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CHAPTER ONE
WREN
I’M DESPERATE.
And a little crazy.
That’s the only explanation for the giddy feeling in my stomach when a familiar black SUV pulls into the parking lot. Why else would Fridays become my favorite day just because I get to see them?
Not that I’d ever do anything about it. That’s a little too out of my comfort zone.
“Here they come.” Ava elbows me, and I almost spill the coffee I’m making. “Ohhh, book boy looks especially nice today.”
Groaning, I throw a lid onto the coffee cup, setting it on the pickup counter. “Order for Brooke,” I call out.
I’m about to turn away, but just then, he steps through the front door. Tall, well-built, and with eyes that pierce the soul. And he’s looking right at me.
Butterflies fill my stomach. Elliot is one of the three men who meets here every Friday morning for coffee. They’re always dressed in sharp suits, almost too perfect to be real.
Over the months, Ava and I have caught them staring at me on more than one occasion. But Elliot is the one I talk to the most.
He approaches the counter, his friends—or coworkers, or whatever—behind him. “Good morning, Wren. Ava. Have a good week?”
I can’t help but blush under his gaze. He’s looking at me expectantly, like he wants a real answer, not a fake, “Oh, it was fine.”
Still, that’s exactly what I tell him. It’s a lie—my week was filled with too many encounters with my ex-boyfriend from hell. But that seems a little too deep and messy to explain to Elliot.
So I take their orders, noticing the way he narrows his eyes at my lie.
Was I really that obvious?
But he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he leans against the counter while I start working on their drinks. “Reading anything interesting?”
I pause as my smile fades. Every week, he asks me that exact question, and I always have an enthusiastic answer for him. Reading is my favorite pastime, and I usually average one or two books a week.
“I...well, I didn’t really have time to read this week.”
He frowns, but not in a disappointed way. If I’m not mistaken, there’s concern etched into his features. “Too busy?”
“Something like that.” I avoid his gaze. Normally, reading is my escape. And I had plenty of time to read this week—I just didn’t have the mental energy.
Instead, I binged a new fantasy show every night until I fell asleep on the couch. Not the healthiest coping mechanism to deal with Adam’s constant texts and calls, but it’s not like it’ll last forever.
And if it does—or if he puts me in even the mildest of reading slumps, I’ll fucking kill him.
I just wish the asshole would take a fucking hint. You don’t cheat on me and get away with it. I swear, good men only exist in books. Specifically, books written by women.
One of the other guys—Oliver, the only one who doesn’t take his coffee black—comes up beside Elliot. “Well, this guy had plenty of time to read. What’s that book you recommended to him? A Story of Two Cities? A Tale of Two Towns?”
As Oliver claps him on the back, Elliot grunts. “How do you not know one of Dickens’ most popular books? We literally read it in high school.” With a grateful smile, he says, “Worth the reread.”
Grinning, Oliver says, “I know it’s A Tale of Two Cities, you fuckwit.” Then he turns to me and winks. “I’m just pulling his leg. He’s too book smart for his own good.”
“Same with this one.” Ava steps up to the counter next to me, jabbing my arm before handing Oliver his coffee. “She can recite historical facts in her sleep, but try to make a joke around her? It’ll go right over her head.”
“Oh, shut up,” I mutter. That blush from earlier reappears, creeping over my cheeks. I turn away, finishing the two black coffees I’m working on before handing them to Elliot.
He just gives me a soft smile. “I hope you find some time to read this week, Wren. I know it makes you happy.”
