Page 64 of Small Town Sizzle

We dig into the food, and for the rest of the evening, I let myself enjoy the moment. Garrett’s gesture is sweet—sweeter than I want to admit—and for a little while, it makes the weight on my shoulders feel just a tiny bit lighter.

The scent of fresh coffee hits me as I push open the door to the little café on the corner. It’s my usual spot when mornings are chaotic, and this morning is no different. Jaz had spent ten minutes searching for a sweater she never found, Alex decided to be lateon purposebecause, in his words, “I’ve got a math test and need to emotionally prepare,” and by the time I got them both to school, I was already exhausted.

Coffee. Coffee is life right now.

I shuffle into the short line, tugging my jacket tighter around me as I scroll through my phone absentmindedly. The hum of conversation and the soft whir of the espresso machine are almost soothing, pulling me out of my own head for a minute.

I’m not paying much attention to anything but the massive number of emails in my inbox. Someone clears their throat, and I glance up to see Garrett grinning back at me.

“Good morning,” he says softly.

His hands are full of a bag of food and two coffee cups.

Oh no, does he have a date?

I suck in a breath, realizing that with exhaustion and chaos brings intrusive thoughts and insecurities that have no business being there.

Although, he looks as though he’s waiting for someone. He’s wearing that easy, lopsided grin that makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners, and for a second, I forget to breathe.

My stomach twists, an unwelcome flicker of jealousy stirring deep inside me. It’s stupid, ridiculous even. Garrett doesn’t owe me anything, and we only slept together once. We haven’t even gone on a proper date; do I have a right to feel any sort of way?

My chest is tight, and every nerve in my body is suddenly on high alert. I blow out a slow breath. I really like him, and trusting that feeling, trusting that he’s a good man who won’t mistreat me, is the scariest thing in the world for me. I have to trust my gut instinct and decipher between what is real and what is my fear of getting hurt again.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and casual. “Thanks again for dinner last night. It was really nice.”

“Anytime,” he says, his grin widening.

There’s this awkward beat of silence, and I glance at the two cups he’s holding. My stomach knots again, but I force a smile and start walking toward the counter. “I’ll let you get to whoever’s waiting for you,” I say over my shoulder.

Garrett chuckles, a low, warm sound that stops me in my tracks. “Busted,” he says teasingly.

I turn, frowning in confusion. “What?”

He steps closer, holding one of the cups out to me. “This one’s for you.”

I blink at him, completely thrown. “What?” I repeat, feeling like an absolute idiot.

He smirks, clearly enjoying my confusion. “I grabbed your usual coffee and breakfast order,” he says, nodding toward thebrown bag tucked under his arm. “I was headed to work at the youth center and thought I’d swing by and drop it off for you.”

I stare at him, my brain short-circuiting. “You… you did what?”

Garrett’s grin softens, his voice turning warm. “I figured you could use it.”

I can’t speak. My mind is racing, my heart is pounding, and I don’t even know what to say. No one has ever done something so thoughtful for me before. I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to accept someone doing nice things for me.

He nudges the cup toward me again, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to take it, or should I just drink it myself?”

Snapping out of my stupor, I reach out and take the cup, my fingers brushing his for just a second. “Garrett, I… Thank you. This is… You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he says simply. “But I wanted to.”

I inhale slowly, realizing that I’ve momentarily gone back to that knee-jerk reaction of thinking that I’m not worthy of someone making a fuss over me. But I do deserve those things.

I find myself waiting for him to ask for money or something in return. Here’s the moment where he shows me he’s like all the other guys and he’ll make a rude comment and ask for a quickie in the closet at work or something. I stare at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn’t.

My cheeks warm, and I duck my head, suddenly feeling like I’m sixteen again and talking to my high school crush. “Thank you,” I say again, my voice softer this time.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his eyes holding mine for just a moment longer than I expect.

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