Chapter 2

Everything went quiet. Not just the whispers this time—everything. Even Mrs. Henderson stopped wiping down the counter. It was like someone had hit the mute button on the entire coffee shop.

I turned toward the door and immediately understood why.

The man standing in the doorway was tall, dark-haired, and unfairly handsome in that effortless way some people managed. He had the kind of sharp jawline that belonged in magazines and eyes so green they were probably illegal in some states. But it wasn't his looks that made everyone stop talking.

It was the way he was looking at me.

Cold. Calculating. Like he was trying to solve a particularly unpleasant puzzle.

Our eyes met across the room, and I felt my stomach drop. I'd seen that expression before, usually right before someone started lecturing me about my "reputation" or my "poor choices."

Great. Another person who'd already decided who I was before bothering to actually meet me.

The stranger's gaze flicked to Knox, then back to me, and something shifted in his expression. Recognition, maybe. Or confirmation of whatever he'd already heard about Harper Sullivan and her supposed way with men.

I lifted my chin and stared right back at him. If he wanted to judge me based on small-town gossip, that was his problem.

But as he stepped into the shop and let the door close behind him, I had the sinking feeling it was about to become my problem too.

The stranger walked toward the counter with the kind of confident stride that screamed big city. Everything about him was put-together in a way that made my jeans and old sweater feel shabby. His jacket was expensive, his shoes were spotless, and he carried himself like someone who was used to getting his way.

Knox nudged me with his elbow. "You know him?"

"Never seen him before in my life."

But something about the way Mr. Perfect was scanning the room made my skin crawl. His gaze lingered on the vintage posters Grandma Rose had hung on the walls, the mismatched chairs, the slightly warped floorboards. Like he was cataloging everything wrong with the place.

He reached the counter and glanced at Mrs. Henderson, then at me. "Are you the owner?"

His voice was exactly what I'd expected—smooth, educated, with just a hint of impatience. Like talking to small-town people was beneath him but he'd do it anyway.

"I am." I stepped forward, forcing a smile. "Harper Sullivan. How can I help you?"

"Logan Winters." He didn't offer his hand, didn't smile back. "I'm the new veterinarian in town. I wanted to discuss your pet policy."

Pet policy? We didn't have a pet policy. Grandma Rose had always let people bring their dogs in as long as they were well-behaved.

"Of course," I said, keeping my voice pleasant. "What about it?"

Logan pulled out his phone and started scrolling through what looked like notes. "I've been reviewing local establishments for compliance with health department regulations. Coffee shops that allow animals need to meet specific requirements."

The way he said it made it sound like I was running some kind of health hazard. Behind me, I could hear the whispers starting up again.

"Is there a problem with our current policy?" I asked.

"There are several concerns." He still wasn't looking directly at me. "Food preparation areas need to be completely separated from animal access zones. You'll need designated pet seating that's properly sanitized between uses. And all animals will require current vaccination records on file."

Every word felt like a criticism. Like he'd already decided this place wasn't good enough and was just going through the motions of explaining why.

"That seems reasonable," I said, even though it sounded like a huge pain in the ass. "I'm sure we can work something out."

Logan finally looked up from his phone, and when our eyes met, I felt that same cold assessment from before. "You'll also need proper signage indicating which areas are pet-friendly and which aren't. And a system for managing multiple animals to prevent conflicts."

"Right." I nodded like this was all perfectly normal and not at all like he was deliberately trying to make my life difficult. "Anything else?"

"I'll need to see your current sanitation procedures and—"

"Harper!"

I turned to see Sage McKinley bursting through the door like his pants were on fire. His sandy hair was sticking up in about twelve different directions, and he had that panicked look he got whenever he was trying to work up the courage to talk to a girl.

"Thank God you're here," he said, rushing over to me. "I need help. Serious help."

Knox snorted. "Let me guess. Emma?"

Sage's face went bright red. "She likes daisies, right? Or was it roses? Harper, you remember what she said at the farmers market last month?"

I couldn't help but smile. Sage had been crushing on Emma Rodriguez, the town librarian, for about six months now. But asking him to actually talk to her was like asking a fish to climb a tree.

"Daisies," I said. "Definitely daisies. She said roses were too formal."

"Okay, good. And chocolate? Dark or milk?"

"Dark. She mentioned she's trying to eat healthier."

Sage was nodding frantically, like he was memorizing every word. "Dark chocolate, daisies. Got it. What about wine? Should I bring wine?"

"To the library?"

"No, for after. If she says yes to coffee. Which she probably won't, but just in case—"

"Sage." I put my hands on his shoulders. "Breathe. You're overthinking this."

He took a deep breath, then another. "You're right. Simple. Keep it simple."

"Exactly. Just ask her if she wants to grab coffee after work. Casual, friendly. You've got this."

Knox was grinning like this was the best entertainment he'd had all week. But when I glanced back at Logan, his expression had gone from cold to arctic. He was watching me and Sage with the kind of look that said he'd just had all his worst suspicions confirmed.

Great. Another person who thought every conversation I had with a man meant something it didn't.

"Thanks, Harper." Sage pulled me into a quick hug. "You're the best. I owe you big time."

"Just promise me you'll actually ask her this time instead of chickening out."

"I promise. Maybe. Probably." He grinned and headed for the door. "Wish me luck!"

The silence that followed was awkward as hell. Logan was back to staring at his phone, but I could feel his judgment radiating off him in waves. Mrs. Henderson was pretending to organize coffee cups, and the other customers had given up any pretense of not eavesdropping.

"So," I said, turning back to Logan. "About those sanitation procedures..."

Before he could answer, the door opened again.

This time, it wasn’t a stranger—it was a friend.