Page 9 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)

Blake

T he tiny gold bells above the coffee shop door ring as I step into the space.

It’s nothing like I remember. I left just a few weeks after Whitney had bought the space, and sadly, I missed out on the majority of the renovations.

It was once home to an antique shop and is easily the largest space on the street.

The perfect size for what she decided to do with it.

One half of the shop consists of towering walls of books, and the other half is a café.

The wall of mugs dangling from old horseshoes is what separates the two sides.

The marble countertops lying along the long black coffee bar are littered with everything coffee.

I could smell the mouth-watering baked goods the minute I walked in.

But the huge vintage mint-green espresso machine is what immediately catches my eye.

Vivienne had found it in a thrift shop and anonymously mailed it to her sister’s front steps.

Whitney had called me, thinking I was the one who had sent it.

The second I had tried to deny it over the phone, Vivienne had reached over and squeezed my arm so hard I thought it’d fall off.

I never could understand why the two pretended to not care about the other, or why there was this weird bridge between them that they’d never cross.

It was sad, knowing that they both so obviously yearned for a relationship with the other.

I’m an only child, though, so what do I know?

Mismatched furniture and tables for working, reading, or a cozy breakfast are scattered throughout.

The walls not covered by books, mirrors, or local art are old, rustic brick.

The regal white ceiling is still gorgeously intact and is home to a huge crystal chandelier right in the middle of the space, but most of the light within the shop streams in from the glass windows taking up the front of the coffee house.

Other adorable details are scattered throughout.

Plush pillows, vases of flowers, an old wooden coat rack that’s being used to hold even more battered horseshoes, bits, worn cowboy boots and hats, and lassos.

Somehow, it’s both chic and country. Something only Whitney’s artistic eye could make look so charming.

I immediately feel like grabbing a cup of coffee and a book to cuddle up with on the floral settee stuffed in the far-left corner.

“Oh, my god!” A girly shriek pierces the air. “Blake? Is that really you?”

Raven-black hair and hazel eyes appear, pulling me away from taking in the shop.

It always shocks me just how alike Whitney and her sister look, no doubt sharing their mother’s features.

The only difference is their eyes. While Whitney’s are more green than brown, Vivienne’s are a brown so dark they’re nearly black.

“Whitney!” I throw myself at her, hugging her until my arms start to cramp, only pulling back so we can take each other in. “It’s so good to see you.” Another bone-breaking hug.

“What the hell are you doing home? Why didn’t you call? You look amazing!”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Whit. The shop…It looks amazing . You look amazing!”

She beams at me, a glint of pride and excitement coating her beautiful features. “It’s come a long way, that’s for sure.” She nods toward a booth by the window. “Take a seat and let me make you a coffee. We clearly have a lot to catch up on.”

“Lavender and honey with oat milk, right?” She asks as she points a finger in my direction.

“That would be perfect,” I answer with a smile.

***

Some time passes, and as I sit in the window seat of Bell’s, I watch as people pass on the street outside. It’s so quiet compared to the city, and for some reason, I find myself missing all the noise. It gave me something to focus on rather than the never-ending anxiety floating through my head.

Whitney comes around the table, using her foot to kick out a chair, and sits across from me, two coffees in hand.

“So? What’s new? What are you in town for?” She questions, sliding my glass towards me.

“I lost my job. Well,” I pause, nervously biting my lip. “I quit.”

“Oh, B,” No pity on her face, just pure curiosity and worry. “What the hell happened?”

So, I tell her everything that’s happened since I’ve left. I tell her about college, I give her updates on Vivienne (without her asking, of course), what the city was like, and how exactly I ended up back in town.

She slumps back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Fuck them. I knew I didn’t like that bitch. And Marshall? What the fuck kind of name is Marshall ?” She seethes.

I can’t help but laugh, something Whitney has never failed to make me do.

My heart tightens, realizing just how much I’ve missed her.

We kept in touch throughout the years, but with us both being so busy, it was hard to update each other on every aspect of life.

I have her to thank for ever getting out of this town.

