Colton shrugged sheepishly and mumbled an apology.

Malcolm spoke again. “The so-called friend zone is nothing but a social construct designed to give a man an excuse to justify why a woman might not want to have sex with him. It’s a bullshit lie, and we all know that. So leave Noah alone about his relationship with Alexis. We should be commending him for proving that men and women can truly be friends.”

Like a class that had just been chastised by their favorite teacher, the table fell silent but for the crinkle of paper.

It didn’t last long. Mack finally looked up with a sigh. “All I’m saying is that maybe she’s ready, Noah.”

Noah felt something pop in his brain.

“It’s been eighteen months since—”

“Don’t say it,” Noah snapped. As if he needed Mack pointing out the calendar. Noah knew exactly how long it had been since he’d met Alexis. It wasn’t the time that mattered. It was the circumstances.

And they weren’t right. Not then. Not now.

Maybe not ever. Which was as depressing a thought as the idea of dancing.

Noah stared at the plastic bag on the table. He didn’t want it or their help. And he sure as shit didn’t need romance novels to remind him that he was currently a walking romantic disaster. Unrequited love made for a pathetic happy ever after.

But when things broke up an hour later, Noah took the book with him. Because if he had to pretend to read a damn book to get Mack off his back, so be it.

CHAPTER TWO

This was it. Alexis Carlisle could feel it. This was the day the shy young woman was finally going to talk to her.

For a full week, the woman with the long brown hair and rotating collection of sweatshirts had been coming into the ToeBeans Cat Café—the coffee shop Alexis owned—to sit quietly in a corner with a book, alternating between petting one of the café’s resident felines and shooting nervous glances at Alexis.

But today, she didn’t have a book. Today, she simply looked around, her gaze lingering on Alexis whenever she thought Alexis wasn’t paying attention.

In the eighteen months since Alexis had come forward as one of more than a dozen victims of sexual harassment by celebrity chef Royce Preston, Alexis’s café had become a gathering spot for other survivors of harassment and violence. Nearly every week brought a new woman to the café in search of a supportive ear, an understanding hug, or guidance on how to get out of a bad situation. Alexis didn’t choose this, but it had become her responsibility. Along the way, she’d learned to spot the signs of a woman ready to talk.

She turned to the barista—her friend and fellow Royce survivor, Jessica Summers. “Can you handle the counter for a little while? I’m going to try something.”

Jessica nodded, and Alexis jogged into the back and through the kitchen to the closet where she kept the box of gardening supplies she used to maintain the brick landscaping beds that flanked the front door of the café. They were in desperate need of weeding and pruning, and this idea could maybe kill two birds with one stone. She lugged the box through the café, pretending to struggle more than she really was with its weight. As she approached the door, she wedged the box against the window and once again pretended to struggle as she reached for the handle.

The act worked. The young woman approached with a tentative smile. “D-Do you need some help?”

Alexis schooled her face into what she hoped was gentle friendliness and hid the fact that her insides were skipping rope and singing a summer-camp song. “Thank you, yes,” she said, hoisting the box against her chest. “I need more hands.”

The woman reached around Alexis to open the door and then took another step back to allow Alexis to walk outside.

“Chilly today, huh?” Alexis said, bending to set the box on the sidewalk.

The girl let the door swing shut. She pulled her hands inside the cuffs of her sweatshirt as she answered. “Yes. I—I didn’t expect it to be this cold here.”

“You’re not from Nashville?” Alexis crouched to pretend she was looking for something in the box. She wanted to keep the conversation going but didn’t want to be too aggressive. The last thing the women who found their way to her café needed was someone prodding them to talk before they were ready.

“Huntsville,” the woman said. “It’s still a lot warmer there than here.”

Alexis found her gardening gloves and stood, as if that’s what she’d been looking for all along. “I’ve never been to Alabama. How far of a drive is that?”

“Only a couple of hours. That’s why I thought maybe it would be the same weather here.”

Alexis shoved her gloves in her pocket. “We’re just having an early cold snap,” she said, keeping her voice as light and casual as possible.

“Maybe.” The young woman bit her lip.

Alexis extended her hand. “I’m Alexis. I’ve seen you come in a few times, but we haven’t formally met yet.”

The woman swallowed nervously before accepting the outreach. “Candi,” she said, curling her fingers around Alexis’s. “Well, Candace, but everyone calls me Candi.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Candi.” Alexis nodded back toward the door. “Can I make you something to drink?”

