Page 1 of Before We Break

PROLOGUE

♫ Heads Carolina, Tails California - Jo Dee Messina

CLIO

One Year Ago

Heads, Carolina. Tails, Willow Valley.

I fled the Crystal Coast on a whim, with just a destination and the fleeting hope I’d reunite with the sister I haven’t seen in sixteen years. We hit the road at the crack of dawn, drove twelve hours straight to get here, and I’m running on fumes.

I pull up to the curb outside a small coffee shop in the quaint town of Willow Valley, Kentucky. My daughter, Lexi, has been fast asleep in the passenger seat of Aunt Penny’s old blue sedan for the last two hours.

I nudge her shoulder. “Lex? We’re here.”

She grumbles something incoherent, the leather seats creaking as she burrows into her pillow against the passenger side window. The back seat is loaded down with everything we own, and normally, I’d be reluctant to leave it unattended—save for the sleeping teenager—but this town seems pretty harmless.

Rows of picturesque shops line either side of the street, bracketed by window boxes and planters overflowing with flowers, and we passed the cutest white gazebo in the town square with wisteria vines hanging from the pillars. It’s like this place was plucked straight out of a Hallmark movie, only I’m not some big city entrepreneur who inherited a farm on the verge of bankruptcy, and I won’t be running into some grumpy farm hand who’s been taking care of the estate in my absence. It’s a shame, really. All of this perfection is wasted on me.

I climb out of my car into the sweltering heat, and the humidity punches me in the chest, sapping the breath from my lungs. Sweat beads on my forehead and pools in places that have not been traversed by another human being since the dawn of time—or so it seems. I’m being dramatic, but I think sixteen years of celibacy warrants a little drama.

As I take the first step inside the little shop on the corner called Branch Out Coffee Co, I’m greeted by the blissful scent of caffeine and the cool bite of central air conditioning dancing across my overheated skin. I smile and breathe out a ragged sigh as I glance around the enchanting space.

It’s dimly lit with weathered brick walls and vines cascading across the ceiling. The drinks have nature-themed names like the Maple Grove Latte, the Evergreen Espresso, and the Woodland Chai. I have no idea what any of it means, but as long as there’s caffeine involved, I’m on board.

“Welcome to Branch Out. What can I get you?” A curly-haired brunette with hazel eyes and a button nose greets me. She resembles some kind of pixie who probably lives in the rafters amongst the vines and twinkle lights and only appears when the bell above the door chimes.

“Hi”—I glance down at her nametag—“Quinn. I’m honestly a little out of my depth here. What would you recommend?”

She doesn’t make eye contact as she responds in a subdued voice. “My favorite is the Into the Woods Chai.”

I grimace.

She huffs out a timid laugh. “Something stronger?”

“Please.” In my fit of desperation, the word comes out in a deep baritone I wasn’t aware I was capable of.

“You need the Live Oak Latte. Strongest thing we have on the menu.”

“Sounds perfect. Can I also get an iced lavender latte and a chocolate chip cookie?” Lexi will kill me if I don’t get her something. My stomach grumbles, and I hold up two fingers. “Make that two cookies.”

She nods and sets off to work on our order.

I trail back to a bulletin board I noticed when I entered, scanning the various advertisements and flyers pinned to it. There’s a poster for a litter of puppies looking for homes, and my thoughts run away from me for a moment before I reel them back in.

You can’t get a dog if you’re homeless, Clio. Apartment first, pets later.

In true small-town fashion, the board is chock-full of everything from a town meeting schedule to hastily drawn yard-sale signs to business cards and babysitting services. Tucked in the back, beneath a flyer for a local petting zoo, is an apartment rental ad with those little pull-off tabs for the phone number. Jackpot.

I quietly read off the name on the bottom, “Noah Weston.”

A shadow darkens the space around me, and a warm, slightly floral yet masculine scent replaces the rich aroma of coffee.

“Are you interested?” His velvety smooth voice settles low in my belly.

When I turn, my gaze lands on two twin pools of ocean blue and an angular jaw that could cut glass. Every inch of exposed flesh from the neck down is covered in inky dark floral tattoos, delicate but somehow perfect for the man they’re attached to.

“In Noah Weston? I’m not sure. Do you know him?”