Page 16 of Broken Trails
“Sure do! And would you like any pumps of syrup? We’ve got vanilla, hazelnut, caramel, toffee nut, white chocolate—”
I blink at her, frowning. Whatever happened to just ordering a plain coffee? “Uh—”
Before I can decide, or better yet, say no, a voice chimes in from beside me. “An oat caramel latte is the way to go.”
I glance over and I’m met with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. The woman is stunning. Blonde hair pulled into a loose braid, golden strands framing her face. She’s slender but not fragile, her presence filling the space with a calm kind of confidence.
“Uh, okay. Thanks,” I say, a little too guarded. “I’ll try the caramel latte.”
The woman smiles at me, stepping back a little as the girl rings up my order. “Good choice. I’ve tried almost everything on the menu. Perks of being a regular,” she says lightly.
Her voice is soft, lilting, but there’s something sharp behind her eyes, like she’s sizing me up, just as I’m doing to her.
“You’re new around here.” Not a question, an observation.
“That obvious?” My tone is dry.
She chuckles. “A little. I’m Imogen, by the way. Imogen Price.”
“Zoe,” I say quickly, catching myself before addingDe Luca. That name doesn’t belong to me anymore. Not here. Not anywhere.
We wait in silence until she fills it again. “I’ve been craving coffee all morning. Left my kids with my mother-in-law just tograb one. My husband is at work, so I’m stealing a moment for myself. Much deserved, I think.”
I nod, unsure what to say. Her life sounds picture-perfect. Of course, it does. “How old are your kids?” I ask, mostly to deflect.
“My son’s two,” she says, beaming. “And my daughter’s just shy of six months.”
“Wow… you’ve got your hands full,” I reply, my voice a little flatter than I intend. She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to read between the lines.
“Are you from here?” she asks. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“Sort of,” I say, keeping it vague. “I spent a few years here as a kid. Left for the city as soon as I could. Now I’m… back for a bit.” I shrug like it’s nothing, then change the subject. “What about you? Plans for the rest of the day?”
“Just waiting for my ride,” she says lightly, glancing toward the door. “Grabbing lunch and coffee for my husband, too.”
Her smile is easy, but her eyes linger on me too long, like she’s trying to pin something down. “What about you? Any plans?”
“Not really,” I answer, feeling her curiosity like a weight. The urge to fidget creeps in, but I hold my ground. The bell above the door jingles, snapping the moment in half. Imogen’s face brightens.
“Oh, my ride’s here.” She waves someone over. “Zoe, this is my brother-in-law, Michael Price.”
I glance up and freeze.
Of course it’shim.
It’s true when they say in a small town, everybody knows everyone, and apparently, fate has a twisted sense of humour. Out of all the cafés, out of all the people to walk through that door, it had to be him. The cocky bastard who fixed my car two days ago.
I take an involuntary step back as he approaches, broad shoulders cutting a clean line through the space, everymovement carrying that easy swagger that says he knows exactly how people look at him. And that smug expression—God, it’s like it’s etched into his face.
His eyes lock on mine, holding them for a beat too long, and the corner of his mouth curves.
“We’ve met,” I say, my tone flat enough to strip paint.
“Nice to see you again, Freckles,” he drawls, leaning casually against the counter like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Imogen’s gaze flicks between us, curiosity playing across her face.
“Freckles?” She questions, then her eyes widen. “Oh! You fixed her car the other day?”
“Yep,” Michael answers before I can. Arms crossed, posture relaxed—too relaxed.
