Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Wade

Had I completely lost my mind?

There was no other explanation for why I was standing in Sandy Sips Café at nine in the morning, ordering half a dozen blueberry scones like some kind of pastry-obsessed lunatic. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely my fault. The real culprit was a Goldendoodle with a grudge and a shocking amount of charisma.

Porky hated me.

He made that abundantly clear every time he looked at me with those soulful, judgmental eyes, as though he were personally offended by my very existence.

And if I had any chance of winning over Emma Michaels—who wasn’t exactly throwing rose petals at my feet either—I figured I needed to start by bribing the dog.

“Morning,” I said casually to Sandy, not noticing her raised eyebrow until too late.

“Interesting fashion choice,” she smirked, gesturing at my chest.

I looked down to find I was wearing my “Kiss the Cook” tee I wore during the cook-off. I’d grabbed the nearest thing that smelled clean this morning, and threw it on.

Shit.

“I’ll have an Em—“ I caught myself. “An americano. Just an americano. Oh, and half a dozen blueberry scones please.”

Sandy’s grin widened. “Sure thing, lover boy.” She leaned against the counter, her mismatched earrings swaying—a tiny teacup in one ear, a saucer in the other. “Are they for you or... a certain someone?”

I smirked, mimicking her pose against the counter. “What makes you think these aren’t just for me? Maybe I’ve got a thing for baked goods.”

“Oh, I’ve seen your type before,” she replied, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. “Big-city men in their fancy clothes, swooping in here thinking they can charm the pants off our locals. Let me guess—you’re trying to win over Emma Michaels.”

I blinked. Was this town equipped with some sort of gossip satellite, or was my interest in Emma that obvious?

Sandy grinned knowingly, as if she could read my thoughts. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s a small town, sweetheart. We can smell a crush from a mile away.”

“It’s not a crush,” I said quickly, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. Since when the hell do I blush ? “It’s... complicated.”

“Sure it is.” Sandy slid the scones across the counter, her smile practically splitting her face. “Here’s a tip: Porky’s the real gatekeeper. You win him over, you might stand a chance with Emma.”

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice,” I muttered, though I couldn’t keep the corner of my mouth from twitching.

Sandy winked. “Just don’t screw it up. That girl’s been through enough, and we like her just the way she is.”

The subtle warning in her voice wasn’t lost on me. It didn’t matter that I was Wade James, billionaire businessman. In this town, I was just another guy trying to prove he was worth trusting.

With my bag of scones in hand, I stepped out of the café and into the sunny bustle of Seashell Cove’s main street. The salty breeze from the nearby ocean mingled with the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the bakery next door.

Kids zoomed by on bicycles, dodging pedestrians with reckless abandon, while locals strolled along, exchanging waves and small talk. I got a few side-eyes and giggle on my way. Glancing down, I realized it must be the shirt.

Smooth, James. Real damn smooth.

My lips quirked. Despite the nosy locals, Seashell Cove was a far cry from the chaos of Miami—no blaring horns, no high-stakes deals, no assistant frantically texting me about quarterly reports. Just sunshine, chatter, and a surprising sense of... ease.

I exhaled deeply, the kind of breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t in a rush to be somewhere else, and damned if it didn’t feel good.

* * *

An hour later, I stood in front of Emma’s gate, the bag of scones in my hand and a sense of determination bubbling in my chest. My Kiss the Cook tee was discarded on the floorboard of my car in favor of a plain black one I kept in my trunk for emergencies.

“Alright, buddy,” I said, crouching down and holding up a scone like a peace offering. Porky stood a few feet away, glaring at me as if I were trying to sell him insurance. “Truce?”

His nose twitched at the scent of blueberries, but he didn’t budge.

“Come on,” I coaxed, breaking off a piece and tossing it toward him. It landed in the grass, a crumbly offering of goodwill.

Porky sniffed it suspiciously, then glanced up at me as if to say, You think I’m that easy?

“Look, man, we got off on the wrong paw,” I continued. “I’ll admit it—I’m not great at first impressions. But you’ve got to give me credit for effort here.”

Porky tilted his head, his floppy ears twitching slightly.

“See? You’re starting to warm up to me.” I tossed another piece of scone, this time closer to him. Porky took a cautious step forward, his tail giving the faintest wag.

Progress.

“Wade?”

I froze mid-scone toss, spinning around to see Mrs. Peabody leaning over her fence next door. The woman had a habit of popping up at the most inconvenient times, like a nosy, cardigan-wearing jack-in-the-box.

