Page 33 of Your Place or Mine

The thought of someone coming in with blueprints and Pinterest boards, eager to replace that meaning withmodern charmandupdated fixtures, made my blood boil.

But then there was Riley.

And her ceiling tile.

And that expression she got when she thought no one was looking, like she was tired in a way that went deeper than sleep.

Maybe the town did need a little help.

But that didn’t mean I had to like who was offering.

Especially not if she smelled like lilacs and wore sarcasm like it was perfume.

Even more so if her laugh had somehow lodged itself in my head like a song I couldn’t stop humming.

Damn it.

I took another sip of coffee and stared at the corner where she’d disappeared, willing my day to start over before it all got more complicated.

Because something told me this was just the beginning.

And I wasn’t ready.

Not even close.

I found myself at the bar, alone, the place dim and quiet in the best way I liked.

No customers.

No music. Just the low hum of the fridge, the scuff of my boots on the floor, and the occasional creak from the old beams that had held this place together longer than I’d been alive.

I sat at the bar, one arm draped over the back of a stool, coffee in hand, my phone in the other. Scrolling through the news, sports updates, and the occasional meme Drew sent at two in the morning like a teenager with unlimited data.

I wasn’t thinking about her.

Not Lydia, with the spark in her eyes, the careful words, and the laugh that made the walls feel warmer than the heat ever did.

Nope.

I was not thinking about her.

The front door slammed open like a shotgun blast, nearly taking the hinges.

I looked up, startled.

Melanie.

Wearing a cropped denim jacket, an expression that could shatter glass, and boots that hit the floor like war drums.

I didn’t even have time to set down my coffee before she was in front of me.

“You,” she snapped, jabbing a finger toward my chest like she wanted to carve her message straight into my ribs. “We’re having a chat.”

“Morning to you, too,” I said, lifting my cup in mock greeting. “Coffee?”

“Save the charm, Brontosaurus.”

I blinked. “Did you just call me a dinosaur?”

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