The building itself had once been a mechanic’s garage, until Poppy Goodman—Maysen, until she’d married her husband—took the place and transformed it into a charming café.
The red brick walls stretched to the ceiling, the ductwork exposed to give it an industrial flair. The original garage doors had been replaced with a row of tall black-paned windows. My shoes, wet from the snow outside, squeaked on the hickory herringbone wood floor as I made my way down the center aisle, passing black tables and chairs filled with happy customers.
“Hey, Della.” Poppy waved from behind the counter at the back of the café. Her smile was contagious. An instant mood lift.
“Hi.” I pulled out a wooden stool, taking a seat beside her daughter, leaning over my former student’s shoulder to see what she was studying. Math. I nudged her elbow with mine, earning a smile as bright as her mother’s.
MacKenna plucked out her earbuds and stretched out her arm for a sideways hug. “Hi, Miss Adler.”
“Hey. Heard you had a pop quiz in math today.”
“Yeah.” She groaned, tucking a lock of loose, brown curls behind her ear. “Mr. Hollister.”
Luka wasn’t exactly beloved by his students. Not that he seemed to care. If he did, well…he hadn’t shared those feelings with me. Maybe he preferred to confide in the blond during their postcoital pillow talk.
I fought a lip curl, focusing on MacKenna. “Hanging with your mom tonight?”
“Yeah. Dad took Brady to basketball.”
Poppy’s husband, Cole, was a cop in Bozeman. Their son Brady was still in fifth grade, but I was keeping my fingers crossed that I’d have him in my class next year.
MacKenna had been my favorite student last year. Like Katy Dawson was this year. And I had a hunch Brady would be next.
“Can I get you anything, Della?” Poppy asked.
“Surprise me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I tried something tonight and MacKenna agreed to be my test subject. But I always love more opinions.”
“You know I’ll always be a test subject.” It wasn’t the first time she’d let me eat one of her experiments. They were always delicious and always ended up on the menu.
“They’re in the back oven. I’ll check if it’s ready.” Poppy held up a finger, then turned and disappeared through the swinging door that led to the kitchen, her sleek red ponytail swishing across her back.
“Okay, so what are we working on?” I leaned my forearms on the counter, inching closer to MacKenna to see what homework she was tackling.
The two of us powered through not only her math assignments from Luka but also her social studies homework and her latest grammar worksheet from her seventh-grade English teacher—her most boring teacher, MacKenna’s words, not mine.
While we worked, we ate Poppy’s latest creation, a vegetable lasagna with a creamy white sauce that was, as expected, perfection. Time passed in a blur and when I finally left them to close the restaurant for the evening, I felt lighter. Only that lightness was short-lived. With every block closer to home, unease twisted my stomach.
Luka’s date would be gone, right? He rarely let them spend the night.
Regardless, it shouldn’t be like this. A woman shouldn’t dread going home because her roommate was screwing his latest conquest.
I parked in my usual spot in front of the house. Since it was Luka’s house, he parked in the garage. My Jeep was alone on the street, and fingers crossed, that meant his guest was gone. Bracing for giggles or the sound of his headboard smacking the wall, I inched through the front door.
Luka lounged on the living room couch, phone in hand, dressed in the same sweats from earlier. His hair was damp.
He liked to shower immediately after sex.
“Didn’t mean to chase you from the house.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “She left.”
“It’s fine.” I waved it off. Was it fine?
Maybe. Maybe not.
A year ago, I would have retreated to my room to wallow. Five years ago, there would have been tears. But tonight, I just didn’t have the energy. So I made my way to the couch, sinking into the buttery leather and pulling a throw across my lap before snagging the remote.
“I was going to use that blanket,” he said.
“Snooze, you lose, Hollister.”
He chuckled as I turned on the television. “Nothing girly.”
“We’re watching The Parent Trap. The original with Hayley Mills.”
Luka hated this movie. But like his pop quizzes, it was my form of torture. He felt guilty for the blond, so he’d stay on this couch and watch until the credits rolled. And tomorrow morning, he’d go out early and scrape the Jeep’s windshield of ice for me. He’d be up early to work out at the gym, then he’d come back and make us both lunches.
Was that why I hadn’t moved yet? His considerate touches always seemed to reel me in. That, and maybe I was scared to spend my nights on a couch alone.
None of it mattered. Not a little bit. Because I was not a woman in Luka’s fantasies. He’d starred in my fantasies for a decade, yet I’d barely been a side character in his.
Dreams of Luka came less and less these days. Instead, I dreamed of a faceless man who cherished me wholly. A man who was considerate. Sweet. Maybe a man who was just as tall. Just as handsome.
And while I was pulling items from the dream-guy menu, I wanted him to have an ass like Jeff Dawson’s.
Chapter 3
Jeff
The house was too quiet.
There were no footsteps thudding upstairs as Katy raced through the hallway. No K-pop blaring from her bedroom. No frustrated groans about her hair.
I fucking hated shared custody.
Katy was at her mother’s this week. We’d been doing this week-on, week-off thing for a decade. Wasn’t it supposed to get easier?
Years ago, when I’d been in school earning my degree, these were the weeks I’d bury my nose in books and block out her absence with my studies. During peak landscaping season, I’d lose myself in mountains of work, avoiding the house from six in the morning until eight at night. And the hours I was home, I’d be swamped with remodeling projects.
Except I’d been too productive. Too efficient. The house was done, and I doubted the work I had on my desk would take until four this afternoon.
Did I need a new hobby? I’d already worked out this morning in the small home gym I’d built for myself in the basement. Maybe I should get Katy that puppy. At least I’d have another living being in the house. Or maybe tonight, I’d stop slacking and get started on organizing the garage.
I cast a longing glance up the staircase as I headed for the front door, then I dug out my phone to send Katy a text.
love you dandelion
With my coat on, I paused in the entryway, waiting for her reply. She’d become the grammar police this year, so I purposefully ignored commas and capitalization just to get her reaction.
Was that Della Adler’s influence? Probably.
In the past week, Della had popped into my mind more times than I wanted to admit. I kept picturing her chocolate hair. Those caramel eyes. The sweet mouth.
A jolt of lust shot straight to my groin, making my cock twitch. Fuck. That had happened more times than I wanted to admit too.