Until Then

1. Hayley

ONE

Hayley

What I need is a stiff drink.

It’s only nine in the morning.

The time, in my opinion, changes nothing. With a long draw of breath through my nose, I inhale the spicy aroma of my espresso. If I can’t lose myself in the haze of alcohol, the very least I can do is be well-caffeinated.

“This is the last time, right?” Greer, my best-friend, grumbles into the phone. “I mean, how many excuses does a man need to make before you see through the cracks in his story?”

I let out a sigh and twist the end of my damp braid around my finger. “G, it’s not easy to just walk away from three years.”

She snorts. “One foot in front of the other, girl. Simple. Done. See ya, douche.”

A smile teases the corner of my mouth. Every human deserves a Greer Light in their lives. Her last name is fitting—the woman is a light, or maybe a torch depending on who you are and if you can be named a friend or foe.

Greer always has my back, sometimes too much with a lot of colorful language, but this is easier said than done.

Three years comes with a lot of history,” I say, taking another drink before picking off a piece of my blueberry scone.

“The word you’re looking for is baggage.” I can practically hear the eye-roll she gives on the other side of the call. “You give Jasper one semi-forgiving glance, and he’s going to weasel his way into convincing you things will change. He’s going to make it seem like his ulterior motives were not always part of the plan.”

Ouch. Another piece of Greer is her ability to whittle down straight to the point. Bold, ferocious, a little scary sometimes. Unfortunately, I need to hear it. Jasper Barnes had reasons for being with me, and it wasn’t anything to do with my charm, wit, or body.

“You keep listing it all out and it makes me feel a little pathetic,” I say.

Greer is silent.

“Hello? You missed the moment where you’re supposed to tell me I’m not.”

“I took an oath to never lie.”

“Why are we friends if we don’t lie to spare each other’s feelings?”

She snickers. “Honestly, Hayley, Jasper had the makings to be a great boyfriend?—”

“Fiancé.”

“Either way, he had all the right ingredients, but someone got the recipe wrong. I wish I could be there to take you out and remind you how to have a good time without the leech on your back.”

“Geez, tell me you didn’t like him without telling me.”

“Why would I not tell you?” Greer lets out a little laugh. “In all seriousness, are you okay?”

“No,” I say, voice soft. “I gave up a lot of years to him and feel like an idiot that I didn’t see the signs.”

I’ve now learned the thing that hurts most. It’s finding out the man you were imagining picket fences and babies with was sleeping with social media models on the side for seventy-five percent of the relationship.

Not to mention, the other half—secretly trying to use the painful past I try to keep locked in the dark basement of my heart to further his career.

At first, Jasper was the unicorn, the once-in-a-lifetime guy every girl dreams about taking home to meet the parents. Successful as a writer for a busy film studio in L.A. He’s handsome, a surfer, a bookworm.

He had all the boxes and—I thought—he checked each one.

What a pity it is he couldn’t keep his pants on around other women.

“Hey.” Greer calls me back to the moment. “Haze, I need you to know, Jasper and his stupidity have nothing to do with you not being enough. He makes me vomit.”

I snort, swiping away a stray tear from the corner of my eye. “He’s the scum between my toes.”

“Exactly.” To someone in the background, Greer mutters something I can’t make out. Another breath and she’s sighing with a touch of dramatics into the phone. “I’m being told I need to get back to work.” Another pause, then her voice lifts. “I know. Jackson Fields! I’ve had this job longer than you. No, you go. Go on. I don’t think you’ve kissed Mauve’s?—”

“Greer!” I interrupt before she can get written up for cussing again. “Remember your word for the year was professionalism .”

“Stupid of me when I work with a snake like Jackson.” She blows out a long, theatrical sigh. “You going to be okay?”

I take the last bite of my scone and brush the crumbs off my palms. “Yeah. I’m just going to gorge on espressos, and I’m having a full-blown affair with the last scone in the display case.”

True enough, the last one is calling out to me like a ghostly summons.

Greer laughs. “Perfect. Sounds like the best sick day.”

“It’s not a sick day. The farrier is just shoeing the horses today.”

“Yeah, I’ll call it a sick day since that delicious man in his chaps is the only one who can get you to step foot off the ranch.”

I roll my eyes. “Tom is married with two kids.”

“I’m their mommy now.”

