Page 3 of Tempt Our Fate

“She runs the restaurant next door,” the guy from outside pipes up, “and brought some food to welcome us.”

“Technically, it’s a bakery and coffee shop,” I add. “And I brought pastries.”

Their eyes light up, the three men making their way toward me. I open the pink box for them, loving how distracted they are by the treats inside. The guy from outside joins them, and they all pick something to eat. A satisfied smirk crosses my lips as they take a bite, and I relish their sighs of approval.

“I was excited to hear we might have new neighbors.” I wasn’t in the slightest, but they don’t need to know that. “I wasn’t aware this space was for sale.”

One of them nods, opening his mouth to talk despite his mouthful of food. “Sure was. The deal went through last week.”

Shit. Those out-of-state assholes really did sell the space to someone else, despite my inquiries.

“Interesting,” I squeak, plastering a fake smile on my face when one of them narrows their eyes on me. “So happy to have you here,” I add for pleasantries.

“We’re only here to oversee the grand opening,” he explains.

Before I can get a word in, the guy from outside joins the conversation. “Yeah, here to tell Mr. Hunter that there’s no way this is going to work. People here don’t have good taste.” His eyes bulge, like he halfway feels sorry for the insult he just threw out. “No offense,” he adds.

“None taken,” I snap, quickly shutting the box. “Because your opinion is wrong.”

The air gets thick with tension—and not the good kind. The asshat from outside clears his throat uncomfortably. “It’s not that. I just meant—”

“Oh, I know what you meant.” I begin to back up. There’s no use for me to stay here and listen to these guys from the city who don’t know a thing about this town and the people in it. “It’s just that you’re very, very wrong, but that’s okay. We can’t always be right, can we?”

His mouth flops open. He looks like the fish in the big tanks at an aquarium I once visited as a kid. His mouth opens and closes as if he’s blowing bubbles into the water.

“Maybe this town isn’t for you,” I say, backing up toward the door—taking my pastries with me because they do not deserve even the smallest bites of my creations. “In fact, maybe this town isn’t for you and whomever this Mr. Hunter is. Maybe you could pass that info to—”

All of a sudden, I collide with something—or rather a someonethan a something.

I let out a yelp, trying to keep hold of the box in my hands so I don’t spill the remaining pastries all over the ground.

Turning around, I almost drop the box again when I see who is standing in front of me. He’s tall, nearly having to duck to get through the low doorframe. He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m really tired of us meeting like this,” he declares, his voice low but smooth. I hate the shiver that runs through my body at his cold but gravelly voice.

Now I’m the one who looks like a fish because I’m speechless that somehow, fate hates me enough to bring this guy into my life again.

And it only gets worse when he opens his mouth and says, “Pass what info to me, shortcake?”

3

CAMDEN

It’s beena long time since I’ve had a woman glare at me the way this local is staring at me right now. If looks could actually kill, she’d have me lying dead on the floor.

“I know it isn’t my charm that rendered you speechless,” I chide, wondering what kind of planets aligned to put her tragically back into my life once again. At least this time, she didn’t spill something all over me, unlike our previous two encounters. The first time we met was at my best friend Beck’s bachelor party, when she spilled beer all over me in some godforsaken local dive bar. The second was at Beck’s wedding, when I wound up covered in cupcake frosting. I could have gone my entire life without a third encounter.

“You’re Mr. Hunter?” she squeaks. Now that she’s gained her composure, she scurries away from me, putting a good chunk of distance between us. “Please don’t tell me you’re the one who bought this place,” she pleads.

“Please don’t tell me that me buying this gallery means I have to put up with you,” I retort.

Her eyes roll. Any other time, I’d be bothered by someone having the nerve to roll their eyes at me, but not with her.

“Why do I have such shitty karma?” she mutters, looking briefly over her shoulder at my business associates.

“I was just asking myself the same thing.” I let out a bored sigh, stepping around her and deeper into the gallery space. It doesn’t look like a lot right now, but tomorrow, two of my designers from Manhattan will fly in to get this space ready for our grand opening next weekend. I’d been told by every single person I spoke with, most of all by my parents, that I shouldn’t waste my time opening something in this town. It only made me want to make this work even more.

The last thing I expected was having to deal with the woman glaring up at me.

“Can you get on with what information you needed to pass on so I can go back to planning my opening?”

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