Page 26 of Your Place or Mine

But something made me glance up toward the staircase.

The apartment above the bakery glowed with soft yellow light. The door was cracked open—not all the way, just enough that a wedge of warmth spilled into the night.

And then I heard it.

Laughter.

Light, genuine, unfiltered laughter. A woman’s.

Her laughter.

Lydia.

I froze, one hand resting on the edge of my truck door as the sound floated down the stairs.

I didn’t mean to listen. I wasn’t lurking. But damn if that sound didn’t hook something in my chest and tug at it.

It was too late for anyone to sound that happy.

And too late for me to be affected by it.

But there it was…bright, real, and open in a way I hadn’t seen from her yet. Not when she was staring me down across the bar. Not when she tried to convince me she wasn’t a walking demolition crew in designer boots.

That laugh didn’t belong to someone dangerous.

It belonged to someone who made things feel easy.

And I hated that I wanted to hear it again.

I stepped toward the stairs without thinking, boots grating softly on the gravel. I wasn’t going to go in. I had no right to, but I paused at the base, head tilted, just listening.

“Okay, okay, wait…” Melanie’s voice rang out, muffled through the open door. “Let me try it again.”

Then came a verypoorly disguisedimpression of a man’s voice—gravelly, low, and cranky enough to belong to someone twice my age.

“This bar’s been here sixty years and I ain’t about to let some woman with pretty shoes and a Pinterest board come in here and slap glitter on the dartboard.”

More laughter. Lydia’s voice was louder this time.

Melanie kept going, deeper now. “It’s rustic, dammit. Those grease stains are history. We don’t need any ambiance…just character and cholesterol.”

Lydia laughed so hard that something thumped. Maybe a knee against the table or the side of the couch. “Stop it! You sound like a grumpy pirate!”

“Arrrgh, stay away from me, bar, ye landlady temptress!”

I scowled.

Hard.

They were talking aboutme.

And they weren’t even trying to be subtle about it.

I should’ve walked away. Should’ve just let it go. But I didn’t.

I stood there like a dumbass, jaw clenched, pride wounded, arms crossed like I could fold the frustration out of my chest.

Was that how she saw me? Some crusty old bar troll with commitment issues and an aversion to paint?

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