She whirls around in the storage room doorway. “I promised not to tell, okay? And you’re making it really hard to keep that promise.”
“So hedoeshave a secret.” I set my hands on my hips. “If you’re keeping something from me about Lucian, then you can’t tell him I’m living next door. Mutual secret-keeping.”
She sighs. “All right…I won’t tell. But eventually he’s going to notice you’re sneaking through fences.”
“That’s a tomorrow problem,” I hedge. “And whatever you’re hiding from me?” I tilt my head. “I knew there had to be some dark secret lurking beneath all the small-town charm.”
“Enough about secrets. You’re coming to the Ice Breakers Inaugural Bash right?” Emmy pivots.
“I don’t do hockey, remember?”
“Most of the town will be there. They invited Dawson since he’s a former player, but I need my bestie there for moral support. Please?”
I bite my lip. As much as I need the sales, the thought of navigating a room full of people, specifically eligible hockey players, makes my anxiety spike. All I can imagine is a room full of Nates, each one more arrogant than the last. Fear has a way ofrewiring your brain, and mine is apparently stuck on the “avoid all men” setting after what I’ve been through.
“Sorry, Em,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re flying solo on this one—Nate pretty much destroyed my faith in men. I’m only providing Ice Breaker cupcakes that are going to look amazing.”
“I hate that he did that to you,” she says, “but just because Nate was a controlling jerk and your mom had a stalker doesn’t mean every guy will be like that.”
“I do know that. I just need my heart to realize it too,” I say.
She pushes the rest of the stack of books toward me. “Take these home, then. Let them inspire you to believe in love again.”
I glance through the stack of romance novels, covers painted in soft pastels and dreamy sunsets. Couples about to kiss or already tangled in some cinematic moment that never includes bumping noses or burnt toast. “These look like fictional love stories.”
“They are,” she says flatly. “Before you tell me they’re not true, just read one.”
“Emmy, I don’t need fairy tales. I need a life plan. One that doesn’t involve knights on white horses. Love is just a distraction from the things I can control,” I defend.
“You also need to do more than work all the time.” She gives me a pointed look. “And since when is love just a distraction that doesn’t matter?”
She’s not wrong about working too much—I’m exhausted. But work has clear outcomes. Effort equals results.Love?That’s unpredictable and messy and has a tendency to blow up in your face when you least expect it.
“Can’t we try something else?” I say, carrying them to the back. “Like books about successful businesswomen? Or maybe cookbooks? Those make me happy too.” I hide the stack under a shelf in the back where we keep extra supplies for the cafe.
“Cupcakes aren’t going to keep you warm at night,” she says.
“No, but they won’t break my heart either,” I counter.
If there’s one thing I already know, I stopped believing in love a long time ago.
On my way home from work I take my secret shortcut behind my neighbor’s house to avoid any awkward Lucian encounters. The fence is practically in my backyard, and the corner meets the edge of Lucian’s backyard.
I try the gate like I have all week and notice it’s locked. I jiggle the handle, but the latch is tight. Fine. Plan B it is.
I hike my foot up to the fence slat, start to hoist myself over, and the moment my head clears the top, I hear a door creak open. One leg halfway over, and I’m caught between two choices: drop down on my neighbor’s side, or mine. But I can’t just freeze here on top of the fence.
I look up, and right then, Lucian steps into the yard carrying a two-by-four that he sets in the grass next to two sawhorses.
We lock eyes. I’m literally straddling his fence, one leg on each side, caught red-handed in the most awkward position possible.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Then I realize I need to commit to this situation before it gets even weirder because this position is causing me serious discomfort.
I swing my other leg over and drop down into his yard with what I hope passes for casual confidence, brushing off my clothes like fence climbing is a totally normal evening activity.
“Oh, hello!” I say, pretending to be surprised that he’s here in his own backyard. “Fancy meeting you outside at this hour!”
He tilts his head, clearly trying to determine whether I’m insane or not. “Did I just catch you scaling my neighbor’s fence?”
