Page 1 of Tides of Change
CHAPTER ONE
Garrett
I opened the door to The Coffee Cove, and the bells on the door jingled a familiar melody. The rich, potent scent of freshly ground beans hit me immediately, and the sibilant hiss of steam from the espresso machine delivered a jarring noise to the otherwise quiet morning. I inhaled deeply and let the coffee-scented air invigorate my flagging steps. The morning had been uneventful—just a few parking citations to show for my time—and the weight of Monday sluggishness settled in my bones. I stifled a yawn and gave myself a mental shake. The life of a deputy sheriff wasn’t always the stuff of action-packed movies, but I’d learned to appreciate the calm days. Too much excitement usually meant someone’s life had taken a turn for the worse.
And yet…something told me my calm day was about to be wrecked.
I waved to Cooper, the shop’s owner, who operated the espresso machine. Coop acknowledged me with a chin lift. I approached the cashier at the counter, already cluttered with miniature pumpkins and faux leaves, even though it was only the last week in September. But Halloween would be here beforeI knew it, and Noah and I hadn’t yet picked out his costume. I mentally kicked myself. I had to get on with that.
“Morning, Deputy! The usual?” Jessica chirped from behind the register and bounced on her toes like she’d mainlined caffeine since dawn. Her purple-tipped blonde ponytail swayed with her movement, and her smile was as bright as the fall decor.
“You know it.” I paid for my black coffee and dropped a tip in the jar while the bells jingled behind me.
“Deputy!” someone called from the shadows deeper in the shop.
I bit back a groan and turned toward the speaker. Frank Ehrhart perched on a stool at the bar along the wall. Frank was eighty if he was a day, with a permanent scowl etched into his craggy face and arms folded across his barrel chest like he was ready to wage war on the world.
I took a deep breath, fixed my face into something that approximated a smile, and strolled over to him. My boots scuffed lightly on the hardwood floor. “Morning, Frank.” I braced myself for a tirade.
His eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses. “Martha’s dogs are shitting on my lawn again. What are you going to do about it?”
I hooked my thumbs in my belt and gave him my best disarming grin. “Well, Frank, as I’ve mentioned before, that’s something you’ll need to take up with Martha.”
“Coffee’s up, Garrett,” Cooper called.
Frank huffed, and his leathery skin wrinkled further as he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, every time I go over there to complain, she asks me in for coffee and then sends me home with cookies, or a pie, or some damned thing. How am I supposed to yell at her when she does that?”
I nearly choked on my laugh but turned it into a cough. “So, let me get this straight, Frank—you’re telling me that every time her dogs poop on your lawn, you go over there, and she’s baked something for you?”
His face twisted into a deeper scowl, though I caught the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Well, yeah.”
I scratched my head and tried to keep my expression neutral. “Frank, I think she’s setting you up.”
“What?” His head jerked back. “Why would she do that?”
“Think about it,” I said and gentled my voice to soften the blow. “She lost her husband last year. I think she might be lonely. Maybe she wants the company.”
His eyes widened, and he scrubbed a weathered hand down his face. “Well, hell.”
I clapped him on the shoulder and felt the weight of his realization settle. “Why don’t you try visiting her on your own? Maybe that’ll stop the dog problem.”
Frank muttered something incoherent and reached for his coffee cup, clearly still processing what I’d said.
“Ethan! Order’s up!”
I strode to the pickup counter and grabbed a to-go cup.
“Garrett—” Cooper began.
I took a large sip, only to nearly spit it out. My mouth flooded with sugar, the sweetness and spice so overpowering it made my teeth hurt. I grimaced and forced it down. “What the fu—dge is this?” I held the cup up and glared at it like it had betrayed me.
A deep chuckle drew my attention to the tall man who had stepped up to the counter. “It’s my pumpkin spice latte,” he said quietly, amused. Lips surrounded by a short, trim beard curved into a grin. Soft-looking dark-auburn curls escaped the crisp new ball cap pulled low on his forehead. Ray-Bans hid his eyes. “Not to your taste?”
“Go—sh, no.” I gave an exaggerated shudder. “Sorry to take your drink. I’ll buy you a new one.”
