Page 5 of There’s Trouble Brewing

Mark kept swimming, trying to lose himself in the motion, in the clarity he’d always found in the water. But her image persisted. Every lap brought him back to the same questions, to the same pull that left him more unsettled than any swift water rescue ever did.

Mark slowed his pace, feeling the welcome burn in his muscles. He floated on his back, eyes on the stars, the water’s cool embrace unable to drown out his confusion. It was too much like his old life—one moment, everything was calm, and the next, he was in danger of being swept away.

He made his way to the shore, the tension between duty and desire still twisting inside him. The night closed in, wrapping him in uncertainty and the stark, undeniable truth that something had shifted with Emily’s arrival, and he was afraid he wasn’t going to be able to ignore it.

Mark pulled himself from the water, droplets glistening like stars on his skin. He toweled off and took a long, hard look at the lake, trying to absorb the peace it usually gave him. But tonight, it seemed Emily had stolen some of thatpeace, replacing it with a restless energy he couldn’t shake off. He climbed back into his truck, the steering wheel cold under his hands, mirroring the chill in his bones.

As he navigated the winding roads back to his home, the streets of Faith Valley were deserted. The dim glow of streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, adding to the eerie stillness of the evening. Mark parked his car and lingered for a moment, contemplating the unexpected twists and turns his life had taken.

Inside his house, the silence was overwhelming. The small apartment felt even smaller tonight—like it couldn’t contain the conflict inside him. Mark flicked on the lights and made his way into the kitchen. He pulled out some old Chinese food and ate standing up. Every bite tasted like nothing.

He let the remnants of dinner sit abandoned on the counter as he moved mechanically through his nightly routine, each task tainted with thoughts of Emily. His nightly shower, which always helped clear his head, didn’t work as planned. The hot water cascaded over him, soothing yet doing little to wash away the growing confusion about Emily. He wrapped a towel around his torso and then pulled out his toothbrush.

As he brushed his teeth, he caught his reflection in the mirror—tired eyes staring back at him. “You’re looking old, Officer,” he chastised himself. “You need to figure out a way to let this go before she gets the best of you.”

He threw his toothbrush in a drawer and slammed it shut with frustration. He slipped on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt before moving into the corner of his living room where his favorite chair awaited. The leather was cracked but welcoming and familiar, and he hoped it would be enough to settle him.

He reached for the old photo album beside him on thetable, the cover warm under his hands. Mark let it fall open, the pages a timeline of everything he’d been once and would never be again.

The pictures were worn and creased; edges bent from countless revisits. Faces of his brothers in arms and in the water stared back at him. Their smiles were wide and reckless, back when the risk felt like an old friend and not the adversary it became.

He traced the images with calloused fingertips, letting them pull him into memories he cherished but also resented. Each one told a story, a victory or loss, all tied to the life he thought he would live forever until one fateful rescue stole that life away. One bum leg later, he was forced to medically retire. His hand went instinctively to the scar on his leg. He flinched, not from the injury itself but from the emotional toll it took on him. He ran his fingers over it, the ridged skin more familiar than comforting. It spoke to him, a constant voice whispering of vulnerability, pain, and all the things that could go wrong if he let them.

And then he thought of Emily—her image intruding like an uninvited guest at a funeral—but instead of sorrow, it brought something else. It tangled with the other images, refusing to be just a face among faces. Mark felt the confusion creep back in, as stubborn and undeniable as the scar on his leg.

He set the album aside, but Emily’s face remained. It mingled with his memories, with the old battles and the fear of new obstacles. Mark leaned back, closing his eyes in an effort to block her out, but it didn’t work. His old life demanded one kind of courage, but this—this was different. It was the fear of losing something before he even had it, of opening himself up to the unknown and getting hurt all over again. That wasn’t something he was interested in.

Yet, as the night deepened and the silence in his apartmentgrew louder, Mark knew that avoiding Emily wasn’t possible. He was just going to have to keep it strictly professional and ignore the attraction he felt for her.

With a sigh, Mark stood up and moved toward his bedroom. “I’m just tired,” he tried to tell himself as he climbed into bed and slipped the covers up to his neck. But deep down, he knew it was more than just physical exhaustion.

He sent up a silent prayer and turned out the lights. Try as he might, though, sleep was elusive. He lay staring at his ceiling fan circling slowly above him. The image of Emily’s smile—the one she wore so effortlessly and which seemed to challenge him—took center stage in his mind again. Emily’s laughter echoed faintly in his mind, tempting him to give in to the attraction he wanted to deny.

“You’re getting too caught up,” he muttered to himself with frustration. His own rules were clear: keep things professional; nothing romantic, no matter what. But there was something about Emily’s fun-loving and quirky demeanor that challenged those rules. She was like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve but couldn’t stop thinking about. He wasn’t ready to dive in, but he wasn’t walking away either. Not yet.

Chapter Three

Emily moved between the polished counters and set of steaming espresso machines, explaining the craft like an artist in a studio while the three new hires watched with doubtful eyes. “It’s all about speed and precision,” she said, her voice carrying over the music that Sue and Bryan had picked out.

As she watched them work, she noted that speed was not on the menu for them. Neither was foam art or smooth shots of espresso. Their half-hearted nods told her that much. She ran through her instructions once more, only to catch whispered complaints that soured the air.

Nancy huffed, giving a frustrated look to Emily. “Why do we have to have this music on?”

Emily forced a grin, though inwardly, the irritation nipped at her. “Music stays. Customers like it. You’ll learn to like it, too.”

“I’m not sure I’ll like anything about this,” Nancy grumbled.

Emily pretended not to hear and kept her smile intact. They’d come around. She’dmake sure of it.

She moved behind the counter, flipping her black hair out of her eyes as she showed them the machine’s workings for what felt like the hundredth time. “Finesse and patience offer the best results,” Emily told them, demonstrating a silky foam.

“How do you do that? It seemed to materialize from thin air,” Sue stated in awe.

“You’ll get it soon enough,” Emily told the other woman as she finished putting the foam on the top of the espresso.

Emily continued to work with them for another hour, but she could tell she wasn’t getting anywhere. The front of the shop bustled with delivery workers and local teens eager to sneak a peek at the new coffee shop, and the noise made it feel like they were practicing in the middle of a carnival. Emily was used to this, but she could tell it was distracting to her trainees.

“You guys look ready for a break,” Emily shouted over the racket, sensing the lost cause as the three stood still like deer in headlights.

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