Page 17 of The Romance Adventure

Glancing at the clock on the dash, I scold myself. I’d gone exactly twenty-nine minutes without thinking about her. I can’t seem to break thirty.

Despite what my rivals say, perhaps there is a kind, compassionate bone in my body, and the reason my thoughts repeatedly float back to her is that I want to do good in this world. Contribute to a worthy cause and improve the lives of those in need. The woman looked like she could use help and not just learn to juggle or top off her fluids.

But I don’t need Strawberry Shortcake or Coco Key.

I’m the Lone Ranger, the Lone Wolf, a werewolf all rolled into one and women are better off steering clear of me.

Parked outside what appears to be the sole shop in this town where the owner bothers to sweep the doormat and wipe the smudges from the window, I give myself one last chance to go back.

But before I can throw the BMW into reverse, an SUV pulls alongside my car. The door slams. A man whoops and before I know it, Ryan pulls me out of the driver’s seat and into a hug.

“It’s been far too long.”

“Not long enough,” I mutter.

“Magnus gave the order. Said to come down here for the old man’s birthday or whatever. I’m surprised you were the first to arrive.”

“Trust me, I’ve considered doubling back.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “Nah. Come on. It’ll be like old times.”

If only I had Ryan’s sunny outlook.

“I’ll even buy you a—” He points to the ip & oop and shakes his head. “Looks like Kathy is closed for the season.”

“When were you here last?”

Ryan scratches his temple. “I’m not sure. Three years? Five? Seems like a lot has changed. This place is new. Let’s head inside.”

We enter Beans & Books, a cozy little bookstore café with a giant loveseat under the window and books everywhere. A cat eyes us carefully like she’s the loss prevention specialist.

A woman with dark hair and soft features emerges from the back and says, “Welcome, what can I get for you?”

Like the cat, she looks from Ryan to me. Her eyes are brown and somewhat familiar, but I can’t place them. I scrub my hand down my face. I could probably use a sound sleep and a solid meal served on a plate with a knife and fork.

Ryan smiles in that infuriatingly flirty way that woos women without a single word. “If you’re wondering whether we’re twins, yes, but not identical.” He points to my nose. “See, his is smooth. I have a bump. And he has a scar on his lip and bigger ears. Obviously, I’m the superior specimen.”

The woman’s expression ripples between concern for my brother and amusement.

Just to annoy Ryan, I say, “Don’t listen to him. I’ve never seen this guy in my life. He said he wanted to case the joint, and I advised against it. He’s wanted in three states for chocolate theft.” I point to the display.

He chucks me in the arm with his fist. “I am not. I’ve been told that I’m as sweet as pie. A real cinnamon roll. A cookies and milk kind of guy. However, my twin is as prickly as a pineapple, as tart as a lemon, and as⁠—”

“Sounds like you have low blood sugar,” I interrupt.

“Admit that I’m the nice one and you’re the mean one.”

“No comment.”

“Bro, you don’t have a nice bone or muscle or impulse in your body,” Ryan retorts.

“I rescued a kitten once and I help old ladies load their groceries.”

“Oh yeah? When was the last time you were in the grocery store?”

I shift uneasily. He’s got me there. Angela knows what I like to keep stocked at my condo, otherwise, I eat out.

Ryan turns back to the woman behind the counter. “Okay, fine, my brother isn’t mean, so much as he’s misunderstood.”