“Ugh. Goodbye. Go to work. Tell Jackson I say hello.” I snicker before promptly hanging up through a slew of Greer’s hissing words. The fastest way to irritate the woman is to bring up her workplace enemy.

I crumple the tissue paper from my first scone, glance over my shoulder to make certain no one will see my walk of shame to the pastry case, then shuffle to the front of the café. Scones are always displayed on a standing platter with a glass cover like a prized possession.

One, I plan to cherish.

But the moment I touch the top, another hand covers mine.

My heart stalls. A man with sunglasses shielding his eyes from . . . the café lighting, I guess, pops out one of his earbuds. “Um, were you going for it?”

He’s talking to me. There’s a slight drawl of the South in his tone.

Even with his sunglasses, there’s a weird familiarity to him.

I know the next move is to respond—it’s just polite—but I’m momentarily stunned silent by the way his mouth twists into the most perfect smirk. It’s bold, it’s dripping in confidence and swagger. More than his lips, he’s tall, made of marble the way his athletic shirt clings to his chest, and he has a thick head of golden-brown hair that tousles over his brow like his workout is the only stylist needed.

“I don’t mean to be a jerk, but I’m pretty possessive over these scones, so if you’re not going to call it in two seconds, I’m definitely taking it.”

No! The smirk can transform into a wickedly beautiful smile.

He shifts his hand and the glass scrapes over the tray. My brow furrows. Beautiful as he is, this scone is about to get me through the day.

I tighten my hold on the knob of the glass case. “I call it. Normally, I’d be generous, but today is not that day.”

He chuckles. “Oh, then we have a problem. I’ve had a day from hell, so I’m going to need this scone.”

Okay. Hot and arrogant.

“You gave me the chance to call it, though.” I nudge the glass case a little closer to my side.

“Then I remembered how much I love these scones.” He pulls it toward him.

Game on.

“Sorry, but my fingers are under yours. I made it first.”

His chin tilts. Even if I can’t see his eyes under his sunglasses, I know he’s studying my fingers. Before I realize what he’s doing, my stranger adjusts our hands so his fingertips are tangled with mine.

“Hmm,” he says. “Looks like it might’ve been a tie.”

My stomach swoops. He’s flirting. And half-holding my hand. Part of me wants to run, the other part wants to step a little closer.

I take too much pleasure in the way his brows arch higher when I squeeze his fingers. One slight tilt to my head causes my long, red braid to fall off my shoulder. “Well, obviously we’ll need to have a tie breaker before this gets resolved.”

His grin widens. “Agreed. Whoever has the best reasons to take scone. It means we need to confess what happened today to send us both on a scone binger. I’ll go first. These scones taste just like something my grandma used to make and she passed away yesterday, so . . .”

I swallow. All at once my scumbag fiancé doesn’t seem as drastic. I’d be devastated if my Nan passed. “Oh. You . . . you take it then.”

I slowly ease my hand away, but he tightens his grip around my fingers. “Sorry, I can’t. Gram would kill me and toss me into the Bayou if she knew I faked her death again.”

I let out a gasp of surprise. “You faked your grandma’s demise for a scone?”

He pops one shoulder. “I had a really, really bad craving.”

I don’t know if this is a red flag for lying about something so dreary, or a green flag that he fessed up straightaway.

I’ll settle on beige. He’s a man who knows what he wants and toes the line of morally gray to get it, but at least he’s honest.

I shake my head. “I’m probably going to regret this, but why don’t we split it?”

For a moment he doesn’t speak, then he carefully lifts the lid off the tray. “Deal. But only if you sit with me.”

This is happening. A sexy man is asking me on an impromptu date. I ought to be wise and remember I was here mourning the loss of my relationship, but Greer’s squawking voice is blaring in my skull to live like the world will spin off its axis in the morning.

She’s dramatic.

“Deal. You pay since you lied about dead grandmas, and I’ll wait for your apology at the table.” I step back, slightly concerned he’s going to take the scone and beeline it out of the café.

He doesn’t, merely smiles and lifts his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head. I’m captivated all over again. He has one brilliant brown eye and one that’s soft blue.

“Fair enough. You make the rules.”

“I’m liking you more already.” I spin on my heel and stride back toward my table in the corner, only pausing to look over my shoulder. “Hope you’re looking forward to groveling and giving me all the blueberries.”

He picks up the scone, a look in his unique eyes like he knows something I don’t. All he says before he steps to the cash register is, “Until then.”