Page 7 of Broken Reins (Whittier Falls #4)

Just then, the bell above the door jingled a little too hard.

I looked up and schooled my face to hide the natural grimace that begged to break free.

The woman who entered was every inch the magazine cover for “Who’s Who in Whittier Falls.

” Hair blown out into perfect golden waves, sunglasses perched on her head, jacket cinched tight around a waist so small I wondered if she ever ate anything with actual calories.

Her heels clicked on the hardwood as she surveyed the room like she owned it. Which, in a way, she kind of did.

Krystal Cummings. Krystal with a K. If Whittier Falls had an unofficial queen, it was her.

She was older than me, so I only knew her because she was so blindingly popular.

In high school, she’d been cheer captain, Student Council VP, and prom queen runner-up.

After high school, she’d gone on to run a boutique in Bozeman, and she had the bank account and Instagram following to prove it.

Now she was back, settled down with a bank president twice her age, and fighting for top spot in all of the town committees.

She didn’t even look at me. Her gaze landed directly on Ford, who was still standing at the counter, checking something on his phone.

“Oh. My. God,” she said, in a voice that carried through the entire block. “Ford Brooks! I thought that was you!”

Ford looked up, and I swear I saw every muscle in his face tense at once. He managed a thin, polite smile. “Hey, Krystal.”

She beamed, sliding up to him with an energy that made the room feel three degrees hotter. “Wow, you look—amazing. So grown up. I almost didn’t recognize you.” She reached out and put a hand on his arm, fingers curling around his bicep like she was checking to see if he was real.

He shifted his weight, gently extricating himself. “Thanks. You, uh, haven’t changed a bit.”

Krystal laughed, a sound so sharp I nearly dropped a glass. “Stop! I have at least three new laugh lines, thanks to my twins. Have you met them yet? Oh, you probably haven’t. You don’t really come back here, do you?”

He shrugged, expression unreadable. “Not much reason to.”

Krystal’s eyes flicked to the bruised side of his jaw. “Wow. I heard about the, um, incident. Damon’s such a Neanderthal. I always said that, right? You remember?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just launched straight into the next volley. “But you—oh my god, Ford. Everyone in town is obsessed with your story right now. I mean, you’ve always been a genius, but a literal tech billionaire? Wild. Did you really sell your company to Google?”

There it was. The real reason for her enthusiasm. If Krystal had one talent, it was sniffing out anyone with more money, more gossip, or more status than she had.

Ford’s voice was patient, but there was an edge to it. “It wasn’t Google. It was a private buyer.”

“Still,” she said, eyes wide and hungry. “That’s so insane. I always knew you’d make something of yourself, you know? Not everyone believed in you, but I did.”

From my post behind the counter, I could see the way Ford’s jaw clenched, like the memory tasted sour. “Well. Thanks, I guess.”

Krystal was oblivious, or pretended to be. “So what’s it like, being super rich? Do you still even like coffee, or is that too pedestrian now?” She laughed, then glanced around for witnesses, as if her charm needed an audience.

I watched Ford carefully. The haunted, tired look was back on his face, the one I’d noticed before. But when he caught me watching, his eyes went soft for a second, like he was grateful not to be alone.

Sadly, Krystal kept going. “Are you here for good? Or is this just a victory lap before you head back to California? I hear LA is incredible.”

“I’m here for my mom,” he said quietly. “She’s not well.”

Krystal’s mouth opened, but for once, she didn’t have a comeback.

She recovered fast, though. “Oh, I’m so sorry.

That’s tough.” She squeezed his arm again, then leaned in, dropping her voice to a stage whisper.

“If you ever need a distraction, you know, like a night out or whatever, I can get us a table at Larkspur. My treat.” She winked, then giggled.

Ford glanced at me, as if searching for an escape. I pretended to be busy with a stack of mugs, but really, I was just trying not to combust.

Krystal must have noticed his attention shift, because she finally, reluctantly, turned my way. “Lily, right? Hi!” She waved, then didn’t wait for a response. “Can I get a matcha with oat milk, extra cold? And maybe one of those gluten-free scones, if they’re fresh?”

“They’re always fresh,” I replied, but kept my voice down. I snuck a look at Ford, who gave me the tiniest smirk when he caught my comment.

