Page 6 of Falling for Her

I walk past the bakery window to the door. When I step inside, I smile big at how cute it is. The floor is black-and-white tiles, with four white cast-iron tables with matching chairs. The walls are painted a light pink, and a long white counter with a stainless steel coffee machine is right next to the glass display case. Built-in shelves sit behind the counter with jars of what look like homemade items. Someone comes out from the back kitchen and smiles at me while cleaning her hands in her white apron. “Welcome to Maddie’s. I’m Ms. Maddie.”

I walk to the counter. “Hi,” I chirp, looking at the different donuts they have in the display cases right next to me. My mouth waters. “Everything looks so good.”

“It is”—she winks at me—“and it’s because we make everything in-house, including these cakes,” she points to the cellophane-wrapped cakes, “which are usually sold out.” She shrugs. “We have sandwiches that we make daily, but those are sold out. There are a couple of pieces of pie and one white chocolate raspberry Bundt cake left.”

“By any chance . . .” I look up at the menu board, seeing they serve coffee, tea, cappuccinos, and sweet tea. “. . . do you make matcha?”

“That green concoction for people who don’t want coffee?” she asks me, and I throw my head back and laugh.

“That would be it.”

“We do. My daughter just added it to the menu. It’s all the rage, apparently.” She shakes her head. “I’ll get her to make it for you. Last time I tried to make it, it ended up being paste. Everleigh,” she shouts over her shoulder, and someone who must be Everleigh comes out of the back. Her black hair is pulled back in a hairnet, and the white apron is tied just below her breasts, showing off a baby bump. “This lady—” She points to me.

“Finley,” I point to my chest, introducing myself, and Everleigh smiles at me.

“. . . wants one of the green things.” I roll my lips when I see Everleigh chuckle.

“I got it.” She shakes her head. “Excuse my mother, she is not good with change.”

“Is anyone?” I ask her, and she thinks about it.

“Some change is good,” she replies. “How would you like your matcha?”

“I don’t know if you have oat milk⁠—”

“Here we go,” Ms. Maddie snorts. “I’m going in the back.” She looks at Everleigh, then at me. “Have yourself a wonderful day and tell your friends about us.”

“I will.” I know full well I will not be telling any of my friends about this place, since I’m running away from said friends and my small-dicked soon-to-be ex-husband.

Everleigh waits until her mother is away. “We do have oat milk,” she confirms. “But we have a special drink I’ve been making called the matcha coconut cloud.”

“Ohh, I’ll have one of those. That sounds delicious.”

“They are my favorite.” She takes out the items to make my matcha. “I did a post for our social media the other day, and it went viral, so we’ve been slammed for it.”

“That’s incredible.” I grab my phone and open my social media to pull up their account. The last video has 7.4 million views. I’m still watching the video, seeing how she does it, when she places the see-through plastic cup on the counter. The bottom part is green, and the upper part is white with some foam, sprinkled with matcha powder on top.

“Enjoy.” She smiles at me, and I pick it up, moving my wrist in a circle to mix it together with the straw she hands me. I take a sip, and my eyes widen.

“This is the best matcha I’ve ever had”—I take another sip—“and I’ve had matchas from all around the world.”

“I think the key is the sparkling water.”

I look at the cup again, taking another big sip. “Whatever it is, I’ll take fourteen,” I joke, and she laughs. “Thank you. I’ll definitely stop by while I’m in town.”

“We’ll be here.” I hand her a twenty-dollar bill and turn to walk out. “Um, your change?”

“Keep it,” I tell her, lifting the cup in my hand, “it’s worth that much.”

“I like you,” she says.

I push the door open with my back and bring the cup up to my mouth to take another sip as I walk back toward my car. I’m obviously not paying attention because I slam right into a hard chest. Wetness seeps through my top and then moves down to my stomach and toward my shorts.

“Mother of—” I start as I look up into the mirrored glasses I saw in the rearview mirror. My heart starts to race.

“You should really watch where you’re going.” His voice comes out smoother than I expected. He holds on to my upper arms and moves me away from him, and I make the mistake of looking at his arms. He’s tattooed, from his wrist to under the sleeves of his police uniform, or maybe it’s a sheriff’s uniform. I don’t know what they are called in this town. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, he’s a whatever with his black cargo pants and tight, matching button-down shirt with a bulletproof vest on top. My eyes lock onto the gun at his side, right next to his handcuffs. Yup, definitely law enforcement. His black hair looks like he just ran his hand through it and pushed it to the side, his beard perfectly trimmed. He looks down at his black shirt that now is covered in green dust. “What is that?”

“It’s a matcha coconut cloud.” My pink shirt is now a shade of brown. “Or what was a matcha coconut cloud,” I remark of the now-broken and empty cup in my hand. “Thanks for that.” I shake my head. “You should not just ram into people while you’re walking.”