Page 4 of More Than Words (Trickle Creek: The Lyons #2)

Chapter Three

Delaney

S unday mornings were sacred. The shop didn’t open until noon, which meant I had a few blissful hours of quiet without stocking inventory, answering calls, or greeting customers. Not that I minded any of that. Quite the opposite. But still, it was nice to have a break.

Plus, I needed the opportunity to go over my financials without interruption.

As an extra treat, the incessant buzz of power saws also seemed to have ceased for the time being. It was just me, a cup of the tea blend Lauren had given me, and my spreadsheet.

Okay, that part wasn’t so relaxing, especially given the tight constraints I had with my budget. There wasn’t much wiggle room, especially not with the renovation going on next door. But I’d make it work. There really wasn’t much of a choice.

It wasn’t the first time I’d built something from nothing. But I did hope it would be the last.

Back in Ontario, in what felt like a different life, I had my own shop.

A cozy, thriving little gift shop, Nook & Nest. Hand-poured candles, locally created art, those little adorable felt animals that no one needed but were too cute to pass up.

It had taken me years to build the shop into a thriving business, and Ken had wiped it all out in months.

My ex-husband had been charming in a way that made people lean in and want to be near him. He had a way of speaking so people not only listened to everything he had to say, but they believed whatever came out of his mouth.

He was the kind of guy who could sweet-talk a vendor into giving us more credit. Credit we didn’t need. And I didn’t know about.

It was my shop, but I’d been naive enough to include him on the bank accounts. After all, he was my husband. I had no reason to believe he would do anything to put the shop—or us—in jeopardy.

By the time I realized he’d been borrowing money from the business, and we were deeply and irreversibly in debt, it was way too late.

Even as the depth of his deception came to light, he still tried to charm his way out of the situation and convince me it would all be okay.

He’d been so smooth, so confident that I started to second-guess things and question my own decision.

But the truth was, Ken had been so completely reckless with our livelihood that it had taken only months to destroy everything. In a flash, I lost it all.

My business, my savings, my marriage, and my peace.

So no, I didn’t trust a handsome smile and a charming word. Not anymore.

It had taken me years to rebuild my credit and scrimp and save for my new shop. Plot Twist was all I had. And I’d be damned if I let the smooth-talking brewmaster next door ruin it. Not even if the way he smiled at me made something low in my belly tighten. Especially because of that.

I shut my laptop and exhaled slowly, forcing myself back into the present.

The past didn’t get to control me here. I’d moved across the country to this small mountain town where no one knew me or my past. This wasn’t just my second chance—it was my last chance.

The thought of starting over again was too exhausting to contemplate.

I carried the teacup to the sink and rinsed the rest of the brew down the drain before refilling the cup with water for my one plant, a scraggly pothos I’d named Priscilla.

She’d been left in the shop by the previous owner when I’d taken over the lease, and despite her less-than-lush appearance, I couldn’t bring myself to give up on her.

I glanced out the window into the busy plaza below.

The pedestrian-only area of Trickle Creek, lined with shops, cafes, and bustling businesses, was one of the reasons I’d fallen in love with this town and the shop space.

From here, I could see the Bean Bag across the way, the Sugar Shack that served the best ice cream and more recently, homemade chocolates and the little diner, Willa’s Whisk, run by Willa herself, who had to be at least eighty.

Right around the corner was Lauren’s shop, and across from that, the flower shop, Alpenglow.

The owner, Charli, was known for her beautiful displays that she customized for every store and changed out with the seasons.

The plaza was pedestrian-only, which was why the large flatbed truck slowly making its way through the cobblestoned street caught my attention. It was loaded down with equipment, a small forklift following behind.

The brewery.

As I watched, Ethan and two of his brothers worked together to unload what had to be a brewing tank and maneuvered it into the old Chinese food restaurant, through what used to be a large picture window but was now a gaping hole in the front of the store.

I rolled my eyes. So much for a peaceful Sunday.

A few moments later, a loud clatter echoed through the wall. I muttered a curse under my breath and was just about to turn away to ignore the construction when a thunderous crash rang out from below.

