. “No, that’s not—I didn’t mean—um... That is, I hope you’re lucky in that she forgives you, not,you know—”
I held up my hand to stop her, putting her out of her misery. “I get it,” I told her, humor dripping from my voice. “And I appreciate the encouragement. See you later.”
“See you.”
I headed out into another bright, gorgeous valley day, going straight for the coffee shop I’d sampled the day I got into town. Hell, my mouth was practically watering at the thought of the coffee and the pastries on display.
More eyes were on me as I stood in line this time, recognition lighting up in their gazes, but no one said anything or approached me. I wasn’t sure if I should consider the privacy a blessing or worry that it meant something unpleasant was right around the corner. Only time would tell.
“Hi, welcome to Muffin Top. Can I help you—” The woman behind the front counter trailed off as soon as she looked up at me. “Oh. Wow.”
I pasted my charming smile into place. “Hello.”
“Hi,” she squeaked. “You’re Roan Blackwell.”
I extended my hand over the counter. “I am. Pleased to meet you.”
She took my hand in a firm grip and gave it a shake, the large rock on her wedding ring digging into my fingers before she broke off the shake and dropped her hand back to the counter. “Danika. But everyone calls me Dani. I’m a big fan of your music.”
My neck tensed up and I felt my shoulders creeping up toward my ears. It was the same way my body reacted every time I heard that. Used to be, I lived for shit like that, but something had changed, and I struggled to feel that high I used to get whenever I encountered fans. I used to love it, now it made my shoulders and neck tense up. “Thanks.” I quickly shifted the topic. “This your place here?”
Her smile was wide and proud. “It is.”
“Well, I have to say, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a better cup of coffee in my life. And I had a muffin the other day that was damn near addictive.”
“Thanks,” she chirped happily. “I’ve always loved to bake. Fortunately, my husband doesn’t mind being my guinea pig at home so I can try out new recipes.”
I bet he didn’t mind one damn bit. Not only did the woman know her way around baked goods, but she wasn’t hard on the eyes, either.
“You want the same as day before yesterday?” she asked, reaching toward the tower of large cups stacked on the side of a fancy espresso machine.
My brows went up in surprise. “You remember what I ordered two days ago?”
She shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “Tool of the trade. I’ve been at this so long I kind of can’t help it. I remember most people’s favorites.”
I leaned forward and braced my hands on the counter. “Dani, you may just be my new favorite person.”
She let out a tinkling laugh. “How do you figure?”
“I don’t suppose you know the regular order for a woman named Alma Rossi?”
Her eyes sparked with recognition. “Alma? Oh yeah! She comes in all the time. She’s a friend of mine.” Her eyelids narrowed with curiosity. “Do you know her?”
“Sure do,” I answered, leaving out the fact that we weren’t exactly on the friendliest of terms at the moment. “Think you could help me out and make her favorite coffee? Maybe throw in a few pastries?”
If I remembered one thing about Alma, it was that the womanlovedfood. It didn’t matter what kind, she loved it. But she had a particular sweet spot for anything sugary. Especially if it was deep fried before being dipped or slathered in sugar.
“You know what? Why don’t you make it an even dozen, an assortment of whatever you want.”
“You got it.”
She went about making me two coffees and loading up a bakery box of sweets. “Thanks. I really appreciate this,” I said before lifting one of the cups and taking a pull from my coffee. “And I also appreciate you not asking about the”—I waved a finger in front of my bruised and battered face—“you know.”