She’s the sole reason I even got a fresh start.

I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the taste of lavender on my tongue.

A beat of silence, and then Whitney’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning.

Her grin widens as she says, “Funny enough, I’ve been looking for some extra help."

“Oh, no . No. I couldn’t. I appreciate-"

“Blake,” She cuts me off, holding up her hand.

“We’re practically family. And aside from that, you’re one of my favorite people.

This will benefit you just as much as me.

I get to see you more, and maybe get a little free time for myself with an extra pair of hands around.

Do this, maybe stay in town for a little, and then go from there?

Maybe it’ll give you some time to figure things out and clear your head. ”

Her words of wisdom sound oddly similar to Vivienne’s, and before I can voice anything else, she sets down her coffee cup and grabs my hand that’s resting on the table between us.

“Speaking of family…how do you feel about becoming a godmother?” She asks then she glances down, and I follow her gaze to the hand resting on her belly.

A noise I’m quite certain I’ve never made before escapes my lips.

“Oh my – you’re pregnant!?” I lunge forward, nearly knocking my coffee over. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Then another thought hits me, and my eyes widen. “Who-"

“Shh!!” She looks around, but thankfully, there’s no one in here save for an elderly woman reading in the corner. “Quiet! Not many people know yet. I just found out.”

“Does Viv know?” My brows scrunch, and I speak in a much quieter tone this time.

“No.” She shakes her head. “And I’d like to keep it a secret for a little while longer.”

“Hey,” I squeeze her hand back, “I understand.” My smile turns wicked, and I fail at keeping my features neutral. “My god baby is going to be one spoiled son of a bitch.”

She laughs deeply in return, a watery smile of her own greeting mine. She goes to open her mouth once more, but the bell chimes again. Signaling someone else had joined our space. Whitney abruptly stands, nearly knocking over her chair from the force, and lets out a breathless greeting, “Hey.”

“Hey,” A deep voice echoes from behind us.

I don’t get the chance to question her behavior or the odd tension radiating in the air because when I turn, a familiar blue gaze lands on me.

“Holy shit. Little Lake?” The man wastes no time in coming around and scooping me up in a bear hug.

I try my best not to roll my eyes at the old nickname. “I’ve missed you too, Wyatt," I say, squeezing him back.

Wyatt Conway is Wesley’s older brother. Age has only made him more handsome.

His eyes are the same blue as Wesley’s, but the curly hair that now falls to his shoulders is a few shades darker.

It makes me a bit envious that a man was gifted with something most women pray for.

The two brothers could pass as twins if you weren’t around them so often, the smallest features telling the two apart.

Wyatt has always looked more like Ana, whereas Wesley looks like his father.

We grew up together as well but were never nearly as close as Wesley and I were.

He treated me like a little sister. He often was just in the background, off working or helping his mom where it was needed around the house.

After his dad passed, he rarely ever spent any time at home.

As soon as he turned of age, he moved out and took over the family ranch.

He sets me down, holding me at arm’s length. “Mom didn’t say anything about you coming home.”

“She didn’t know,” I explain.

His brows raise at that, but one look from Whitney lets him know it’s best not to question anything.Instead, he pivots the conversation,“Give me a call in the morning tomorrow. You’ve got to come see the ranch. I’m meeting someone now, but I just wanted to stop in for a coffee.”

With that, Whitney comes back into view and hands him a cardboard cup.

“On the house,” she says, not meeting his eyes.

Their exchange is tense, and it feels as if she’s just trying to get him out as soon as possible.

He huffs, sliding a bill into her hands. “Keep the change.”

Wyatt’s always been one grumpy motherfucker too, especially after their dad passed.

But if you’ve known him for as long as I have, you know just how cuddly and warm he is on the inside.

Seems Whitney is one of the few he chooses to tolerate, whether she knows it or not. After he leaves, I face Whitney.

“That was…weird?”

The nerves she had when he was here vanished, replaced by something I can only read as annoyance.

She huffs out a laugh before flipping the open sign to close and locking the door. “Don’t even get me started on Wyatt Conway.”