“Oh, no.” The girl shook her head almost frantically.

Disappointment silenced the camp song. But then Candi swallowed and said, “I mean, yes. I came for something to drink, but you seem busy, so I can just go to the counter.”

“I’m happy to do it.” Alexis smiled. “And then maybe you can keep me company while I try not to kill these plants.”

Alexis held her breath until Candi offered that hesitant smile again. “Sure. Yes. That—that would be fine.”

“Cinnamon chai latte?”

The smile grew. “You already know my order?”

“Have a seat,” Alexis said, nodding toward one of the outdoor patio tables. “I’ll be right back.”

Alexis kept her gait as natural as possible as she walked back inside. She caught Jessica’s gaze behind the counter. “I need a cinnamon chai latte,” she said with a furtive glance behind her.

“She finally talked to you?” Jessica asked, eyes lighting up as she started to prepare the drink.

Alexis grabbed a muffin and a scone from the bakery case. Food had a way of breaking the ice and giving people something to focus on when eye contact became too painful. Many a secret had been softly revealed to Alexis over a plate of pastries crumbled by worried fingers.

She returned to Candi and set the plate and latte in front of her. Candi pulled a wallet from her pocket. “How much—”

“On the house,” Alexis said, walking back to the box of gardening supplies.

“Oh, I can’t,” Candi rushed.

“Consider it a Welcome to Nashville gift.” She tilted her head. “Have we met before?”

Candi’s eyes widened for a split second before she once again shook her head. “No.”

“You seem so familiar to me.”

Candi blinked. “Familiar how?”

“I don’t know. Something about your eyes, I guess.”

Candi went still. Like a stunned rabbit caught in the act of eating grass.

Alexis grabbed her pruning shears and went after the worst of the potted mums, which had started to wilt from neglect and the growing chill in the air.

Alexis snipped off a deadhead. Waited. Snipped another one. The quiet clink of the mug against the table was the only sound save the clip of her shears.

When the silence dragged on, Alexis finally said, “I want you to know that you should never feel pressured to talk. If all you want is someone to sit with you, I’m here whenever you need me.”

“O-Okay.”

Another deadhead dropped to the ground. “Many, many women just like you have come here looking simply for someone to sit with.”

Candi’s swallow was audible. Alexis lowered the shears into the box and rose. Candi followed her with nervous eyes as Alexis took the seat across from her at the patio table. From her apron pocket, she withdrew a business card reserved only for women like Candi. “My cell number is on there. You can call me anytime.”

Candi studied the card as if Alexis had just handed her a one-hundred-dollar bill.

“I know how hard this is,” Alexis said. “It’s a suffocating secret to keep.”

“I—I do need to talk to you.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

But then a screeching voice interrupted. “Excuse me, but I have a bone to pick with you.”

Candi’s eyes widened as she turned to look over her shoulder to watch Alexis’s nemesis storm up the front sidewalk and march to the table.

Alexis tried to keep her voice calm. “I’m sorry, Karen. I’m in the middle of something. Can it wait?”

“It absolutely cannot.”

And just like that, Candi blanched, shot to her feet, and stumbled backward. “I—I can come back.”

“Candi, wait.” Alexis tried to reach for the girl’s arm to stop her from fleeing, but Candi slipped from her grasp and disappeared down the sidewalk.

Alexis gathered the dirty plate and coffee mug and stood. Ignoring Karen, she turned toward the door, walked inside, and approached the counter. She set the dirty dishes into a plastic bin beneath the counter and wiped her hands on the towel tucked into her apron before turning to face Karen again. “Something I can help you with today?”

“You haven’t been exactly helpful before, so I seriously doubt it,” Karen responded.

Alexis forced her muscles into some semblance of a smile. “I’m sorry to hear our previous encounters haven’t been satisfactory to you. Would you like to sit and talk? I can make you a cup of tea on the house.”

“I wouldn’t eat in here if you paid me.”

“Then how can I help you?” Her attempt to remain calm wasn’t for Karen’s benefit. It was for her own. If she’d learned anything in the past eighteen months, it was that people were going to believe what they wanted, and few of them were worth the emotional effort it took to try to change their minds. Besides, Alexis was used to dealing with Karen Murray. The owner of the antiques shop across the street had been a thorn in Alexis’s side since the day she’d come forward with her accusation against Royce. Karen had never even spoken to Alexis before then, but now her complaints were a weekly annoyance.