Page 56 of Broken Pact

I crush the inside of my cheek between my molars. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I don’t appreciate the love bombing either. I debate on what to reply back—if anything—when she sends another text.

Naomi: Let’s get together. Coffee?

I glance around the cafe, paranoia raising the hair on the back of my neck. I don’t see her though, so it’s probably just a coincidence.

Naomi: Or I could come over tonight.

“Fancy seeing you here, Jagger. You wouldn’t happen to be waiting to bring a coffee to a certain baker, would you?”

Mrs. Matthews' voice pulls me from my phone. I slip it in my pocket and turn to greet the best friend trio.

“Mornin’ ladies,” I greet them with a wide smile. I tip my chin toward their matching outfits today. “I’m loving the orange today, gotta say.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Mrs. Weatherby smirks, smoothing a hand over the front of her short-sleeved windbreaker.

“Don’t play coy with us. Martha told us all about what she walked in on a couple days ago,” Mrs. Matthews says.

The way she leans forward and whispers it like it was something salacious cracks me up. I chuckle and rake my hand through my hair.

“I happen to like sweets, what can I say?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ll bet you have quite the sweet tooth, don’t you,” Mrs. Weatherby murmurs, her gaze assessing as she looks at me.

Mrs. Matthews plants a hand on her hip and looks at her friend. “Since when did you start going to Avalon Falls for your desserts, Martha?”

Mrs. Weatherby sniffs, tilting her face so she has to look down her nose at Mrs. Matthews. Which is comical for too many reasons, but the first of which is because they’re exactly the same height. Also, have I mentioned their penchant for wearing matching tracksuits.

“We have to support our own,” Mrs. Weatherby says.

“Even if it is outside of Rosewood,” Mrs. Shepley says primly.

I’ve been here for a decade, and still, these small town politics continue to surprise me. There’s big competition between Rosewood and pretty much every surrounding town. Some were born out of rival MCs, but not all of it. Most of it came from decade-old spats about recipe theft, girlfriend stealing, and land sabotaging.

“Well, I want to support her too. Why didn’t you tell me?” Mrs. Matthews glares at her friends.

“We did,” Mrs. Weatherby deadpans. “But you were three margaritas in though.”

Mrs. Matthews raises her coffee cup in cheers with a laugh. “Those were some damn good drinks. Went down like Kool-Aid. You ever had a margarita before, Jagger?”

I laugh and drag my palm over my chin. “I’ve had a few before. Not really my thing though.”

Mrs. Matthews shakes her head, a grin widening across her face. “I just found this new recipe for spicy ones with jalapeños! I’ll bring you one tomorrow morning.”

Mrs. Shepley tsks with a playful roll of her eyes. “He’s not going to drink at eight o’clock in the morning, Trixie.”

Mrs. Matthews just shrugs and flips her hair at her friend. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, Helen. Stop being such a stick in the mud.”

“Jagger, Coraline,” the barista yells, placing two drinks on the counter.

“Hey, thanks, man.” I nod my appreciation to the barista, and he flashes me a tired smile.

I grab both drinks, and the second my hand wraps around her drink, I hear the trio of women behind me murmuring. I clamp down my urge to smirk. If this doesn’t work, I’m gonna have to toss her over my shoulder and parade her down Main Street.

Actually . . . that’s not a bad idea. Amusement flows like lazy lava through me at the mental image.

I pop a straw in her iced latte, leaving the wrapper on the exposed end, and turn around to face Rosewood’s gossip queens.

“It looks like you might’ve grabbed the wrong drink there, Jagger,” Mrs. Weatherby says with a knowing grin.

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