The Tuesday morning rush hits Cozy Coffee like a caffeinated hurricane. I’m in my element as I move like a bartender behind the counter. Steam hisses from the espresso machine while I pull two shots at once. The smell of cinnamon and freshly ground beans wraps around me like the quilt my grandmother made me when I was a kid.


    “One maplette, extra hot, for Mrs. Henderson.” I slide the cup across the reimed wood counter, already starting on the next order. “Tom, your usual ck coffee’s ready. Yes, I put it in a to-go cup even though we both know you’re staying until eleven.”


    He’s an older gentleman with bright blue eyes, a perfect smile, and a white handlebar mustache. I shoot him a wink. Tom grins and plops down in his favorite armchair by the window. When he crosses his legs, I see he’s wearing his favorite boots that have been through some shit.


    “You know,” he says in his thick Southern drawl, “I have a few sons your age.”


    “I know. Tell them toe visit me and say hello themselves. No one wants a matchmaking parent,” I remind him for the hundredth time.


    Tom Valley owns Devil’s River Ranch in Texas. He also owns a vacation escape thirty minutes away, up in the mountains. When his sexy-as-sin sons visit Colorado, they party at Silver Sky, the next town over. Everyone knows about the Valley boys—cocky, homeschooled Texas cowboys who mostly keep to themselves but always show up for pumpkin season.


    I nce around the shop, and everyone seems happy, thrilled to be here. It’s one of the hottest hangouts in Cozy Creek, where moste to get their piping hot gossip after the sun rises.


    Cozy Coffee is my second home, where I’m sure of myself, where everything works out for me. This is my family’s eighty-one-year-old business that runs like clockwork when I’m managing. Here, I know exactly who I am and what’s expected of me. Here, I’m the boss. I don’t ever question the future, and there’s no confusion about my career path. Now, my rtionships? That’s a whole cluster of a conversation.


    “Jules, honey, you won’t believe who I saw at the Maple Inn this morning when I stopped in to grab a newspaper.” Mrs. Patrick leans across the counter, eyes bright with gossip.


    She’s part of the women’s group that I nicknamed the Fairy Godmothers over a decade ago. They y matchmaker and are always meddling in rtionships around Cozy Creek under the guise of a romance book club.


    “Oh?” While I don’t have time for this right now, I lean toward her with a smile to appease her.


    I pour more roasted beans into the machine, knowing we’re getting low as orders print nonstop.


    “Let me guess. A sexy pumpkin peeper who’s staying for the season that I should totally hook up with?”


    Pumpkin peepers are what we call the tourists who have zero self-awareness, who show up just for the festivities.


    “Craig Downing.” She drops my ex’s name like an atomic bomb. It’s been nearly a year since anyone has mentioned him to me.


    “What?” Ites out louder than I meant.


    ire clears her throat from the register, and I quickly turn back to the espresso machine, grateful for the grinding that’s drowning out the silence.


    “He’s still in love with you,” Mrs. Patrick continues like it’s nothing. “I overheard him telling Jete at the front desk he had regrets. Said he missed home. Apparently, he moved back and broke it off with your recement.”


    I keep my voice t. “That’s impossible. They were engaged.”


    “People change their minds,” she offers. “But remember, a tiger never changes its stripes.”


    The two of us have this toxic cycle. He returns to Cozy Creek, says sweet things, makes promises, and then we have sex.


    But not this time. I promised myself never again.


    Mrs. Patrick watches me with the intensity of a teacher who’s taught hormonal seventh-grade students for forty years—because she has. “Figured I’d give you a warning. Don’t be shocked if he strolls in here.”


    “Mrs. P, it won’t matter. Trust me when I say, Craig and I are ancient history.” I sh my million-dor smile, the one that says, I’m fine, while I force my hands to stay steady. “I want a real man.”


    A college kid at the register counts out crumpled bills and loose change for argette. As ire waits for him, I wave him off, sliding an extra chocte croissant into his bag.


    “Student discount,” I lie.


    We only have a senior discount, but he looks like he’s living on ramen and anxiety. I try to spread good vibes when I can.


    “Thank you,” he says graciously. No way he’s a day older than neen.


    “You’re too nice for your own good,” Mrs. Patrick says as the guy walks away, but she’s smiling. “You remind me so much of your grandmother.”


    “Thank you. But don’t forget, Gran kept a metal baseball bat under the counter and wasn’t afraid to use it.” I wipe down the already-clean machine, needing something to do with my hands as ire rings in the following order. “I kill with kindness, caffeine, and croissants.”


    The bell above the door chimes, and Mike Ashford stumbles in, nearly walking into a table and chair because he’s staring. At me. Again.


    “Hi, Jules.” His face goes red as he fumbles with his debit card.


    “Hi, Michael,” I say.


