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I shoved away from him, quick to slip through the door and slam it shut, fingers frantic as I worked the deadbolt.

Never before had I been physically afraid of Dane. Was I terrified of him? Yes. But I was terrified of the kind of control he’d always wielded. The disgust that had only grown in his eyes with each year that had passed. The hardness that had stamped out his spirit.

I had no idea what lengths he would go to keep that power.

3

Kale

At a red light, I drummed my thumbs on the steering wheel and glanced down at the clock on the dashboard screen.

Six fifteen.

I scrubbed a palm over my face.

Early.

Way early.

But I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’d spent the entire night tossing and turning. Nothing but a jumble of nerves.

Anxiety and excitement penetrating all the way to my bones.

Like a kid on his first trip to an amusement park who was terrified to get strapped into the ride.

Well aware the coaster was going to twist and swerve and flip. That it might jerk and jar and hurt.

Still, I knew it was well worth any amount of pain.

Blowing out a breath, I searched along the street that I was traveling.

Fairview—right smack dab in the oldest part of town.

The sidewalks were laid with old, gray bricks, and massive trees grew from planters, their lush branches outstretched and shading the two- and three-story historic buildings that housed businesses and apartments.

Colorful fabric awnings jutted over the doors on the bottom floors, and big windows showcased what was to offer inside.

I was up a couple blocks from Pepper’s Pies, the diner Rynna ran and the trendy hotel Broderick Wolfe and his company had brought to Gingham Lakes.

The two of them had been like a straight shot to the economy. Jolting things into action.

New shops, restaurants, and bars had been popping up all over the place, much the same as the revitalization over on Macaber Street where Ollie’s bar and my loft building were located.

My new office was just up the road, to the left on McAlister where a bunch of new private-practice medical offices had sprung up in the midst of the city’s rejuvenation.

Admittedly, I wasn’t all that familiar with everything Fairview had to provide this far down the street.

But there it was, calling out like a beacon sent to save my ass, written on one of those rustic chalkboard signs that had been set up outside a small shop.

Coffee.

Hell yes.

When the light turned green, I accelerated through the intersection, quick to jerk my car into one of the open parallel spots lining the curb right out front.

I hopped out and strode toward the coffee shop, glancing up at the mint-green awning, the name scrawled across the top in a flowy font.

A Drop of Hope.

The logo beside it was a coffee cup tipped to its side, a drop of coffee falling free.

A bell dinged from above when I swung open the door.

It was instant. The strike of my favorite aroma.

That bold scent of a fresh brew.

Damn, if it didn’t almost make me lightheaded, my mouth watering with anticipation.

I blamed my addiction on med school.

My stomach was quick to catch up to the reaction, rumbling a greedy sound when I caught onto the subtler aroma—rich cream and decadent sugar—something sweet baking in an oven.

Score.

I stepped farther into the quaint shop. A bunch of round and square tables with mismatched chairs were set up in the open space.

Bookshelves, which were filled with a mess of knickknacks and games and worn hardbound books, lined the back wall.

The place rustic and quaint.

Of course, none of that was what captivated me. My attention homed in on the huge display case attached to the front counter.

Every kind of cupcake and muffin a man could hope to imagine teased from behind the glass.

Behind the counter were about ten different industrial-sized silver coffee urns.

Heaven.

I’d just stumbled upon my new favorite place.

Big chalkboards hung from the ceiling, and I looked up, checking out the specialty coffee drinks and flavors they had to offer.

Movement rustled from the back kitchen before the swinging door flew open.

A tiny gasp echoed through the air.

For a beat, I froze. Somehow knowing it was familiar. That I’d heard it before.

My attention, which had been wrapped up in the menu, was suddenly completely otherwise occupied.

Swore, my eyes had to have doubled in size.

No fucking way.

The same girl I couldn’t get off my mind since Friday night, the one I didn’t think I’d ever see again, stood in front of me.

All flowing red hair and pouty lips and freckled nose.

Body as mouthwatering as the cupcakes displayed in the case.

Both times I’d walked away from her that night had left me with this odd sense of regret. Something about her had just . . . struck me. Made me want to get inside her pretty little head just about as badly as I wanted to get inside her tight little body.


Tags: A.L. Jackson Fight for Me Romance