Page 2 of Before We Break

The joke falls flat as he stares down at me. He towers over me by at least a foot, which is the perfect height, I decide.

The perfect height for what? I’m not sure, but given the apparent theme of this town, I might be inclined to climb him like a tree.

“Noah, your order’s ready,” Quinn calls.

The man in question turns and starts for the counter. He must have a standing order here because I hadn’t noticed him when I arrived. He grabs the paper cup and stuffs a five-dollar bill into the tip jar. “Thanks, Quinn.”

With the cup clutched in his large hand, he points his pinky at the scrap of paper I’m still holding. “The apartment. Are you interested?”

“Maybe. Is it far from here?”

He shakes his head and brings the cup to his lips. After swallowing, he says, “About a block up the street above my tattoo studio.”

The paper bag crinkles as Quinn sets my order on the counter.

“Grab your coffee, and I’ll give you a tour,” Noah says.

I pick up the bag and drinks, then hand Quinn my card, feeling guilty that I don’t have any cash to put in the tip jar—not unless you count the lucky penny tucked safely in my pocket. “My daughter is outside waiting for me in the car.”

“She can come, too. And your husband, if he’s around.”

“No husband.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I glance at Quinn. “Am I being kidnapped? They always warn you about stranger danger, but apparently, I’ve completely forgotten the ground rules in my old age.”

She snorts, handing me back my card and a receipt. “By Noah? No. He’s harmless.”

“Are you sure? He doesn’t look harmless.” He looks like a man who’ll make you see god, then watch you do the walk of shame back to your car because, as I’m just remembering, I am, in fact, homeless. “I’m Clio, by the way. In case you need to make a missing person flyer for the bulletin board later.”

Quinn laughs. Noah doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Geez. Tough crowd.”

I bring the steaming latte to my lips, close my eyes, and let out an exaggerated moan as the dark roast floods my system and revives me from the brink of death. “Quinn. I think you might be my new favorite person.”

NOAH

The apartment is a spacious two-bedroom unit with a dark industrial vibe, which, admittedly, doesn’t seem like her style. She’s completely out of place in her bright yellow overalls and fiery red hair, with blonde pieces framing her rosy cheeks, and a matching yellow scarf wrapped around it.

Her teenage daughter skips down the hallway to scope out the bedrooms, leaving us alone for the first time since we arrived about ten minutes ago.

“It’s eight-fifty a month, utilities and internet included.” It’s actually quite a bit more than that, but she’s a single mom in a new town, and I don’t really need the money.

Her striking green eyes widen, glinting in the sunlight that’s streaming in through the living room picture windows. “What’s the catch? Haunted? Black mold? Did someone die up here?” She sniffs the air, crinkling her freckled nose. Her voice is smooth and sweet with a hint of a rasp like honey poured on toast with a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar—a staple of my childhood.

I slip my right hand into my pocket, producing a set of keys. “Do you want it or not?”

My tone is clipped, but the longer I stand here, the harder it’ll be to walk away. There’s something about her that’s calling to my baser instincts, something urgent and primal. I want to get to know her. Find out what she’s doing here and what’s hiding behind that smile. Is she running from something? Or to someone? Nobody shows up in Willow Valley without a plan.

But I don’t know people, and they don’t know me. I like it that way. It’s less complicated.

“Just like that?” she says, drawing me right back in. “No background check, no application, deposit, or references? You haven’t even asked for my firstborn, and I’ve gotta say, I’m kind of attached to her. She’s a dealbreaker.”

She smiles, and something inside of me flickers then dies, like trying to hot wire a car.

I don’t make a habit of getting tangled up with doe-eyed single moms, but I’m having trouble focusing on anything but the exact shade of green that reminds me of the grassy cliffside we used to run around on as kids and the way it fades into the distant sky on a hazy spring morning.

I should find some way out of this. Commitment isn’t my style, and I never waste time on anyone who needs more than a good fuck and a few orgasms before we part ways.

I don’t need to rent out the apartment. I can wait for someone else—anyone else. Not a beautiful curvy redhead who’s way too fucking sweet for me.