Chapter One
Mills
“Man,” Trent says with a laugh, "you schooled me."
"I told you." I chuckle, jumping off the rock wall, my feet landing against the cushy ground that I’ve just installed around it.
"I knew you were good, but…” Trent laughs, running a hand over his jaw. "You know, I've been working out every day for a year and still you killed me.”
“I've been doing this for twenty years,” I say, "so don't feel bad."
Trent grabs his water bottle and takes a drink as I head over to the gym owner and catch him up. "What do you think?" I ask Grayson, pointing to the now finished rock-wall.
"It looks incredible," he says, "and I have twenty guys coming tomorrow for a training session before you head out of town."
"Of course, looking forward to it."
"I'm so glad we were able to have you here. I feel like we won the gym owner lottery."
"Hey, it's my pleasure to help out my cousin. He raves about this place and this whole town."
"Yeah?" Grayson says. "Where do you live?"
"I live in Seattle, but I wouldn't mind getting a slower pace of life."
"Then you should think about moving out here. Though, something's in the water, every guy at this gym has gotten hitched over the last few years."
"Maybe it's not the water," I say. "Maybe it's something they're eating."
"Maybe," Grayson says.
"Well, what about you?" I ask. "You're single?"
He nods. "Yep, maybe one day I'll find my perfect person. But until then, I got this gym to run."
"I understand," I say. "Being a business owner myself has changed things. I’m home a lot more now and turns out, I don’t miss life on the road at all.”
Grayson nods. "What about tonight? Do you have any plans?"
“Trent asked me if I want to go out with him and Trista, but she's got some coworkers joining her and I'm honestly spent. I think I'm just going to go back to the hotel and call it a night. Maybe grab some food to go."
"There's a bunch of food trucks down at the water if you want to head that way,” Grayson suggests.
"Sounds good," I say. "I think first I need to go get something sweet across the street at the coffee shop. After that workout, I earned it.”
"All right. Well, have a good night, we'll see you in the morning."
A bunch of guys have just showed up at the gym, Trent's buddies who I've met from time to time when I've come and visited him. Most of them seem like they've just gotten off work and are getting in an hour of exercise before they head home.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Trent," I say, patting his back, "and thanks for the competition."
"Hardly," Trent says, chuckling. "But I'll see you in the morning. Okay? Trista is going to come too."
"Yeah?" I say, "That's awesome."
"Yeah, maybe there'll be some other women here too. Maybe you can meet somebody."
"What are you trying to say, Trent?" I ask, pulling on my jacket and grabbing my bag. It's full-on fall and the weather's turned. The leaves outside are red and yellow and there’s a chill in the air.
“Maybe Trista will bring a friend with her,” Trent says, "and you can meet a nice girl to move here and settle down with."
"I don't know if a nice girl is going to want to settle down with me. When they find out what I used to do for a living, they’ll think I'm too much of a risk."
I leave the gym and cross the street to the coffee shop I'd eyed earlier. I'm not tired and don't want to go to sleep in the hotel room right away. I'm feeling antsy in a way I haven't in a long time. Maybe Trent is onto something. The idea of settling down, finding a partner, doesn’t sound scary. In fact, it sounds like it’s about damn time.
I run a hand through my hair as I walk into the coffee shop, the sweet and bitter smells blending together. I scan the shop before making my way to the register and my eyes land on a woman who looks more than delicious.
She's sipping hot cocoa, a pile of books on the table around her, with a laptop open.
My heart skips a fucking beat. Finally, something to pick me up.
I head to the cash register, ready to buy a drink and then meet the woman of my dreams.
Mallory
Grading midterms is never fun, but being at my neighborhood coffee shop with my favorite hot cocoa in hand is making it slightly better. I take another sip before setting down the extra-large mug and running my eyes over the next term paper I need to grade. Hopefully this one will be more articulate than the last few I read.
I like being an economics professor at the local university. It's rewarding and interesting and fulfills me in all the ways I ever hoped a career would. But landing my dream job has been my life’s focus for 27 years. Well, maybe not exactly 27. I figure my first few years of life, I spent learning to walk and talk. But as soon as I settled on reading, I never looked back. Craving information and data was the way I made sense of a world that otherwise seemed chaotic.
I take another sip of the hot cocoa as the bells on the shop’s entrance jingle and a customer enters. He looks around the shop, taking in the space.
I've never seen him before but the moment our eyes lock, my belly flip-flops because he's not just some random guy looking for a cup of Joe. No, this man is gorgeous. Muscular, very fit, a silver fox who looks young at heart — he is wearing the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. He’s maybe in his early forties, with a good head of hair and a jawline that makes me all kinds of tingly.
I sit up straighter and consider what I'm wearing. Not too bad, one of my favorite dresses with pockets, of course. It’s the middle of fall, and the dress is black. I’ve wrapped an orange scarf around my neck, and painted my nails orange and black last night while watching Married At First Glance. I’m feeling very seasonal. And very glad I am not wearing ratty sweats like I rock at home.
The seat opposite me is empty and I have this insane inkling that as soon as this man orders his coffee, he's going to sit down there. And while reality TV habits might suggest otherwise, I’m not the kind of person who believes in fate or destiny. No, I'm a numbers girl through and through, fact checking and data analyzing, but there's something about him that makes me want to kick my chair out and offer him a seat. Not that I am that forward.
Turns out I don't need to be. He's walking over with a mug in his hand, lifting an eyebrow, pointing to the chair.
"May I?" he asks.
I nod silently, wishing and praying for what? I'm not sure. Maybe a chance?
"I'm Mills," he says, offering me his hand as he sits down.
I reach out and I shake it, and I have this insane desire to let our hands linger. My spine tingles and I lick my lips. He, however, has pressed his forefinger to his nose, tapping it once, then twice.
"What?” I ask, eyes widening and wiping at my nose. Oh my God. I groan, realizing I have whipped cream on my nose.
"Don't be embarrassed," he says, "I thought it looked cute."