Page 6 of By Your Side
So that’s what I was doing—driving across town bright and early to pick up a latte and a cinnamon crumble muffin from Coffee Cabin, one of the many businesses my grandparents had opened in town; they were the entrepreneurs of Honeybrook Hollow, and my youngest sister, Eliza, ran the place for them.
I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, a thousand anxious thoughts buzzing through my head about the damn pact. I kept telling myself it didn’t matter, that Hunter was just Hunter—my safe place, my constant for so many years.
I was used to quiet mornings and predictable routines, but now my nerves were fluttering, and it confused me.
No, I wasn’t the weirdo; he was. This was all his fault. He’s the one who started it by bringing up that damn pact. And okay, fine. I couldn’t get it out of my mind, damn it. Lying to myself was one of my most insidious coping mechanisms, at least that’s what my therapist always said. I had thought it was bingeing on Doritos whenever I was PMSing, but whatever.
Back to the task at hand. And the inevitable freakout to follow.
“It’s just coffee between friends,” I muttered to myself as I pulled into the Coffee Cabin drive-thru line. “Childhoodfriends. Like, I’ve seen him pick his nose. This is thoughtful, not flirty. Thoughtful friends exist. It’s fine. It’s his birthday coffee for eff’s sake, and we’ve known each other forever. It would be weirdnotto bring him coffee.”
“Hello there.” Eliza’s voice crackled through the speaker. She sounded suspiciously amused, and I scowled.
“Hey, Eliza.”
“Paige Darlington. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company at this ungodly hour?”
“Large vanilla latte, two extra shots, cinnamon muffin. Plus my usual, please. And hold the commentary.” Ever since my divorce became final, my sisters, friends, acquaintances, customers—basically everyone I knew had been sharing their opinions about Hunter and me, suggesting we should become an item. I was over it. Living in a small town was so freaking fun.
“Ohhhh,” she drawled. “Birthday delivery, huh? Are you bringing that man your feelings in a cup? And adding a muffin this year. Interesting.”
“Yeah, okay,” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I will tip you zero dollars and block your number.”
“Um, rude,” she cheerfully chirped. “Pull forward, please.”
By the time I got our coffee and muffins secured in a tray, my nerves had ratcheted up from “mild butterflies” to “full internal earthquake.” What was I doing? Why was I sweating? I hadn’t worn makeup. I was in leggings. This was aggressively platonic attire. Except I’d definitely picked the hoodie that made my boobs look nice. So there was that.
The drive across town was brief but oddly cinematic in its quiet tension. My grip on the steering wheel was a little too tight. Every red light felt like a cosmic test of resolve, every pedestrian a potential audience to my anxious errand. The car was filled with the warm, reassuring fragrance of coffee, but my pulse skipped with each familiar landmark. It was both a comfort and a torment, as if the whole town was in on my secret.
But what secret?
How could I be keeping a secret when I didn’t even know my own damn mind? I let out a small scream of frustration, then bit my lip.
By the time his townhouse came into view, my heart was performing a frantic drum solo somewhere behind my ribs.
I parked in his driveway and stared at the front door for a solid minute before getting out. The tray shook slightly in my hands. Great. I was going to spill coffee on his crotch and seduce him by accident.
Seduce?What the hell? I needed an emergency shut-off switch for my out-of-control brain. Ever since he’d suggested going to dinner together, I’d been off balance.
I knocked.
He opened the door in gray sweatpants, and he was freaking shirtless, abs galore—who knew he had freaking abs like that? Not me, damn it—I counted, there were six of them. Gah! His glasses were askew, hair sticking up on one side like he’d fought off a bear in his sleep. Plus, he was cuddling an adorable brown cat against his chest.
And somehow, the sight of him—half-asleep and rumpled—made that out of control thing in my head short-circuit.
“Abs,” I said stupidly. “Glasses. Cat.”
He grinned at me. “Good morning to you, too.”
“You wear glasses now?” I tried again, sounding more like a caveman discovering fire rather than a grown woman finding out that her best friend could wear the shit out of a pair of slutty little glasses.
“I’ve worn glasses since I turned thirty-seven. You’ve just never caught me before the contacts go in. And this is Ozzy. I found him on the trail when I was jogging. I guess I haven’t told you about him yet either.”
“Well, you look very… distinguished,” I said, realizing too late that was the sort of thing someone’s old assauntmight say. But, I mean, I was almost forty, so I guess it was appropriate.
He arched a brow, amused. “Distinguished?”
“Like a hot librarian,” I blurted. “And the freaking cat? Cute!” I didn’t say anything about his abs. I mean, I was a lady, damn it.
