“Where to?”
“Eden Coffee.”
Griffin’s sister’s business. A spike of nerves hit, but I nodded and followed Pops out of the station. Like our last lunch date, we had to park off Main and walk.
“It’s cute,” I said, taking in the green building.
Eden Coffee was emblazoned in gold letters on the coffee shop’s front door. The black-paned windows gleamed in the June sunshine. A chalkboard sandwich board stood on the sidewalk, the swirly lettering outlining today’s specials. Even from beyond the door, the scent of coffee, vanilla, sugar and butter filled my nose.
“Now I’m really hungry.”
“You haven’t been here yet?” he asked.
“I’ve been sticking to coffee at home or at the station.” Hoping a few encounters with the officers in the break room would give us a chance to bond. “And I didn’t realize they had lunch.”
“Lyla makes amazing food. Sunday morning, let’s meet here for breakfast. Her pastries are the reason I’m getting a gut.”
I scoffed and smacked his barrel of a chest. “Please.”
He chuckled, opening the door for me. A bell jingled overhead, and the moment we stepped inside, I nearly collided with Frank.
“Hey there.” Frank beamed, pulling me into a quick hug. “How’s it going, cutie?”
“Good.” I smiled. “Pops and I were just going to eat lunch.”
“Same here. I just walked through the door and was searching for a table.”
“Join us,” Pops said, motioning toward the counter.
I moved to follow them, taking in the restaurant. The interior was painted the same shade as the exterior, giving it a moody, modern feel. Beside the counter were glass cases of pastries and muffins and other baked goods. There were a handful of wooden tables along the walls, all but one of them occupied.
My steps faltered as I spotted a handsome face at the table closest to the counter.
Griffin was wearing the same clothes he’d been in this morning at my house. His faded hat still covered his unruly hair. He was sitting with two beautiful women. One had brown hair the same shade as Griff’s, twisted into a knot. She wore a green apron. Lyla. I recognized her face from the family picture at his house.
The other woman’s long blond hair hung in straight, shiny strands over her shoulders. Her strappy tank top showcased her lean arms and her jeans were skintight. She placed her hand on Griffin’s forearm and a zing of jealousy raced through my veins.
I tore my eyes away, forcing my feet across the room. We were casual. We were temporary. But we hadn’t talked about being exclusive. I’d just assumed that since he’d spent each night in my bed, it was the only bed. Was he dating her? Was this why he was so busy? I kept my gaze aimed forward, refusing to look.
My stomach twisted and whatever hunger I’d had earlier vanished as I followed Pops and Frank through the cafe.
“Hey, Covie.” Lyla stood from the table, rounding the corner to stand behind the counter.
“Hi, Lyla.” Frank waved.
“Frank.” She said his name but kept her gaze on Pops.
“Lyla, it’s a special day.” Pops gave her a wide smile. “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Winslow Covington. She gets to experience the magic of your food today.”
“Hello!” Lyla smiled, her blue eyes sparkling as she extended a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. My dad’s been talking about you constantly.”
But not her brother. Because I was a secret. The blonde was not.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” I shook her hand, doing my best to pretend her brother wasn’t at the table within earshot.
Pretending was pointless.
Griffin’s gaze burned into my spine.
“What are you having today?” Lyla asked.
The three of us ordered the special, and after Pops paid, we turned from the counter with a numbered table card.
Griffin stood and dropped some cash on the table.
The blonde stood too, cozying up to his side.
Their arms brushed.
A green haze spread across my vision and my jaw clenched so tight I doubted I’d be able to unlock it and eat the chicken salad sandwich I’d ordered. I had no right to be jealous, yet here I stood, fuming. Not just at Griffin and the fact that clearly he had some sort of relationship with that woman and hadn’t bothered to mention it. But with myself.
Once again, fooled by a handsome man.
“Hi, Griffin.” Pops walked over. “How are you today?”
“Fine, Covie. You?”
“Famished. Lyla can usually fix that problem though.”
“I came here for the same reason.” Griffin grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze flicked to Frank and his expression flattened. “Frank.”
“Eden,” Frank muttered, then walked away to claim the last remaining empty table.
What the hell? What was I missing?
“Here’s your coffee, Covie.” Lyla came over carrying a cup balanced on a saucer. “Want me to put it at your table?”
“Oh, I’ll take it.” He lifted it from her and smiled, his attention completely on Griffin and Lyla.
The blonde glared daggers at Pops like Griffin had at Frank.
Definitely missing something.
Silence stretched awkward and thick as Pops lifted his coffee cup to his lips, ignoring the blonde’s existence.
Finally, Griffin cleared his throat and met my gaze for the first time. “Winslow Covington, this is Emily Nelsen.”
Emily Nelsen.
The reporter.
Well, damn. This just got better.
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” I lied with a fake smile.
“Same.” She leaned in closer to Griffin.
He stiffened but didn’t move away. Bastard.
“We’d better claim our table,” Pops said. “Have a good one, Griff.”
“You too.” His gaze met mine for a split second, then darted away as he headed for the door.
Emily scurried after him.
Don’t stare. Don’t stare.
Griffin was just a hookup. A casual fling. A fling that was very, very over now.
I’d mourn the loss of sex and distraction later, so I followed Pops to join Frank.
The front wall of the coffee shop was made entirely of windows and beyond the glass was the sidewalk and Main. It was impossible to miss Emily walking to Griffin’s truck.
“The goddamn reporter,” I muttered. “Really?”
Why, of all the people, did Griffin have to be with the fucking reporter who’d smeared my name before even meeting me? I gave up any attempt not to stare and watched their every move.
Griffin said something to her, his expression stern. That didn’t mean much. He often wore a serious face. It was rare that he’d smile and laugh. But he had a few times. With me.
He leaned in closer to Emily, speaking low. The pout on her face said she didn’t exactly like what he had to say.
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him pathetic, pleading eyes.
He shook his head, his shoulders slumping. Then he gave her a small nod before walking to his truck and climbing inside.
She hurried to the passenger door, getting in with a smug grin aimed toward the coffee shop. No doubt she could see me staring through the glass. Bitch.