“Morning, Mrs. Peabody,” I said, straightening up and trying not to look like I’d just been caught bribing a dog.

Her sharp blue eyes narrowed. “What are you doing with Emma’s dog?”

“Just... making friends.”

She snorted. “Dog doesn’t like you, does he?”

I sighed. “Not yet.”

“Well, I don’t blame him. Emma doesn’t need some smooth-talking city boy coming in here and stirring things up.” She wagged a finger at me. “If you’re going to break her heart, you better pack your bags and leave now.”

“Not planning on it,” I said firmly, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice.

Mrs. Peabody studied me for a long moment, then nodded as though she’d made some sort of decision. “Good. Because if you hurt her, you’ll have me—and the rest of this town—to answer to.”

Noted.

Ten minutes later, I’d almost coaxed Porky close enough to pet, when I heard someone clearing their throat. Turning, I found Emma standing on her porch, arms crossed and one eyebrow arched in that way that made me feel simultaneously amused and guilty.

Busted. Again.

She was wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts that showed off her toned legs, and an oversized sweatshirt that slipped off one shoulder, revealing a hint of creamy skin. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she was holding a mug that read But First, Coffee .

She unconsciously touched her lips—a gesture that sent my mind straight back to yesterday’s kiss. I gulped, instantly hard. Shit. My body reacted like a damn teenager whenever I was around her. Inconvenient as all hell. She seemed to catch herself, quickly dropping her hand and gripping her coffee mug tighter.

After yesterday’s encounter at her store—and the carefully wrapped first edition I’d finally worked up the nerve to give her before bailing as fast as I could—I wasn’t sure where I stood with her.

I wasn’t doing much better either, nearly dropping the scones twice as I tried to maintain my casual facade. The morning sun caught her hair just right, and those damn legs?—

“Wade?” She was staring at me expectantly. Right. Words. I should probably say some of those.

“Morning,” I offered with forced casualness, standing up and brushing off my hands. “I was just, uh, getting to know Porky.”

She glanced at the bag in my hand, then at the crumbs scattered on the ground. “Are you bribing my dog with scones?”

“Maybe.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t smile. “You know he’s not supposed to have human food, right?”

“Really? Because he seems to be enjoying it.” I gestured to Porky, who was currently licking his chops and now wagging his tail like we were old buds.

Emma sighed, shaking her head. “You’re so ridiculous.”

“And yet, you keep letting me hang around.”

“I’m not sure ‘let’ is the right word.”

Before I could respond, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, frowning at the screen. “I’ve got to get dressed and get to the store. Maybe try not to corrupt my dog any further while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” I called as she disappeared inside, my lips curving in amusement. The tell was tiny, but I caught it. It was evident in the little circles she was making on her coffee mug with her thumb.

She was flustered.

Because of me.

* * *

Later that morning, I found myself wandering through Seashell Cove’s main street, trying to shake off the nagging thought that Emma might actually be into me more than she let on. Not that she’d ever admit it.

That’s when it hit me.

I stopped dead in my tracks, causing a kid on a bike to swerve around me. Her tell, the way she’d touched her coffee mug this morning, that unconscious circling of her thumb—I’d seen that gesture before. Years ago, in a campus coffee shop at three in the morning, while a passionate philosophy major with fire-red hair argued with me about Kant’s categorical imperative until sunrise.

Emma Michaels. The same Emma who’d made me question everything I thought I knew about my planned-out life that night. The one who’d disappeared before I could get her number, leaving me with nothing but the memory of challenging green eyes and a half-finished debate about moral absolutes.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, earning a disapproving look from a passing elderly woman.

The familiarity that had been nagging at me finally clicked. She’d grown out her hair, traded philosophy debates for running a bookstore, but that fierce intelligence, that way of seeing right through people’s bullshit—it was all there. The same Emma who’d changed my life years ago without ever knowing it.

And she didn’t remember me at all.

I needed to clear my head—and figure out why I was now even more drawn to someone who seemed determined to keep me at arm’s length. It wasn’t just the challenge, though her refusal to swoon at my feet was refreshing. It was the way she looked at me, like she could see right through the expensive suits and polished charm to the person underneath.

And that scared the hell out of me.

The town was its usual charming self—brightly painted storefronts, flower boxes spilling over with blooms, and locals chatting like they had all the time in the world. It was so different from the breakneck pace of Miami that it was almost disorienting.