Then silence.

My stomach dropped.

That could not be good.

“No, no, no—” I hurried down the stairs two at a time and burst through the staff door at the back of my store just in time to see a puff of dust blow through the old vent cover on the wall.

I stopped dead as the fine cloud of white plaster dust drifted through the air above me and settled gently, like a thick carpet on absolutely everything .

Including me.

My cozy seating area, where the Sunday writing group was set to meet in just under two hours, was blanketed in white. The couch, the armchairs, the coffee table with the stack of writing prompt cards I’d just arranged—all coated in powder.

I blinked through the dust, not able to fully process what I was seeing.

And then, very calmly, I took a breath and said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

Ethan

The tank slammed into the venting system with a screech and crunch of metal.

“Dammit.” I swallowed back the litany of curse words I wanted to use despite the fact that Quinn wasn’t there to give me trouble and force me to put money in the swear jar. “I told you we needed more clearance, Grayson.”

“It’s not my fault,” my brother called from behind the controls of the forklift he’d borrowed from the hardware shop he managed. “Brody’s the one giving directions.”

“Oh no.” My eldest brother held up his hands, apparently also unwilling to take ownership for the accident that had now left the ductwork dangling from the ceiling. “I was watching this side.” He pointed toward me. “You said you had things under control from over there.”

He wasn’t wrong. Besides, ultimately, the responsibility started and ended with me. It was my brewery.

And it was my fucking mess to clean up.

I shot both of them a glare, but swallowed back my arguments.

I was too damn tired for them anyway. My back ached, Quinn’s math worksheet was still sitting half-finished on the kitchen table with a promise I hoped like hell I could keep to help her finish it up later, and now my brand-new tank had just caused me yet another setback.

Great start to the day. Never mind that I still needed to get two more tanks unloaded from the truck before the overhead door installers showed up on Monday morning.

The only benefit to taking out the huge picture window in the storefront, creating a massive, gaping hole, was that I could replace it with an all-glass garage door-style setup that could be opened on summer days.

But for the moment, I needed to focus on the problem at hand.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose at the sound of her voice, because apparently, I now also had another problem to deal with.

I turned to see Delaney storming into the space, her arms crossed over her black sweater, now covered in fine white powder. There was a smudge of dust on her cheek, and if she weren’t glaring at me like she wanted to murder me, I might’ve smiled.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips pressed into a tight line, and her jaw set as she jabbed a finger at me.

“Were you aware that you just vented all of your plaster dust into my store?”

I let out a breath and straightened my shoulders, feeling the knot of tension there. “Well, considering I just smashed my brand-new tank into the vents, I imagine that probably did happen.”

“I have a writing group meeting in a little over an hour and everything—I mean everything , including me—is covered in this mess.”

I didn’t have time to deal with this. Not on top of everything else.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got tanks to install and a hole in the front of my shop to seal up, Delaney. We all have problems.”

“I get that,” she said through clenched teeth. “But maybe next time you could give me a heads-up before you?—”

“I didn’t exactly plan to hit the vent, Delaney,” I said, a little sharper than I intended. “Maybe next time, you can remember that this isn’t just your plaza. My business matters, too. This isn’t just a hobby, you know. I’ve got my own bills to pay.”

Bills that were piling up by the day. I tried not to think of it, but I was on a tight timeline. I needed to get things up and running as soon as possible, or we’d have to start dipping into my savings.

“I never said it was a hobby.” Her eyes flared, but there was a shake in her voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered, turning back to the tank.

“Look, Ethan. I have to?—”

“Enough, Delaney.” I spun around to face her.

“I’m sorry I got dust in your store, okay?

But I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’ve tried to work around your schedule as much as possible, but the fact of the matter is, I have a timeline of my own.

If that means there’s a little dust for a few days, you’re going to have to learn to deal with it. ”

Her eyes widened. “A little dust?”

Okay, I could admit that came out way worse than I’d intended. But it was too late to take it back, and frankly, I didn’t have the bandwidth to apologize.