    He’s adorable, but I’m eleven years older. At thirty-five years old, I do not want to date someone who could only recently order a drink at a bar.


    “Still denying me?” He looks up at me with googly eyes.


    “Yes, I am,” I say with augh.


    I me his reaction on my gics. Sometimes, being a ginger goddess is a blessing, and other times, it’s a curse.


    At the thought, I nce at my reflection in the espresso machine. My red hair refuses to be tamed, and my eyes—the ones my mother insists on calling “emerald” instead of just green—stare back at me, almost hollow. Freckles multiply across my nose anytime I even think about sunshine. Most guys say I’m intimidating just because I have a sassy mouth and an attitude that matches my hair. Sometimes, I’m exhausted by the attention I receive from men.


    “Did you do something different with your hair?” Mike manages, still hovering by the register like he’s afraid toe any closer. “You’re glowing.”


    “It’s called downing double espresso shots before nine. Caffeine makes the world go round. But thank you. I appreciate thepliment.”


    He orders a simple coffee with two sugars and a ssh of cream before he practically runs out of the building.


    Mrs. Patrick chuckles. “That boy’s been crushing on you since high school.”


    “I know, but I just can’t. Last week, I gave him dating advice and exined how having confidence is attractive.” I shake my head. “We just need to work on the execution.”


    “Mm-hmm,” she says with a nod, but she’s kind enough not to push. “Well, I’d better get going. Garden club is judging autumn arrangements today to decide which ones will be disyed in big potted nts around the town when fall officially kicks off next week. I want to win that title. I’m sick and tired of Patty winning each year. It’s rigged, I tell you! Rigged!”


    “Good luck,” I say with augh as she leaves, and I’m grateful that the conversation is being dropped.


    Five minutester, when I look over my shoulder, ire is smirking at me. And that’s when it’s confirmed she heard every damn word.


    “So, Craig is back?” she whispers close to me.


    I meet her eyes. “I can’t bang him while he’s here. Seriously. I’m done with him. I’m going on almost a year of no contact.”


    “We have to find you a distraction.”


    A chuckle releases from me. “Put me next on your love spell list.”


    “I’ll make you one tonight,” she says with a wink, and we go our separate ways as the second rushes in.


    When we’re nonstop busy, I lose track of everything.


    Four hourster, the shop is practically empty, and there is too much quiet and not enough distraction. ire and I clean so we can leave right at three when the afternoon shiftes in.


    As I’m emptying and recing trash bags by the condiment station by the door, I catch sight of a cked-out Range Rover sliding past the wall of windows. My traitorous heart does a stupid little skip. Lots of people have fancy cars, and hundreds of thousands of people drive through Cozy Creek in September to catch sight of therge pumpkin patch that’s constructed in the middle of the town square.


    I work on making the shop sparkle as ire stocks everything. Cozy Coffee is my sanctuary, my legacy, my perfectly controlled universe, where no one leaves without saying goodbye and everyone gets exactly what they ordered.


    “Jules!” Finn Morrison pops his head in, still in his fire chief gear. “Just wanted to warn you, Autumn’s on her way, and she’s got that look.”


    “What look?”


    “You know the one.”


    Autumn is my best friend, my ride or die, who used to work the morning shift with ire and me. That is, until she met the love of her life, Zane Alexander, and married him. Now, she lives in a haunted house on top of the hill that overlooks Cozy Creek—Hollow Manor. Sometimes, when I think about it, I can’t help butugh. That house was the feature of our childhood ghost stories, and now it’s where Autumn calls home.


    “Thank you,” I tell him, preparing myself, wondering if Mrs. Patrick ran into her and snitched about Craig being back.


    “Uh-oh,” ire says, her crystal earrings dangling as I move behind the counter.


    “Yeah. Thanks for the support,” I mutter. “If Autumn knows Craig is here, she’s going to track him down and drag him through the town square by the balls.”


    ire bursts intoughter. “He deserves everything he hasing to him.”


    I straighten my apron, tighten my ponytail, and prepare for Hurricane Autumn. At least I know how to handle her.


    When the bell chimes, I know it’s her before I even look up. There’s something about the way Autumn enters a room, like sunshine and storm clouds, all at once. I miss my best friend so much, but I’m happy she’s enjoying being in love. She deserves it.


    “Julie Lovnd.” She uses my full name, which means I’m in trouble. “We need to talk.”


    “Good morning to you too, Autumn Alexander. Coffee? Chocte croissant? Did you bring me pumpkin bread, or do you have an exnation for why you’re using my government name?”


    She stalks to the counter, dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing one of Zane’s nnels over her yoga clothes. “I just ran into Craig at the grocery store. Craig. Downing. I nearly panicked, watching him buy organic brussels sprouts. He asked about you.”


    “Brussels sprouts?” I focus on the important part. “He hates vegetables. Must be an impostor.”


