Page 10

She smiled apologetically. “He took the day off. He and Emme went out to the lake after the engagement party last night.”

Of course they did. The Goodson property bordered Poppy Lake—one of the most scenic spots in the county.

I forced a smile. “Good for them.”

The ache was sharp but brief. I wasn’t here to pine. Might as well get coffee.

“You’re Lacey, right? The whole town is abuzz about you showing up.”

“Oh?”

She lowered her voice, leaning closer. “Some say you’re here to take Carson back. Is that true?”

“Uh, no. Absolutely not.” I snorted, cheeks burning. I glanced at the menu to avoid tearing up. Before I could decide what to order, a deep voice rumbled behind me.

“She’s here to have coffee with me.”

I turned—and sucked in a breath.

Hudson.

He stood close. Solid. Calm. Dressed in his PVFD tee and camo pants, hands in his pockets, hair slightly mussed as if he’d skipped a comb this morning.

Some men just had that kind of hair and all the more handsome for it. That was Hudson.

“How are you feeling today, after last night?” he asked.

If I were into firemen… well, he’d do it for me. But then I remembered—Dad had been one too. He’d served this town and lost his life for it. I was young when it happened, but I’d grown up with the hole it left behind.

“I’m fine,” I said, summoning a smile. “Thanks again for helping me get home.”

“Anytime.”

I turned back to Hailey and the menu. Her brows were lifted, watching our exchange with interest.

“The caramel cinnamon latte is calling my name, I think,” I ordered, and reached into my bag, searching for cash.

“Iced?” she asked.

“No, hot is fine. And to-go, please.”

“I’ll take the same. Here, this’ll cover both,” Hudson said, pulling out a bill before I could stop him.

“You don’t have to?—”

“I got it.” He cut me off with a sly grin, brushing past me to hand her the cash.

The feel of him so close, the warmth, the scent of clean soap—it hit me unexpectedly.

“The man’s got it,” Hailey said with a giggle, disappearing behind the counter.

I shook my head, fighting a smile. “What are the odds we’d order the same thing?”

“We have good taste.” He winked.

“Are you on shift today?” I asked, trying not to blatantly stare at the curve of his bicep.

“Yep. Twenty-four hours. Done tomorrow morning, then three days off.”