Page 43 of My Three Hometown Alphas

She giggles, choosing a different marker to color with. An idea pops into my head and I sit upright.

“Oooh… let’s go to Peak Brews. I could probably go for an injection of caffeine right now, but I’ll settle for an iced coffee.”

“I don’t know what that means, but they have bomb chocolate muffins. I’m down,” she says, clicking the cap back on her marker.

“That’s my girl. Let’s go.”

The thought of caffeine alone is already adding a pep to my step. We quickly slip into our shoes and head out to my car.

I pause, seeing something behind the guest house. “What’s that?”

Lyla walks beside me as we round the house. In the grassy area behind my little temporary home sit two huge Adirondack chairs with a small table between them.

“Where did these come from?”

I didn’t realize I said that out loud until Lyla answers me. “I think that’s what Will brought home in those big boxes yesterday. I heard him working in the garage last night.” She walks over to sit in one of them. “Maybe he was building them.”

What? Will bought these for me? No…

There’s no way. The guest house is his. It isn’t just for me. It’s for whoever will stay here after I’m gone.

A sharp pain shoots through my chest at the thought of not living here anymore.

“It’s really comfy,” Lyla says, leaning all the way back in the chair. It’s so big it looks like it’s swallowing her up.

I laugh, sitting down in the other chair. Leaning back, I gaze up at the sky. All I want to do is sit out here and read a good book.

Oh… and caffeine.

“Come on, Lyles. Let’s go get our fix. Me caffeine. You sugar.”

“Lyla,” Emory says, setting her chocolate muffin on the counter. She slides my coffee toward me.

I clutch it to me, like someone is going to snatch it away. Emory lets out a chuckle.

“Enjoy,” she says before turning to help the next customer in line.

I’ve gotten to know Emory over the last month with my coffee runs here and there. I’ve tried to space them out, but their coffee is just so damn good.

I don’t get any fancy drinks, but whatever they put in their cold brew is crack for my soul.

Lyla laughs at me when I sigh dramatically after taking my first sip. “Want to go sit outside?” I ask her.

She nods, nibbling at the top of the muffin.

“You must be Avery,” an older lady says out of nowhere. She’s sitting at a nearby table with another older woman. They both have permed white hair, and their shirts look like a garden exploded on them.

“That would be me,” I say, taking a step in their direction. How they know my name, I have no idea. They seem nice enough, though.

“I’m Louise and this is Martha,” she says, pointing to the woman sitting across from her.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, taking another sip of my drink.

“You too,” she says, turning to look at Lyla. “Hi, Miss Lyla.”

There’s a tenderness in her gaze. This woman might be a bit forward, but obviously she has a good heart.

“Hey Miss Louise and Miss Martha,” Lyla says with a little bit of sass in her tone, which makes both older women smile.