I quietly admit to myself that Sutton was right, just like he was with the car. I feel amazing after getting a full night of sleep and not having to push myself to the limit first thing in the morning.
Unfortunately, it’s also a reminder of why I want to find a way to be able to afford moving back to Jackson. This is the life I want, the life I used to have.
I crave the slow mornings—walking Felix around my picturesque town or along the creek. I miss the occasional night out with Monica or hanging out after work and not constantly doing the mental math of how long of a drive home I now have. In the winters, my only commute was to the ski resort when I had the day off or even just an afternoon.
The chime of the alarm system rings through the shop and I hear the back door open and shut. Monica is finally here. I don’t know the last time I got here before her.
I take a long gulp of my iced coffee—my favorite—with cayenne, cinnamon, and honey. People thought I was crazy when I came up with that combination, but it’s our best seller now.
Monica comes in from the kitchen, head down and earbuds in probably listening to an audiobook. Dropping her purse on the counter, she looks around the espresso station.
“Hey, Mon. You’re late,” I tease from my comfy spot across the shop.
Monica nearly jumps out of her skin and her keys hit the ground.
“Holy shit!” She clutches her chest and looks over at me. “You scared me.”
I giggle, which prompts her to give me a funny look. “Ifigured you would have noticed the oven full of muffins and croissants.”
She tilts her head to the side before looking back into the kitchen. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I missed that.”
“You’d make a terrible detective.”
“What time did you get here?”
“About an hour ago.”
Her eyes widen and her brows rise in surprise. “Damn. Alright. I guess you earned your current lounging status.”
“Yeah, not gonna lie, I've missed being able to walk in the mornings too.”
Her surprised look is replaced by a knowing smirk. “That’s right. You stayed at Pretty Boy’s apartment last night, didn’t you?”
“I stayed at Sutton’s spare guest apartment, nothisapartment. And, so what?”
“Oh, nothing.” She lets out an amused hum before turning toward the espresso machine. I did not miss herthat’s interestingtone. After decades of friendship, we know each other’s tells too well to keep secrets.
Maybe it’s because I’m fully rested for a change, but I decide to call her out on it. I lift up in the chair, crisscrossing my legs under me. “Alright, you gossipy bitch. What is it?”
Without looking up, she continues making her coffee. From this angle, I can see her coy expression. “So we’re calling him Sutton now? Not Pretty Boy or That-Freaking-Prick?”
I groan in frustration and throw my head back into the plush chair. “You know, I really hate you right now.”
She chuckles to herself. “No, you don’t. We both know that’s a lie. Now do you want to get your ass over here and help me brew some coffee? We need to start filling these carafes.”
I glare at her before trying to get one last sip of my coffee in vain. Even though I look like I’m walking over tohelp her, the first thing I’m doing is making myself another iced Honey Badger.
The espresso machine makes its telltale whirring sound while I start to make my drink. I tap my toe and hum to myself while the double shot dribbles into my cup, but I still feel my best friend’s eyes on me.
“Seriously, what it is now?” I deadpan.
A few silent seconds pass before I turn to look at her. “Alright, now you’re just being weird.”
Instead of finding her knowing grin waiting for me though, she’s leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest and a soft smile.
“I’m glad you’re not fighting it for a change.”
I rear back in confusion. “Fighting what?”