Page 34 of Your Place or Mine

“If the shoe fits. Stomping around like the town sheriff in a spaghetti western. Growling at Lydia like she’s the villain in some slow-burn soap opera. You’d think you were protecting national secrets instead of an outdated jukebox and a leaky beer tap.”

“She’s not exactly subtle,” I said, sipping. “You’re all floating in here on a cloud of glitter and ambition like this town’s just waiting to be Instagrammed.”

“Spare me,” she huffed. “I’m leaving on Monday. But before I go, I want to ensure you understand something.”

“Can’t wait.”

She stepped in closer, practically toe-to-toe now, and lowered her voice. “Lydia’s my best friend. She’s been through hell and still wakes up every morning trying to build something good. You don’t get to tear her down just because you don’t like change.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So, she sends her friend to fight her battles?”

“No,” Melanie snapped. “She’s too damn classy for that. I, however, am not. Which is why I’m here.”

I set my coffee down. “You always this aggressive before lunch?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You think you’re funny. But here’s the thing…Iwillcome back if I hear even awhisperthat you’re treating her like trash.”

“Oh, I’m trembling.”

“You should be.” She stabbed her finger toward me again, poking my chest. “If I get so much as a hint that you’re being anything less than a gentleman, I will drive four hours back here, and I will take you apart with a can of dry shampoo and a borrowed wine cork, bit by ever-loving bit.”

Okay, a little brutal.

I stared at her.

She stared right back.

And then I smiled. I couldn’t help it.

“You practice that speech in the car?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. Just glared harder. “Don’t test me, flannel boy.”

Before I could toss another smartass remark at her, the front door banged openagain, and Drew walked in, eyebrows raised and brows knit like he’d just missed a fistfight and was disappointed about it.

Melanie spun around and crashed right into him.

“Whoa—” he caught her by the shoulders. “Where’s the fire?”

“Behind the bar,” she muttered. “But it’s all yours now.”

“I’m not an it,” I shouted back.

“Prove me wrong.” She gave me one last withering look and stormed out, ponytail bouncing with indignation.

Drew watched her go, then turned back to me slowly. “What the hell did you do?”

“Breathed,” I muttered, lifting my coffee again.

He leaned against the counter. “You do have a way with women.”

“She’s leaving Monday.”

He smirked. “She’s got a point, though. You’re wound up tighter than a drum. You gonna keep snapping at everyone who wants to make things better around here?”

“This town doesn’t need sparkly paint and murals.”

“No, but it wouldn’t kill you to sayhiwithout sounding like a warning siren.”

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