Page 6 of Faking It With the Single Dad

“We agreed on a number. That’s the deal.”

He shrugs. “That was before I factored in some additional risks. Your land’s condition isn’t exactly prime, Blackwood. You should’ve seen this coming.”

“Risks?” I snap. “The only risk here is you trying to screw me over. I’ve seen the reports. The property’s worth every dime we agreed on.”

“Look, I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying nonsense.”

We go back and forth for what feels like an hour, though it’s probably only twenty minutes. By the end of it, my patience is gone, and the deal is still nowhere close to being finalized.

“Let me make this clear,” I say as I stand up. “We’re sticking to the original terms. If you want to back out, fine. But don’t waste my time.”

He looks annoyed, but doesn’t stop me as I walk out the door. I’m fuming as I climb into my car. My mind spins with frustration, but my body demands caffeine. I need coffee—now.

Thankfully, I spot a small shop on the corner with a cheerful sign that reads “Bella’s Place” under a brewing coffee logo. With a sharp turn into the lot, I park and head inside, but there’s another surprise waiting for me: a petite, redheaded surprise.

Chapter Three

Bella

Ifreeze when I see him standing there, tall and unmistakable, in the doorway of my shop: Ryan Blackwood, Caleb’s older brother. The brother I never thought I’d see again—at least not here, not like this.

What is he doing here?

I’d heard he was back in town. Marlene mentioned it in passing, as she often does when she has news worth sharing, but I hadn’t expected to actually run into him. Ryan Blackwood isn’t the kind of person you bump into on a normal day. No, he’s too arrogant for that. He’s the type who thinks himself above mingling with the rest of us mere mortals.

He’s taller than I remembered, his frame lean but solid. The stretch of muscles beneath his shirt is hard to miss, and for a split second, I wonder when exactly he had the time to trade his scrawny build for…this.

His eyes lock onto mine, and there’s no mistaking that he recognizes me. I catch a flicker of something in his expression, though he quickly masks it with that infuriatingly cool, unreadable face of his.

I force myself to snap out of it. No way am I giving him the satisfaction of seeing me fazed.

“Ryan,” I say as I school my features into what I hope looks like polite disinterest. “What brings you here?”

His lips curve into a faint smirk, and a familiar irritation burns in my chest. “I could ask you the same thing,” he says, stepping farther into the café. His gaze sweeps over the place like he’s sizing it up or judging it.

I ignore the comment and gesture toward a nearby table.

“You might as well sit, if you’re staying.”

He hesitates for a moment. It’s almost like he thinks sitting down in a place like this is beneath him, but he eventually lowers himself into the chair. “Nice place,” he says, though his tone makes it hard to tell if he means it.

I bite back a snort and busy myself behind the counter. It’s unnervingly quiet. With him being my only customer at the moment, I’m all too aware of his eyes following my every move.

“What can I get you?” I ask without bothering to meet his gaze.

“Coffee,” he says.

I don’t press for details. He doesn’t strike me as the type to care whether his coffee comes with caramel drizzle or oat milk foam. Instead, I focus on pouring the brew and ignore how unsteady my hands feel.

As I set the cup down before him, he clears his throat. “How is the café doing?”

“Why do you care?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

He doesn’t flinch. If anything, he looks amused. “Just making conversation.”

I cross my arms and lean against the counter. “You seem more concerned about the café than your nephew.”

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