Page 1 of Sugar & Shadows

Chapter 1

Sabrina

I’d once stopped a coup with nothing but a glare and silence. Tonight’s challenge, however, could prove to be a little more difficult.

But I had prepared myself to make polite chitchat with some small-town bachelor who probably owned flannel and enjoyed foraging for mushrooms in his spare time.

As I shut my car door, I took in the building. The Timberline Brewery was part barn, part warehouse, and it was wholly Maplewood, from the string lights to the greenery and the mural of maple trees painted on the side of the building.

Immediately, my stiletto sank into ice and mud. Eww. Figured I’d have to be here in January, the worst month to visit Vermont. There was little here but limited daylight, endless ice, and barren trees.

It was the kind of mental health break that would truly send me over the edge.

I straightened my black wool coat and hefted the strap of my bag. My armor was in place.

Heels.

Bag.

Scowl.

Except the protective gear got heavier every day. Carrying it into battle was wearing on me.

As I strode toward the massive glass doors, I caught a glimpse of my reflection, and a thrill shot through me. Good. I looked terrifying.

I’d rather be just about anywhere but here, but my mother had used the word concerned in that soft, lethal librarian tone, and the idea of letting her down had caused guilt to swamp me.

She’d been talking nonstop about the lovely man she’d met at the library. A man who had just relocated to Maplewood. She insisted the two of us needed to meet, swearing he loved pickleball and classic literature and that we would hit it off.

“His name is Edward,” she said with a wide grin.

My teen obsession with Edward Cullen was a long-standing joke between us.

I’d had some sort of blackout and had agreed, and before I could tell her not to, she’d arranged for him to meet me here. It was a nice break from her constant questions about my career, my friends, my condo, and my future, I supposed.

And saying no would mean more questions and more suspicion regarding my fall from grace and just how temporary—or permanent—it really was.

It was one drink with a harmless small-town guy. How bad could it be?

Inside, the brewery was charming and fun in a rustic way, with wood beams and steel everywhere, trendy appetizers, cheerful people having a good time, and indie rock playing from speakers mounted all over the space.

It was far cooler than any establishment I’d expected to find in Maplewood, that was for sure. So I tried to unclench and put on a semi-pleasant face.

“Come on, Monroe.” I dove into one of my usual pep talks. “You’ve survived hostile committees, midnight crisis briefings, and men twice your size trying to outmaneuver you in rooms without windows. You’re a stone-cold badass with the heart of a lion and the venom of a cobra. Get it together.”

I took a deep breath and tried to look approachable as I scanned the room. The bar was filled with groups of people drinking beer from large glasses, including a table of rowdy ladies who couldn’t be a day under seventy-five.

A young woman in a red apron stood at the host stand, smiling serenely.

“I’m meeting someone here,” I said as I approached.

“Are you Bree?” she chirped.

“Sabrina,” I said, bristling. No one used that nickname and lived.

She gestured for me to follow her to a high-top table near the bar where a man sat with his back to me. Though I couldn’t see his face, a sharp spark of awareness flowed through my body as I took him in.

Neat dark brown hair, broad shoulders. Decent dress shirt. Okay. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete disaster.