I stopped at Sandy Sips for another coffee, and the eccentric woman greeted me with her usual knowing grin. “Back again? Let me guess—you’re here for more scones.”

“Not this time,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Although Porky was definitely a fan.”

She laughed, sliding me a cup of coffee. “Word of advice, sweetheart: winning over the dog is only half the battle. Emma’s the tough nut to crack.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“Don’t let her scare you off, though,” Sandy said, her tone softening. “That girl’s got a good heart, even if she doesn’t always show it.”

I nodded, her words sticking with me as I left the café and headed toward the pier where I’d parked my car.

* * *

Ryker was waiting for me when I reached the beach a short time later, his surfboard under one arm and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he called.

“I was busy bribing a dog,” I replied, dropping my own board to kick off my shoes and peel off my tee shirt. I pulled my wetsuit from my bag and zipped up.

My friend raised an eyebrow as he watched me. “Is that code for something, or...?”

“Emma’s dog hates me,” I explained, grabbing my board up from the sand. “I’m trying to win him over.”

Ryker chuckled. “So now you’re trying to charm the whole family, huh? First the dog, then Emma. What’s next, bribing Mrs. Peabody?”

Snorting, I gave him a cocky smile. “Don’t give me ideas.”

We paddled out into the water, the waves rolling gently beneath us as the sun warmed our backs. Surfing had always been my go-to for clearing my head, and Ryker was the only guy I knew who could keep up with me out here.

“So,” he said as we waited for a wave, “what’s the deal with you and Emma, anyway?”

“No deal,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

Ryker smirked. “Right. Because it’s totally normal for you to hang out in a sleepy beach town for weeks on end, bribing dogs, entering chili cook-offs, and kissing a woman you barely know in front of an entire town.”

“I’m just... taking a break from Miami,” I said evasively.

“Uh-huh.”

A wave crested in the distance, and we paddled hard, catching it at the same time. For a few glorious seconds, everything else faded away—the noise in my head, the pressure to prove myself, the complicated situation with Emma—it was just me and the ocean.

When we finally paddled back to shore and got changed, Ryker shook his head, his grin widening when he caught me glancing toward town. “Jesus, you’re already gone for her.”

“Am not,” I protested, even as my eyes drifted in the direction the bookstore for the hundredth time that morning. A familiar figure walked past with a golden blur of fur, and I promptly lost my balance, nearly face-planting into the sand.

Ryker howled with laughter. “Yeah, totally not gone for her. Hey, check your phone again—it’s been what, thirty seconds since the last time? Dude. You’re practically a walking rom-com at this point.”

Scowling, I shoved my definitely-not-just-checked phone deeper into my pocket as I hefted my bag onto my shoulder and tucked my board beneath my arm. Running my free hand through my hair, I groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Ryker gave me a long, appraising look, some of his amusement fading, though his eyes still twinkled with repressed glee. “Fine, my friend. But if you need help with your next grand gesture, you know where to find me. And for what it’s worth, I think you might actually be good for her.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Thanks... I think.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Just don’t screw it up. Meg will kill me.”

Scowling, I flipped him the bird but Ryker only laughed.

Seriously, what was with everyone telling me not to screw it up?

* * *

Back on dry land and packing up my car, I overheard a group of locals talking about trivia night at Beachy Keen Reads as they passed by.

“Emma always makes it so fun,” one of them said.

“Yeah, but the questions are brutal,” another chimed in. “Last time she asked us to name all of Jane Austen’s novels in order of publication.”

Literary trivia.

I had a private library full of first editions and could probably recite War and Peace in my sleep, but that wasn’t going to help me blend in with the locals.

The last thing I needed was to come across as a know-it-all businessman showing off. If I wanted to win Emma over, I needed to learn how these small-town trivia nights worked—the inside jokes, the local references, the unwritten rules.

Decision made, I shot Ryker a quick text and his response came almost immediately.

Me: Did you mean it about the grand gesture?

Ryker: Lmao. Sure, man.

Me: Need your expertise on small-town trivia dynamics. Help me not stick out like a sore thumb?

Ryker: You’re hopeless. My place at 7. Bring beer.

Maybe. I couldn’t help but grin. But if trivia night was my ticket to spending more time with Emma, I was all in—even if it meant playing down my book knowledge and letting Ryker show me the ropes.

Whistling, I flipped on the radio and dropped the cover of my convertible. Making a pit stop at the grocery for a six pack, I headed back to my estate, anticipation thrumming like a live wire as I contemplated my next move.

Let the games begin.