    “Jules.”


    “What? He used to count a serving of ketchup as vegetables. It’s hard for me to believe.”


    Autumn shakes her head. “He moved back. You cannot see him again.”


    “I know.” My stomach drops, but I keep my voice steady. “You and everyone else in Cozy Creek know that. I’m not falling for it again. I refuse.”


    “Good, because I might have told him that you’re thriving, glowing, and dating someone that you’re madly in love with.” She pauses. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”


    “Autumn!”


    “He was so jealous. No way I was giving him any hope. I’m sick of him! He needs to go away—forever!”


    ire nods. “I agree with her.”


    I hand Autumn avendertte without her asking. She’s addicted to them.


    “Everyone knows I’m not with anyone. He won’t believe it.”


    “I don’t care. You’re unavable.” She grimaces.


    “This sucks,” I whisper. “Craig being back wasn’t on my autumn bingo card.”


    “I know. I’m really sorry. But that’s not actually why I came to see you.” She takes a sip of hertte, suddenly looking ufortable. “I needed to warn you about something else. Someone else actually?—”


    The bell chimes, cutting her off.


    “Shit,” she mutters, and I turn to see why.


    “Oh. My. Goddess.” ire freezes when she sees him.


    Nick Banks stands in the doorway like he’s stepping out of one of my dreams. Dark cks; button-up shirt, rolled to his elbows; and messy, dark hair. His honey-brown eyes are tired, but when our gazes meet, I feel that familiar gravitational pull that makes my stomach do somersaults.


    “Nick!” Autumn practically squeals, which is weird because Autumn never responds this way to anyone. She rushes over and gives him a side hug. “Zane said you might being to town.”


    He hugs her back, but his eyes stay nted on mine. “Hey, Autumn. How’s married life?”


    “Amazing. Exhausting. But oh so worth it.” She pulls back, ncing between us with barely concealed panic. “I was just here to get a coffee from Jules and was, uh …”


    “Gossiping about my ex,” I offer, trying to stay calm, but I ampletely unwell. He’s thest man on the I expected to see today. “It’s just the usual Tuesday morning entertainment.”


    “Right. That.” Autumn backs toward the door, shooting me an apologetic look. “I should go. I’m making pumpkin bread today.”


    “Autumn,” I say as she floats across the dining room.


    She mouths, I’m sorry, behind Nick’s back as she escapes. “Bye! Good talk, Jules! Back to the grocery store I go! I literally left my basket in the produce section.”


    The bell chimes as she flees, leaving me alone with the man who’s been haunting my thoughts sincest year.


    ire can’t stopughing and moves to the back so she doesn’t interrupt us.


    And then Nick and I are alone.


    The electricity that always seems to stream steadily when we’re in the same room is alive and well.


    “Hi,” he says, plump lips lifting in that dangerous half smile. “Come here often?”


    My mouth twitches. I pour his coffee with hands that remember exactly how he takes it. ck. Simple. No room for anything extra. “asionally. I hear the manager is a real hard-ass though.”


    “Really? I heard she’s gorgeous. Sassy as fuck.”


    “Sassy?” I raise an eyebrow, falling into our same old rhythm as I hand him his cup. Our fingers brush, and it nearly undoes me. “That’s a big word for a hockey yer.”


    “Former hockey yer, babe. Currently a suit-wearing corporate asshole who knows words like quarterly projections and synergy.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes. “This is perfect.”


    “I know. I made it.”


    “Confident, per usual.”


    “Nah, you just don’t intimidate me like you do most women.” I lean against the counter, trying to ignore how good he looks.


    “How’ve you been?” he asks, trying to make small talk—something he’s great at.


    “Fantastic. Living my best life. Thriving with your read receipts and no responses.”


    I met Nick Banksst year when his mom was getting married. We sat at a local bar called Bookers and chatted for hours. I shared things with him I’d never said out loud, and he told me his secrets too. I thought I’d never see him again until he showed up in January to stay with Zane and Autumn. We exchanged numbers, but after three days, he left. I haven’t seen him since.


    I texted him a few months ago and got zero response. I gave up the ghost.


    “I deserve that,” he says.


    “Oh, you deserve much worse. I was trying to be friendly and wanted to check in on you.”


    “I know. I suck.” He doesn’t move.


    “What brings you back here? Another family wedding? A three-day drive-by, where you show up and pretend like you’re going to stay but leave?” I ask as he tries to pull his credit card from his wallet to pay. I shake my head at him.


    “None of the above.” He sets down his cup and meets my eyes. “But I am staying.”


    My heart twirls. “I don’t believe you.”


    “I don’t care. I’ll be here for six weeks, through the season. I’m scheduled to return to New York at the beginning of November. No sooner.” He says it like a promise.


    “Scheduled?”


