Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
It was so like him. He was good at those moments, at doing things that came from his heart, even when no one else knew they did.
I parked and stared at the sign across the street, feeling like I could burst. From want and hurt and disappointment and love. From all those things twisting me up inside and how the man in that café always managed to quiet my internal storm.
He was music to me. Freedom. And I wanted so bad to have a taste of it again. It was why I’d come to Havenwood, of course it was, and logically I’d known that all along.
I was so damn tired of being caged, like Brit had said, but I didn’t know how to get out of it, out of the one inside my head, that had reinforced bars and had done nothing but get stronger over the years.
But I knew that cage felt bigger, more spacious, when Law was there.
So I got out of the car and headed for the café, as if that changed a damn thing. As if it was some great accomplishment, when it was a normal, everyday activity.
I opened the door and…holy fuck, it was busy. It was white inside, with photos all over the walls, similar to Law’s house. There were sunsets and sunrises. Mountains and beaches.
It wasn’t a large place—a small counter with eight stools, and probably twenty tables, all full except two. It was about one in the afternoon, everyone likely there to get their lunch in before they closed in an hour.
“Just one?” an older woman with graying hair asked as she approached me.
“Yeah.” On reflex my eyes darted away, but she didn’t seem to notice, and she didn’t seem to recognize me.
“Is this your first time here?” She led me to a table.
“Yeah.” I took a seat, and thankfully the booth was toward the back. “I’ve heard great things, though.” It didn’t surprise me that she realized I was new in Havenwood. That was the thing about small towns.
“You won’t be disappointed. I love the biscuits and sausage gravy—breakfast is served all day. But if you’re looking for lunch, the burgers are great too. There’s a little something special in all of them, real creative. Not like your regular burgers. Do you want coffee? My name is Mary Beth, by the way.”
She smiled, and I returned it. Again, no spark of recognition. One of the things I’d always had going for me was, well, for lack of a better term, that I wasn’t anything special. I faded into the background.
“Yeah, a coffee would be great. And some water, please.”
“Coming right up!” And then I was left alone. My eyes darted around the café. I didn’t see Law anywhere. He was likely in the back. Everyone was eating, laughing, talking, going about their day. People said hi to others as they walked by, all clearly comfortable in this little haven Law had created.
Pride surged through me, making lightness flutter in my chest. This was…this was Law. He liked things simple. He liked people. I knew what something like this had to mean to him, a neighborhood place where people came to chat and fill their bellies.
My eyes traveled the menu. When Mary Beth returned with my drinks, I ordered the Blue Mountain Burger.
I lost myself to the hustle and bustle around me, watching people come and go. Polite smiles were pointed my way here and there, but they weren’t aimed at Remington. I was just a guy, and they were being nice.
It didn’t take long before the food came. The burger was huge, with a side salad. I could hardly fit my mouth around it, but when I did, I damn near moaned, it was so good.
A minute or so later, I heard his voice. I turned to see him at a table, speaking to the customers there. He was wearing an apron and had his hair pulled back, and not for the first time, the juxtaposition in who Law was hit me. The guy was gorgeous enough to be a model—he looked like one. But he was the man who liked to work with his hands, and never met a stranger, and had a homey café where he cooked for locals in his small town.
He made everything look so simple. It was something I’d always envied about him.
Law moved to the next table. “How is everything?” His eyes darted up, caught mine, and I saw surprise flash in his gaze.
The older woman seated there said something to him twice before he pulled his eyes from me and said, “I’m sorry, what was that?”
She repeated herself, and he laughed, before moving to the next table and the next. He checked in with all the customers. They all seemed used to this type of treatment from him, all friendly and comfortable.