As I pulled the scone and started the drink, I heard Krystal switch gears again.

“I’m throwing a launch party for my new boutique in Livingston next week.

You should come! It’ll be all the old crowd.

Super exclusive, but I could get you on the list.” She pressed her lips together like she’d just offered a winning lottery ticket.

Ford just nodded, noncommittal. “Ah, maybe, sure.”

Krystal pouted, then brightened. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight, maybe we could get dinner? Catch up for old time’s sake?” She didn’t even glance at me—like I wasn’t there, or maybe like I was a piece of furniture.

The scone was in a bag, the drink was ready. I set them on the counter with a smile that could have frozen water. “Here you go, Krystal.”

She tapped her phone to pay, then handed Ford a bright pink business card. “So you know where to find me.” She winked, then gabbed her drink and bag, and left in a swirl of perfume, her heels echoing all the way out the door.

Silence settled over the bakery. Ford looked at me, but I busied myself drying off a mug that hadn’t even been used.

“She’s, uh, a lot.” He huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh.

“No kidding.”

For a second, I thought he was going to say something else. But he just stood there, and while I forced my eyes to look down at the cup I was pretending to dry, I could swear he was looking at me.

“I should head into the back,” I said, gesturing lamely toward the kitchen. “I’ve got, um, a million things to do before I leave.”

He nodded. “I should get going soon anyway. Thanks for the coffee.”

With a quick nod, I grabbed a tray and slipped into the back room, heart pounding. The kitchen was bright and warm, filled with the smell of rising dough and melting butter, but it felt like another planet. I sank down on a milk crate, letting the noise of the world fade out for a minute.

It was stupid to feel disappointed. Ford wasn’t mine.

He barely even knew me. But there was something about the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the room that made sense.

I didn’t want to share that with anyone, least of all someone like Krystal, who collected people the way she collected shoes.

I got up, dusted flour from my hands, and peeked through the window in the swinging door.

Ford was still standing at the counter, staring at his phone but not really seeing it.

I watched him for another moment, then turned away, forcing myself to focus on the tray of cinnamon rolls that needed frosting.

Let Krystal have her scene. Let the whole town buzz about Ford and his money and his past. I would stay here, safe behind the kitchen door, pretending I didn’t care about any of it.

But I did. More than I wanted to admit.

I was so deep in my head that I almost missed the sound of cookies shifting on a rack.

Sutton was in the back, sliding double chocolate chip cookies onto parchment, the edges still glossy and molten in the center.

She didn’t look up right away, but I could tell she’d probably clocked my entrance the instant I let the door swing too hard behind me.

“Was that Krystal Cummings I heard out there?”

“Yep,” I said as casually as I could.

She finished her row and set the spatula down with surgical precision. “So,” she said, “did she ask Ford to sign her boobs, or was it just the standard high school reunion routine?”

I tried to play it cool, but my face was a dead giveaway. “Pretty sure she’s saving the boobs for after dinner,” I muttered, heading for the sink.

Sutton leaned on the counter, arms folded, that smug big-sister look on full display. “She’s had it bad for him since tenth grade. It’s kind of tragic, actually. You know she used to write his last name after hers on all her notebooks?”

“Gross,” I said, and meant it. I turned the water on, more noise than pressure, and rinsed my hands a little longer than necessary. “She’s married anyway.”

“Yeah, like that would stop her.”

“He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.”

Sutton raised her eyebrows, then glanced at the window in the swinging door. “You can say it. You like him.”

“I don’t even know him,” I protested, grabbing a towel. “I just—he seems interesting. And she’s so—whatever.”

She grinned, like she’d been waiting for that answer all day. “Lily, you know everyone in Whittier is an open book. But that man? Total mystery. Of course you’re interested.”

She had a point.

Sutton went back to her cookies, arranging them on a cooling rack. She didn’t look at me as she said, “You want the real story, or the one everyone tells?”

I paused. “Is there a difference?”

She let out a breath. “Well, in the real story, Ford was the smartest kid in school, and also the most reckless. Got into every kind of trouble you could dream up, but always managed to charm his way out of it. Teachers loved him. So did half the girls, and a few of the boys, too, if we’re being honest.”

I smiled despite myself. “He doesn’t seem like a charmer.”