    “Long story short, I had a meltdown at a meeting and was forced by my bratty little brother to take a vacation.” He runs a hand through his dark brown hair, messing it up more.


    I blink at him with my head tilted. “And you chose here? Why?”


    “Why not?” The way he looks at me makes my stomach flip.


    I don’t have an answer for him.


    “There is no other ce to be during fall. I rented a cabin until November. I think it’s called Riverside?”


    My eyes widen. It’s a luxury mansion that’s ironically called a cabin. It costs ten thousand dors a day to stay there. “Riverside? That’s fancy for a temporary escape.”


    “I want to do temporary right this time.” He pauses. “You shoulde see it. Tonight. At seven.”


    “Nick.” I shake my head.


    “Have dinner with me. It would be an honor to catch up.” His voice is casual, but his eyes say so much more.


    I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re serious?”


    “You’re the only person who’s tried to check on me this year. And I’ll have plenty of wine.” He leans forward slightly. “Come on, Little Red. When’s thest time you did something just for fun?”


    Little Red. He gave me that nickname the first night we met at Bookers. It’s a sports bar, and the Cowboys were ying the Eagles. It was a random night full of nothing but conversation that I’ll never forget.


    “Pfft. I have fun every day,” I tell him.


    “Outside of work.” He licks his lips. “You can love your job, but there’s more to life than this.”


    My heart thuds because it doesn’t know better. I try to remember thest time I had a good time, and it was with him, when we talked all night about nothing and everything. I thought I’d never see him again until he showed up at Autumn’s house. That was when I learned he was Zane’s stepbrother and ex–best friend.


    He grins like trouble as I rey memories of sharing my deepest secrets with him. I thought I’d never see Nick Banks again.


    “You can’t just show up nine monthster, afterpletely ghosting me, and expect me to be receptive to your invites.”


    He gives me a look, almost like I struck a nerve. “I knew it was a risk, asking you, but I took it anyway. The truth is, I wasn’t ready to have any new friends.”


    His words catch me off guard.


    “And you are now?”


    He smiles. “Now I have nothing to lose.”


    “What makes you think I don’t have ns?”


    “Do you?” he asks with a brow lifted.


    The coffee shop suddenly feels too small, too warm, too full of possibilities I can’t afford.


    “I might,” I say.


    “Cancel them.”


    “Cocky as hell,” I whisper, finding him too hot to handle.


    “I wanna see you, Jules. Finish our conversation.” He heads for the door, pausing to look back. “Wear something you don’t mind getting wine spilled on. I’m professionally clumsy when distracted.”


    “What’s going to distract you?”


    His eyes do a slow sweep from my face down and back up. “Mmm.”


    Nick pushes the door open and strolls toward the Range Rover. My head and heart swim.


    Momentster, ire walks back to the front and res at me. “Holy shit.”


    “What?” I ask.


    “If you don’t date him, I will.”


    I burst intoughter. “Shut it. He’s not dateable.”


    “Is he fuckable? Because I’d be his blowup doll.”


    I’m wheezing. “Stop.”


    I wipe tears from my cheeks, and she pauses, staring at me.


    “Oh my goddess.”


    “Tell me. If I have something in my teeth, I’ll be mortified.”


    She shakes her head. “You’re going to fall in love with that man.”


    “No, I’m not,” I huff out. “I know too much about him.”


    ire doesn’t look convinced. “Did I eavesdrop correctly? Did he say he’s staying until November?”


    “Yes,” I whisper and realize I’m smiling. “But we’ll see. That means nothing. Last time, he was supposed to stay two weeks, but within seventy-two hours, he was gone without a goodbye.”


    “I think he’ll be the perfect distraction for you. Poor Craig.” She rolls her eyes and then bumps me with her hip. “This season is going to be different for you. I can feel it in the air.”


    “Don’t jinx me,” I say as the afternoon crew enters.


    “It’s a good thing,” she confirms.


    For the final hour of my shift, I’m in my head, thinking about Nick and what it means now that he’s here. I secretly hoped I’d get the opportunity just to chat with him again. His conversations are good, and it helps that he’s not bad to look at. The invitation is a new beginning, a way for us to start over.


    I nce at the clock, counting down to seven. I have four hours to decide whether to go or not.


    “Is a in retrograde or something?” I ask ire over my shoulder. “Why is it raining men on me right now?”


    She shrugs. “Mercury’s in retrograde, but Venus is ascending. You know what they say—third time’s a?—”


    “If you say charm, I’m burning all your sage.”


    She mimes zipping her lips, but her eyes are dancing with hope.


    Somehow, I’m the only one who remembers that some patterns are meant to be broken, not repeated. If Nick leaves again without saying goodbye, I’ll forget that he exists.


    Meeting him the first time was by chance. The second was a coincidence. But the third? It would be a choice. Right now, I have a big decision to make.