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The couch was empty. Thank God. I could make my escape before Michael had the opportunity to witness the ugly morning-after look I was rocking. I rolled off the bed, located my shoes, and spent a ridiculous amount of time looking for my purse before I remembered it was at home, along with my keys and my dignity.
Behind me a masculine throat cleared. I froze, then slowly turned to face my humiliation.
Michael was standing in the kitchen, hip leaning on the counter as he sipped his coffee, looking fresh as a daisy. Andhot. He was the male version of Suzie, and Suzie looked like Emma Stone. On Michael, that translated to deep red hair and a beard to match, a sprinkle of golden freckles across his forehead and nose, and warm brown eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of eyelashes that were entirely wasted on a man. Damn it all to hell.
“In my defense,” I said as haughtily as I could manage given the circumstances, “I had not planned to wander the streets of Hart’s Ridge drunk. I had a few drinks at Goat’s Tavern. Suzie gave me a ride home, and somehow locked myself out. Usually I’m very responsible. I’m thirty-five. I always pay my mortgage on time. I’m never late for work.”
His lips quirked, drawing my attention there. It was a nice mouth, even though right now those full lips were mocking me. Maybe I deserved that, but I still didn’t like it.
“Shouldn’t you still be asleep? Jet lag and all that?” I asked grumpily. It wasn’t fair that he looked this good so early in the morning, especially after a flight from Peru.
“I don’t get jet lag. I go to bed at eleven and get up at six, local time, no matter where I am.”
Of course he didn’t get jetlag, like the rest of us mortals. It was only by reminding myself that this wasSuzie’s brotherthat I refrained from rolling my eyes at his pronouncement. So pretentious.
“But as it so happens,” he continued, “Peru is only an hour behind us, so I probably wouldn’t feel it anyway.” He tilted his head toward the table, where a second coffee was waiting. “Want some coffee? I went out this morning to get some breakfast. It’s yours if you want it. The muffin, too.”
Okay, maybe I had him wrong. Maybe he wasn’t pretentious at all. Maybe he really was just that perfect. Meanwhile, it was entirely possible that I smelled as bad as I looked.Ugh.
I accepted the coffee, which I needed desperately, but passed on the muffin. “Thanks, but I’m meeting friends for brunch, and I need to get home and shower.” Which was behind my locked door. “Can I use your phone?”
He nodded, typed in his password, and handed it over. For a moment, I could only stare at it. I had the oddest feeling of being in an alternate universe, a twisted sort of déjà vu. A memory surfaced: grad school, the day a paper was due. My computer had crashed so I had called Grant to get his password so I could use his. He wouldn’t give it to me—couldn’t remember it, he had said. I’d had to go to the university computer lab instead. Maybe it didn’t matter, since I’d still gotten an A on my paper, but I had known Grant was lying. I just hadn’t knownwhy.
That was just one of so many similar memories, but that didn’t stop me from marrying him. Like an idiot.
Now here was Michael, handing over his phone as though he had nothing to hide.Because he didn’t, I reminded myself. People only had something to hide when they had something to lose. Love, money, face. I had never fully understood Grant’s motivation, but I suspected it was face. But Michael wasn’t my husband, or even my boyfriend. He had nothing to lose as far as I was concerned. He could have twenty girlfriends and it wouldn’t make a difference.
And thank God for that. I’d had enough mind games to last me a lifetime. Being single might be a detriment when it came to having a baby, but it was pretty damn good for my peace of mind.
I pushed the strange thoughts aside. It was too early for philosophizing. After making arrangements with Jimmy, who sounded slightly less than delighted to be woken up early on a Saturday morning, I handed the phone back to Michael. “He’s meeting me there in an hour with his ladder.”
“So I heard.”
I hesitated. What was I supposed to say him? I had been nothing but a pain in his ass from the very first moment we had met. I felt bad about that. Worse, I felt bad about myself. I had taken his bed.Accidentally, but still. The couch couldn’t have been comfortable for him, what with all that excessive height. “You can come. To brunch, I mean. Suzie will be there.”
“As fun as it would be to see her face when we walk in together, I’ll pass.” He grinned and my heart did something fluttery in my chest. “Anyway, I’m heading to my folks’ farm in a bit. They have my car.”
Right. I suddenly remembered why he was here in Hart’s Ridge after three years away, according to Suzie. Their dad’s health wasn’t great, their mom wasn’t exactly young and in full health herself, and Suzie was exhausted from being pregnant on top of caring for three young children. Sam had called up Michael and begged him to come help out—mostly by babysitting, was my guess—but he really didn’t have to, because Michael had already done the math and booked the plane ticket the day before. Suzie was so relieved that she had cried when she told me about it.
Michael was Superman, apparently. And I was his little sister’s sloppy friend.
I needed to get out of here.Now.
I edged toward the door. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at Suzie’s, then. She asked me to come to dinner.”
When I would hopefully be less of a disaster.
To his credit, if Jimmy thought I was a disaster, he kept those thoughts to himself. He held the ladder steady for me while I climbed in through my window. I offered him twenty bucks for his time, but he laughed it off and said he always enjoyed a morning adventure. It’s one of the things I loved about Hart’s Ridge. People aren’t always nice, but they’re kind. We all help each other out.
A hot shower, a good scrub with my toothbrush, and a liter of water went a long way to nipping my slight hangover. By the time I met Suzie and Kate at Dreamer’s, I was feeling like myself again.
Dreamer’s Café was my favorite restaurant in Hart’s Ridge. When Delmy Garcia had opened it over a decade ago, locals were thrilled to have a place that served reliably excellent coffee and food that was almost too pretty to eat, a combination of American and traditional Salvadoran. But two years ago, a California girl with two million Instagram followers stopped by, took a picture, and made Delmy and her café famous. Now it was hard to get a table at the tail end of tourist season, but fortunately Delmy always kept a few reservations just for locals.
The chalkboard sign out front advertised today’s brunch special as French toast with fresh blackberry compote made from local berries. My mouth watered. I was starving, having spurned Michael’s muffin earlier. Judging from the clusters of people at the door, there was a long wait, but luckily Kate and Suzie already had a table on the patio. I waved at Angelo, Delmy’s brother, and joined them.
“You locked yourself out of your own house?” Kate asked without preamble.
Jimmy had left my house maybe two hours ago, tops. That had to be some kind of gossip record, even for Hart’s Ridge. “How did you find out already?”
