“Great, now they’re going to expect me to solve a century-old mystery while I can barely solve my own love life.” I tuck the letter into my apron pocket before moving back into the store.
“I’m heading out for my fitting,” Emmy says. “Try not to have any emergencies while I’m gone.”
“Too soon,” I mutter, stacking clean mugs on the shelf. “I almost torched my apartment last week.”
“Please tell me at least one hot fireman showed up to rescue you,” she says, slipping on her denim jacket with a grin.
“Just Lucian.” I focus intently on lining up the mugs, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my cheeks warm at the memory.
“Even better. Half the women at the bash were practically drooling over him.”
“Sure, he’s attractive, but I’m not looking for anything right now.” I straighten the last mug, avoiding her gaze.
“I’m not saying marry the guy. Just go out and have fun for once. A practice date—no pressure, no expectations. Lucian would be perfect for that.”
“A practice date?” I finally look at her. “That sounds like a great way to make things awkward with my neighbor.”
She gives me a pointed look. “At some point, you need to get back out there, Neesha. And when you do, wouldn’t you rather start with someone who’s actually decent? A man who will be gentle and hold your heart softly?”
After Nate, I’d forgotten that decent men were even an option. “Softandgentle? I don’t think he exists.”
The bell jingles and in walks Mabel McCluskey, Mary-Ellen’s daughter who finally made it to NYC working forAthletic Edgemagazine,followed by Fiona Hale, another New Yorker who’s new in town.
“Good morning, ladies,” Emmy says on her way out the door as Fiona stops at the new-release table.
“Hi, Neesha,” Mabel says, coming back to the cafe. “I’ll take my usual coffee.”
I head to the espresso machine and immediately start her latte. “Hey, Mabel, do you know anyone who would order two dozen cupcakes for breakfast?”
She thinks for a second. “No, but that sounds delicious,” she says. “Why?”
“Someone left an anonymous order early this morning.”
“I wish it were me, because I could use some sugar right about now.”
I hand her a blueberry muffin. “Is your mom bothering you again about settling down with someone?”
“She’s literally trying to marry me off to the entire hockey roster. I think she’s got a spreadsheet.”
“She’s just being motherly.”
“You mean ‘smotherly,’ right?” she mutters and I laugh.
Fiona joins us, looking around the bookstore like she’s in love with this town and its charming quirks.
“What do you think of small-town life so far?” I ask.
“It’s glorious compared to New York. No traffic jams. No long commutes. And people are so nice.” She leans on the counter, looking dreamily at the wall. “Even the hockey players seem different.”
“Yeah?” I glance at Mabel, who knows my history with athletes. “I try to stay far away from hockey players after one turned my life into a dumpster fire.”
Fiona winces. “Yikes. I’m sorry—that sucks.”
Mabel looks at me. “You know what we should do? Have a girls’ night. Just the three of us.”
“I’d love that,” Fiona says.
Mabel turns to me. “You in for Thursday night at my mom’s place? I’ll make your favorite guacamole.”
