Page 29 of Broken Pact

“Truce, hm?”

“Truce,” I repeat with a nod, stepping backward onto the sidewalk. “Only for tonight.”

The corner of his mouth hooks into a small grin. “There she is.” He jerks his chin toward me, watching me with an uncanny intensity, like he’s mentally cataloging my slow walk toward my apartment.

“Thank you, Jagger. For tonight.”

“You feelin’ grateful enough to give me your strawberry shortcakes?” he teases, one brow cocked.

I tip my head back and laugh, twisting around to face my apartment.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he shouts.

“Goodnight, Jagger,” I call over my shoulder.

“Night, baby,” he says with less humor in his voice.

He stays parked in front of my house until I get inside. Until I change my clothes and take my makeup off. He’s still in front of my house, looking at something on his phone, when I crawl into bed.

16

JASPER

The Coffee Shop is bustling with activity this morning. While the tables aren’t very full, the line is stretched to the door. I guess most people had the same idea today.

That or we all just desperately needed a caffeine fix on a Monday morning.

The bright space is filled with the aroma of roasting beans and sweet mocha, and a cacophony of clinking mugs and murmured conversations.

The Coffee Shop isn’t the only place that serves coffee, but it is the only place dedicated to it. I’ve gone to Maple Leaf Diner in a pinch, and while they’re coffee isn’t bad, it’s nothing like the coffee here. I once heard that the owner does some crazy shit to import these beans from South America.

There are just a handful of people waiting for their drinks at the far end, and right in the middle is the almost infamous trio of women.

“Mornin’, ladies.”

The trio turns as one, their neon windbreaker jogger sets swishing with the movement.

“Oh, Jagger, dear. What a morning it is,” Mrs. Shepley says. She’s the tallest of them, and still, she barely reaches my bicep. But don’t let her height trick you into thinking she’s not a total ball-buster. If you ask her, she’ll tell you that God made her pint size because he didn’t think the world could handle her if she was taller than five-five. As with a lot of things she says, I just smile and nod. Sometimes I laugh, because the three of them are nothing if not ridiculous.

And I mean that in the best way. It’s hard to take them seriously when every single day they wear some kind of coordinating athleisure. Lately, they’ve really been into neon.

“I didn’t know they made a neon green that color.” I tip my chin toward Mrs. Matthews windbreaker.

She beams at me, tugging out the side of her lightweight jacket as if to showcase it better. “It’s called ecto cooler.”

“Like Ghostbusters?” I slide my hand over my mouth to smother the urge to laugh.

Mrs. Matthews gives Mrs. Weatherby what can only be called a stank side eye. “See, Martha? I told you people would know the reference.”

“You have to stop buying things you see on that damned app, Trixie. One of these times, you’re gonna get taken for a ride, and I don’t want to hear any complaining,” Mrs. Weatherby says, her nose in the air.

“Oh, I’ll get taken for a ride, alright,” Mrs. Matthews says with a laugh.

I’m pretty sure we moved from movies to something else entirely. Time to move this conversation to safer waters. I shuffle back a step when someone settles against the wall next to me. I vaguely recognize him from the pizza joint down the road. I offer him a polite nod and he returns it without a word.

“Pull it together, Trixie,” Mrs. Shepley says with a long-suffering sigh, like she’s uttered the exact phrase a few times this morning already.

It’s all a ruse really. The three of them are thick as thieves. Spending their mornings together every day for as long as I’ve been here. They’re funny, and they give each other shit almost as often as they spill tea. In fact, I’m not convinced the three of them don’t run the Rosewood gossip account online.

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