Page 1 of Hold the Line

Chapter One

Phoebe

Notmanypeoplewereawake this early in Sugar Brush. The quiet on Main Street was broken only by the crunch of my boots on the salted sidewalk and the faint hum of an old truck somewhere in the distance. This time of day, before the sun rose to kiss the sky, I was the only soul around. Sometimes, when I was in a whimsical mood, I liked to imagine this whole town was mine. The queen of an empty kingdom…or maybe just its overworked baker.

I yawned, fumbling to braid my hair while I walked. Multitasking this early could be a dangerous endeavor, but I refused to show up to work looking like I’d just rolled out of bed, even if it was painfully accurate.

I’d bet there were only a handful of bakers who weren’t morning people, and I was one of them. I’d tried to train my body to rise with the sun, but my body was a rebel without a cause, and the sound of my alarm going off each day hurt.

As I reached Sugar Rush’s baby pink door, which never failed to make me smile, the low growl of an engine made me pause. A silver truck I didn’t recognize rolled down Main Street, its headlights cutting through the darkness. I turned, raising a hand to wave because that was what we did around here. Greeting my neighbors was an instinct born from a lifetime of living in a small town.

If the driver returned my wave, I couldn’t tell, but I was curious where they were going. It wasn’t often I had company on my way to work.

The truck continued past, slow enough to make my stomach twist. I brushed off the strange sense of unease—I really needed to lay off the true crime podcasts—but still hesitated before turning my key in the lock. My little kingdom suddenly didn’t feel so quiet.

“Who are you, and where are you going?” I whispered to the fading taillights.

It was none of my business, obviously, but at heart, I was a Nosy Nellie. Half the reason I loved owning a bakery café was it serving as a town hub. I spent my days baking, serving coffee and treats, and soaking up little snippets of other people’s lives. I’d never spread what I heard further than my older sister. Hannah and I passed the latest Sugar Brush news back and forth to each other like a cold in preschool, but it ended with us.

With no answers forthcoming, I let myself into Sugar Rush and filled my lungs with air that always seemed laced with sugar. It did more to wake me up than a strong cup of coffee. Oh, I’d have one or two of those too, but for now, I flipped on the lights on my way to the kitchen.

My favorite place on earth besides my family’s ranch.

The air was even sweeter back here, and the stainless steel surfaces gleamed. I wasn’t the most organized person on the planet, but when it came to my kitchen, I didn’t play around. Messes were never left “for tomorrow.”

I stashed my coat and bag in my tiny office—which was little more than a desk, computer, and filing cabinet tucked in the corner—and grabbed my favorite apron. I had a small collection, but this one reminded me of an old-fashioned housewife’s dress, full-skirted with cute floral embroidery.

Sucking in another breath, I pulled my frilly apron over my head, checked my baking list, and got to work.

“Hey! What’ll it be?”

The line had been steady since I’d flipped the “open” sign. We opened on the early side for the town-living ranch hands headed off to work. Sugar Rush was a little pink for all the cowboys we attracted. Then again, we were the only game around besides fast food, and, well…we were heads and tails above what they had to offer.

The rugged man at the front of the line blushed scarlet and averted his gaze to scan the bakery case. “I’ll take a coffee, black, and one of your muffins. You pick the one you think I’ll like. If that’s all right.”

“I can do that,” I agreed, mentally cataloging the flavors we were serving today and landing on the one I thought this virtual stranger would enjoy. “We have a carrot cake muffin this morning. There’s a dollop of cream cheese frosting in the center. Sound good?”

He swallowed, still looking over at the case. “Sounds good…Phoebe.”

I grinned, unsurprised he knew my name. He’d been part of a crew coming into the shop for some time now. Not a local, and I surely didn’t know his name, but his face was familiar.

He handed me his payment after I rang him up, and I passed his order over to Camille, my barista slash right-hand woman. I took note of his friends nudging him from behind, quietly cajoling him, and braced myself for what I had a feeling was coming.

I passed him his change and offered another wide smile. “Well, all right. It’ll be ready for you at the end of the counter in just a minute.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed his nape and finally aimed his eyes at me. “Would it be possible for me to have your number so I can take you out sometime?”

The first time a customer had asked me out a couple years ago, I’d froze, and in my shock, I’d given him my number. That hadn’t ended so well. Since then, I’d prepared myself for these situations. It happened more than I wanted, but I’d learned the kind of men who came in for my treats—men who worked long, hard days, doing backbreaking labor, often far away from home—liked a soft woman who could cook and surrounded herself in frills and pink. It wasn’tmethey were after, but the idea of me.

I leaned closer, dropping my voice. He seemed nice. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass him. “My personal policy is not to date customers. Thank you so much for asking, though. I’m very flattered.”

His already ruddy cheeks burst into flames. If I’d been the slightest bit interested, I might’ve given him a chance just for that, but he didn’t stir anything in me.

“Oh. I-I…all right. I’m just gonna be going now—”

The guy behind him threw his arm around his shoulders. He was bigger, rougher, and had a meanness in his pale-blue eyes I instantly didn’t like. “What’s this now, Thomas? You’re giving up just like that?”

Thomas had been quiet and respectful, but his friend, who I also recognized from his big mouth and grating swagger, instantly put me on alert.

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