Page 23 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
T hursday afternoon, the shop smelled like espresso and caramel, the air thick with chatter and clinking cups. A group of tourists had wandered in, still wearing Pickwick Lake T -shirts from the marina gift shop, their voices pitched just a touch too loud.
Cindy was on a tear, snapping lids onto cups with a little more force than necessary. “ I swear, Rose , if the council thinks they can funnel festival money into repainting the gazebo while the parade floats look like they’ve been held together with duct tape and wishful thinking, then I’m? —”
The bell over the door jingled, cutting her off.
Rose glanced up, expecting another cluster of customers. Instead , she saw her.
Briana.
The name hit Rose’s chest like a thrown stone.
Briana stood framed in the doorway in sleek white jeans and a chambray blouse that looked like it had never seen a wrinkle. Her hair was curled to Southern perfection, glossy and swinging over her shoulders. And her expression—sugary sweet with just enough twist to curdle cream.
Rose’s stomach clenched so hard she had to grab the counter for balance. The room itself seemed to pause, conversations dropping by half a note.
“Afternoon,” Briana said brightly, ignoring the hush that rippled through the coffee shop.
Cindy stiffened behind the register, lips pressing into a thin line, but she said nothing.
Rose wiped her hands on a towel, buying herself a breath before she straightened slowly. Her throat was dry, but her voice came out steady. “ Can I help you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Briana’s smile sharpened. “ I thought maybe I’d grab a coffee. Support a local business. Small -town girl and all.”
Rose stepped out from behind the counter, sliding into the space between Briana and Cindy like a buffer. “ We’re pretty busy.”
“I’ll be quick.” Briana’s eyes sparkled like she knew exactly what she was doing.
She waited patiently at the register while Cindy rang her up, black coffee, no cream, no sugar. The drink of someone with a blackmail folder in her purse and no time for nonsense.
Rose knew it was all theater. Briana could’ve gone to the café down the block, or the new smoothie bar by the boutique hotel. Could’ve picked anywhere but here . She hadn’t come for coffee. She’d come for an audience.
When the cup slid across the counter, Briana lifted it with both hands, perfectly manicured nails catching the light.
“You know, Rose ,” she said casually, “it’s funny how things always come back around, isn’t it?”
Rose’s jaw ached as she clenched it. “ Some things should’ve stayed gone.”
Briana smiled, sweet as poison. “ That’s one way to look at it. Or maybe this town has a way of remembering what’s real. What’s meant to be.”
The words slid under Rose’s skin, hot and sharp. She opened her mouth, but Cindy beat her to it—dropping a spoon onto the counter with a clatter that echoed through the shop.
A couple of heads swiveled, whispering.
Rose ignored them, her pulse pounding. “ If you’re referring to Acen? —”
“Oh, honey,” Briana interrupted with a soft laugh. “ I’m not the one trying to rewrite history.”
The words dripped with insinuation. Acen’s name was a knife Briana twisted with a practiced hand.
Cindy’s nostrils flared, but she kept her voice even. “ We’ve got orders piling up, Rose .”
Translation: don’t let her bait you.
But it was hard, standing there with every nerve sparking like a live wire.
Briana, of course, wasn’t finished. She took a slow sip of her coffee—like she was tasting victory more than caffeine—then leaned just slightly closer.
“ Anyway . I’m on my way to meet Declan .
He’s helping me find someone reputable to buy a registered poodle puppy from.
You know how hard it is to find someone around here for things like that. ”
Rose’s pulse spiked. Declan ? Working with her ?
Her grip tightened on the towel until the fabric bit into her palm. “ You’re working with Declan ?”
“Mm-hmm.” Briana hummed the sound, soft and satisfied. “ He’s been so helpful. That man notices everything.”
The double-meaning wasn’t subtle.
The coffee shop was too small, too hot. Rose’s breath caught in her chest as if Briana had reached across the counter and pressed a finger directly over her heart.
“Well,” Briana said after a pause that stretched too long, “ I should go. Lots to do. This town isn’t going to impress itself.”
She turned, hips swaying as she walked out, strappy sandals clicking against the tile. The door swung shut behind her with a sound that felt like a gunshot in the silence that followed.
Cindy blew out a sharp breath. “ That woman has the emotional range of a viper in a sundress.”
Rose stared at the closed door, throat tight. “ She’s just warming up.”
The buzz of the shop slowly resumed, customers whispering to one another, pretending not to watch Rose . But she felt every glance, every unspoken bless your heart aimed her way. This was Pickwick Bend , after all—where gossip traveled faster than cell service.
Cindy nudged her gently with her elbow. “ Ignore her. She’s only here for one thing.”
Rose shook her head, still staring at the door. “ No . She’s here for three things. Acen . Declan . And trouble.”
“Then she’s gonna get herself a full plate,” Cindy muttered.
But the words didn’t settle Rose’s stomach. Not when she thought about Declan , steady, kind Declan , caught in Briana’s orbit.
The towel slipped from her hand onto the counter. For the first time all day, Rose forgot the line of customers, forgot Cindy’s rant about the festival, forgot everything except the storm Briana had just carried in like a trophy.
Because storms didn’t come to Pickwick Bend without tearing up roots.
And Rose had the distinct feeling that this one wasn’t passing quick.