Page 4 of Unexpected Love
“How old’s the baby now?” Mac asks.
“She’s two. I haven’t seen her in a while, but they came in last night and are at my apartment waiting on me. I’m excited to see her. I bet she’s grown like a weed.” It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen Charlie in person. The last time I went home to South Georgia, I vowed I’d never go back.
Nate snickers. “I never thought I’d see the day, but you kind of sound like a dad.”
A clatter of coffee cups punctuates his joke. The barista’s delivering orders, face blank but for the slightestfrown as she sets white steaming mugs of goodness on the table.
“I still remember the Cal that would drag a date behind my camper in the middle of a party. Somehow, I don’t think you’re the same guy.”
Laughter erupts around the table, and I duck my blazing cheeks. Could they not call me out in front of her? “Yeah. Lotta things have changed since then.”
“Where’d you move? Are you still in Newman?” Nate asks.
I shake my head. “No, down in Senoma. I kept getting stationed out on that end of the county. Rented an apartment, and then they started this county rotation thing.”
“Rotation?” Mac frowns.
“Yeah. It sucks being the new guy and constantly having to work with a new crew.”
“Seems like that’d be hard to settle in to,” Thoren says. “But how is Senoma? I haven’t been out that way in years.”
I imagine not. Since he and Kylie started dating, they’ve pretty much been inseparable. “Senoma is nice. Smaller than here. I’m liking it, for the most part. Except for the new neighbor. Not sure how that’s gonna shake out. But at least with my sister being here, I’ll know someone in town now.”
Conversation shifts, and they fall into a discussion of things happening around my old station. Their tales highlight how much I’ve missed in the few months I’ve been away.
My phone pings with a text from Dani.What time will you be home?
I dial her number, and it goes straight to voicemail. I get an immediate reply.Sorry, baby’s napping.
I text back that I’m on my way and slam therest of my coffee.
“Sorry, guys. I’ve got to bail on you. Next round’s on me.”
I leave to a chorus of “Yeah, right.” But they’re back to telling stories and laughing by the time I push through the door. I’d hoped one day I wouldn’t feel like an outsider. But maybe that’s partly my fault. I quit hanging out with them when the embarrassment of not being able to pay my turn at the bar got to be too much. I didn’t want to stiff anyone. But when they were partying the most, I was helping my sister with her bills, trying my best to help her and Charlie get on their feet.
I swing a leg over my restored Harley and push away everything except the fact that they are at home waiting on me. And pray that the bike ride home will help erase the last of this shitty morning.
Chapter 2
Jules
On any given day, the Daily Brew is filled with all types of people. There’s the post-gym rush; those are the ones I don’t understand. How does anyone do anythingbeforehaving coffee? There’s the business crew that rolls through in a mad dash. There are the stay-at-home moms who stop by after school drop-off.
Then there are the other regulars we have. Those who don’t work a regular day-job schedule and just pop in. The crew of blue-haired ladies who come once a week for tea and cards. The work-from-home crew that will set up station and stay for hours on end. Today, there’s a crew of firemen huddled around a table.
I may or may not have watched the one guy, Cal, a second too long as he strode out the door, even though the conversation at the table announced that he’s a total player. With that jaw, those shoulders, and that ass, I can see why.
His face is familiar, but they all are. Newman is large enough that you can see people every day and still not know who they are.
Nothing like nearby Senoma. A small, main-street kind of place where I’m starting my life over.
I glance out the front windows to the courthouse at the center of the court square. The busy sidewalk teems with people on the move, and the majority stop in for a to-go cup as they pass. With any luck, my new shop will host this same level of activity.
My watch pings with an incoming email notification as I deliver tea service to two of our regulars.
“Here’s your Earl Grey,” I say, quickly setting the service on a two-topper café-style arrangement.
The email could just be random spam, or it could be a shipping update. But it could also be the message I’ve been waiting on.
