Page 16 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T he next morning, Rose walked into Southern Sips prepared to take the day in stride. But first, a cinnamon roll and some sanity.

A full breakfast at The Mimosa Tree would only raise her stress level because the gossip mill was surely in full swing, every forkful of biscuits and gravy punctuated with someone whispering about Acen Wheeler’s reappearance, Briana’s strut across the ball field, and Rose McAllister caught dead center of it all.

Southern Sips was safer ground.

The coffee shop already hummed with the kind of low-level chaos that made it feel alive.

Mismatched chairs scraping across hardwood, weekenders in golf polos, locals leaning heavy on the counter like they owned the place.

The scent of cinnamon and strong coffee clung to the air, tangling with laughter and clinking mugs.

The chalkboard menu listed quirky lattes with names like “ Pickwick Perk ” and “ Lake Life Caramel .”

Cindy, her hair piled high in a messy knot and apron dusted with flour, waved her over from behind the counter. “ You look like someone who’s about to ruin a man’s life.”

“Just his sense of security,” Rose muttered, setting her sunglasses on top of her head.

“Oh good.” Cindy grinned as she slid muffins onto a tray. “ You’re finally embracing your villain era.”

Rose cracked a reluctant smile.

“Acen come by again?” Cindy asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, the way only a friend could pull off.

Rose nodded. “ We talked. He didn’t run.”

“Progress,” Cindy declared, stacking muffins high.

“I told him he had to show up. Prove he meant it.”

Cindy arched a brow. “ And Briana ?”

Just as she’d feared, the ball field debacle had already made the rounds. Word traveled faster in Pickwick Bend than kudzu climbing a fencepost.

“She’s sniffing around,” Rose admitted. “ Still polished. Still poisonous.”

“Want me to dump sugar in her gas tank?”

“No,” Rose said, though her lips twitched. “ But maybe don’t serve her the good coffee if she comes in.”

Cindy winked. “ Consider it done.”

Rose slid her cinnamon roll onto a plate, grabbed her coffee, and made her way to the corner booth. The one with the cushion that sagged just enough to feel familiar.

She let her shoulders drop. She felt… lighter.

Not fixed. Not healed.

But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t walking through the wreckage alone anymore.

She tore into the cinnamon roll, the icing still warm, letting the sweetness steady her nerves.

The chatter around her floated like background music.

Mr . Landry griping about gas prices, two teenagers arguing over who’d pitched better in Little League last season, the sound of the espresso machine hissing like a sigh.

It almost felt normal.

Until the bell over the door jingled, and Rose glanced up to see Declan stroll in.

Her fork froze midair.

Declan looked like trouble packaged in charm that morning.

Sun -browned skin, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and that easy, confident smile that seemed to land right on her like he’d been saving it just for her.

He spotted her instantly and cut through the crowd, a fresh energy rolling in with him like a gust of lake wind.

“Morning, McAllister ,” he said, sliding into the booth next to her without waiting for an invite. “ Thought I’d find you hiding out here.”

“Not hiding,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction. “ Strategically avoiding.”

“Ah.” He leaned back, grin lazy. “ The art of small-town survival. I’m still learning.”

She tried not to notice the way people’s heads swiveled. Because of course they did. Declan was new enough to still be shiny, and sitting with Rose only poured gasoline on the rumor fire already blazing through town.

“You want half this cinnamon roll?” she asked, mostly to distract herself.

“Darlin’, I came in for coffee, but if you’re offering…” He reached over, tore off a piece, and popped it into his mouth like they’d been sharing breakfasts forever.

Rose forced a laugh, though something low in her stomach twisted. Because it wasn’t lost on her what this looked like.

And apparently, it wasn’t lost on Acen either.

Because when the bell jingled again, and she glanced up, there he was.

Acen froze just inside the door, scanning the coffee shop like a man bracing for a hit. His eyes on her corner booth, on her and Declan sitting shoulder to shoulder over half a cinnamon roll.

The muscle in his jaw ticked.

Rose’s breath caught.

Acen didn’t move for a long moment, and she swore the air shifted, heavy with unsaid words. Then , without a sound, he turned and headed for the counter, nodding stiffly to Cindy as if he hadn’t seen a thing.

But Rose knew better.

Declan followed her gaze, his grin fading as he leaned closer. “ That him?”

Rose cleared her throat. “ Yep .”

“Ah.” Declan studied her a moment, then Acen’s broad back at the counter. “ Guess the stories aren’t exaggerated.”

Her heart kicked up. “ What stories?”

“That you two have enough history to fill a library.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were careful. “ Am I walking into a minefield here?”

She stared at him, fork still in hand, cinnamon icing smudged on her napkin, the whole coffee shop holding its collective breath like they were all waiting for her answer.

Maybe she was walking into a minefield too.

The rest of breakfast blurred around the edges, half conversation with Declan , half awareness of Acen at the counter.

He didn’t come over. Didn’t even look her way again.

He just grabbed his coffee, muttered thanks to Cindy , and walked out with that steady stride that screamed control—but Rose knew it for what it was.

Restraint.

And that almost hurt worse than if he’d made a scene.

Declan noticed too. “ Man’s got discipline,” he said, shaking his head.

“ Not sure I’d have the same if the roles were reversed.

” His eyes smiled into hers. “ I know you have your hands full with practices and the tournament and that’s as it should be.

But I want you to know I’d love to get together again soon. ”

Rose pressed her napkin flat against the table, her pulse unsteady. “ You’re right. I have a lot going on right now. It’s complicated. Let’s get past the tournament and circle back, okay?”

“Complicated,” Declan repeated, then softened it with a smile. “ That’s just another way of saying interesting.”

But she wasn’t sure interesting was what she wanted anymore.

By the time she left Southern Sips , the sun was high and the heat oppressive, but the bigger weight was inside her. Declan had walked her out, his hand brushing lightly against her arm as he promised to see her at the game. It was easy with him. Comfortable . He liked her without ghosts.

But she couldn’t shake the look on Acen’s face—the flash of hurt, quickly buried.

It lingered, sharper than vinegar on her tongue.

That night, sitting on her porch with the cicadas screaming and the Polaroid still on her kitchen table, Rose tried to untangle it all.

Acen’s note. His presence on the field. The past. The new promises.

Declan’s smile. His ease. His ability to step right into her life without dredging up the past.

And her own heart, traitorous and torn, beating harder than it had in years.

She closed her eyes, the night air thick, the lake a dark mirror in the distance.

She wanted simple. She wanted safe. But she was a McAllister . She’d never been either.