By the time we're done, it's lunchtime.
"I have a meeting over lunch," Liberty says, handing me my security pass for the building, “But there is a really great coffee shop across the road. They do awesome sandwiches and salads, and coffee to die for. You probably need some caffeine after all of that. I'll see you back here in an hour?"
At my last place, my lunch break consisted of running to put in my boss’s sandwich order and dropping crumbs into my keyboard as I tried to work and eat simultaneously.
"That sounds great," I say, already thinking about how many books I will get to read if I have a decent break during the day.
The coffee shop is called Roasted, and the logo has a cute little coffee bean reclining on a sun lounger. Inside, it's filled with mismatching rustic furniture. One wall is exposed brick, and the other is painted entirely in black chalkboard paint so that kids can have a blast while their parents are relaxing. I love it immediately.
At the counter, the barista smiles warmly. "What can I get you?"
"A soy cappuccino and a chicken salad, please."
"Take a seat, and I'll bring it over."
There are only two free tables, so I snag one by the window, relishing the chance to people-watch in this new town.
Mothers stroll past with toddlers in strollers. An elderly couple makes their way across the road, arm in arm like young lovers. And next to me, a table empties, and a young blonde woman takes a seat, meeting my eyes and smiling broadly. "I was hovering for this table," she says, resting her purse on the free seat next to her.
"It's busy in here. Is it always like this?"
"Yep. They make the best coffee in town. For all of us caffeine junkies, there isn't anywhere else."
"I'll have to remember that." I smile, scanning this new face. In a small town, there is always a chance that I'm going to bump into people over and over again.
"Are you new in town? I haven't seen your face before."
"Yeah. I just got here last week, and it's my first day at my new job."
"Well, congratulations. What brings you to Hope Springs?"
"Romance," I say without missing a beat.
She raises her eyebrows and smiles. "Well, we do have some fine men about these parts, especially at the fire station. Hopefully you won't have cause to need their services but if you do, make sure you've got your lipstick on."
I snort, thinking that any lipstick I ever attempt to wear is kissed right off my mouth almost immediately by the firefighters of this town. Four men don't leave any room for pretty red lips, although they're probably a nice shade of just kissed pink.
The barista approaches my table, resting down a large wide pink cup filled with coffee on a broad matching saucer and my chicken salad, which looks good enough to have come from an upscale New York restaurant.
"How do you know the firefighters?" I say to make conversation.
"I used to date one of them. We still have an on-off thing going on."
"Oh really?" I pop a bite of chicken in my mouth and chew, my eyes rolling at its succulence. "Which one?"
"His name is Holden...he's the best-looking man in Hope Springs. I swear."
Holden. Seriously? Involved in an on-off relationship with this woman. The way she's talking, she expects it to be back on. He obviously hasn't told her anything about me, and slippery green jealousy curls in my stomach.
I sip my cappuccino, my hand trembling. Should I tell her I know Holden and that her relationship is now officially off?
Is it my place to put a stop to the expectations of her relationship with Holden? He should have done that before I arrived. If I don't tell her I know him, it will be very awkward when she sees us around town. This is a small place. There is going to be no avoiding this confrontation.
I decide to play innocent. "Holden? Holden Banbury?"
She nods enthusiastically, then her expression falls. "How do you know Holden?"
I put my napkin to my mouth, dabbing away the foam from my coffee. "I just moved in with the Banburys."
"Moved in? So you're dating one of his brothers? They're all great guys," she says sweetly.
This is so damned awkward. "They are all great guys," I agree, deciding I've been honest enough. This woman doesn't need to know about our sex life, and Holden needs to take the flack for dealing with her misassumptions.
"Maybe I'll see you around there," she says. "I always used to hang at the house with them all."
I smile, but don't agree or disagree with her statement. It's certainly not my place to tell the boys who they can and can't invite around to their house. Maybe this woman is a good friend who ended up in a friends-with-benefits arrangement with Holden? The prospect of her coming over for a beer and potentially reminiscing about what it was like to fuck my boyfriend isn't appealing.