CHAPTER ONE • Tripping Into Destiny
Trigger Warning: This story deals with dark themes including sexual assault and past abuse. Please read mindfully.
The giant reflective rectangle hanging on the wall was always taunting me, telling me that I’d never be anything more than what I am now—an ugly stain on any society I could ever be a part of. I sighed at the thought as I finished rinsing the conditioner from my hair, scrubbing quickly with cheap body wash before shutting off the water.
Ten minutes. That was my strict shower limit. There was no point in spending unnecessary time looking at a body I preferred to ignore.
I pulled my clothes on as quickly as my damp skin allowed, cringing at my reflection in the fogged mirror. Too pale, too round-faced, and at five-foot-four, completely unremarkable. My hair was just a dingy brown. There was nothing special about me.
Even the house felt like it was falling apart around me. Inherited from my parents two years ago, it was the same rotting place I’d grown up in. The bathroom door always jammed against the chipped layers of paint, requiring a precise, awkward yank just to open. The front door latch was broken on both the deadbolt and the knob—you could literally see straight through the crack to the porch outside. I wanted to fix it up, but on my wage, it felt like an impossible dream.
After wrestling the bathroom door open, I found Pea waiting on the floorboards. My three-year-old calico cat rubbed persistently against my ankles, her loud purrs instantly cutting through my heavy mood.
“I have to finish getting ready for work. Sorry, Pea,” I whispered, leaning down to give her a quick stroke behind the ears before tying my shoelaces with a sigh. “Time to go make my crappy living.”
I clocked in right on time at 4:59 AM at Shirley’s Coffee in Salem, Indiana. Jean, the 72-year-old owner, was sitting at his heavy black desk in the back office, his handlebar mustache neatly waxed as always.
“Any chance I could snag a few more hours, Jean?” I asked carefully. “I’m barely making enough to cover groceries, let alone fix my front door lock.”
Jean jumped slightly, then leaned back in his leather chair with a sympathetic sigh, his cheeks flushing a faint red—his obvious tell for bad news. “You know I would if I could, honey. But business is just too slow. I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“I know. Just thought I’d try,” I said, offering a tight smile before tying on my apron.
Usually, Jesse handled the register while I stayed in the back prepping the pots, but 5:00 AM came and went with no sign of him. With Jean stuck behind his desk, I had no choice but to step out to the front counter myself.
My four-hour shift dragged until 8:55 AM. I was just wiping down the espresso machine, eager to clock out, when the heavy glass front door swung open and the bell chimed.
My breath hitched. It was him.
I’d been spotting this man around the café for the past few weeks, actively avoiding his gaze because of the terrifying amount of attraction he stirred in me. He was towering—a solid six-foot powerhouse with a broad-shouldered frame that filled the doorway. Naturally tan skin set off a meticulously styled head of jet-black hair brushed cleanly away from his sharp face, which was defined by a crisp, neatly trimmed anchor-beard. Unblinking, hypnotic hazel eyes with vibrant petals of amber framed by a deep forest-green ring were fixed on the room as he moved. He wore a fitted charcoal t-shirt that stretched tight across a broad chest, tracing the thick, vein-mapped muscle of his arms, and heavy-duty work pants held up by a thick belt with a glinting steel buckle.
As he walked toward the counter, I couldn’t help checking him out, tracing the sheer breadth of his chest and the solid line of his shoulders. But when I lifted my eyes to his face, my heart slammed against my ribs.
His stare was heavy on me, watching me watch him. A slow, knowing smile cracked at just the corner of his mouth.
My eyes shot away in instant embarrassment. I was staring way too long, and he was watching me do it the entire time. A hot flush flooded my cheeks, and as the morning wind rushed past him through the opening door, it filled the air around me with his scent—an intoxicating mix of cedar, rain, and fresh earth.
“Miss?” he said.
I spun back around quickly, trying—and failing—to pretend I hadn’t just been blatantly admiring every inch of him. “Y...yes! What can I get you?”
Ugh, I sound way too excited, I thought, silently pinching the side of my leg.
“Medium dark roast,” he responded, his tone lingering in my ear, the sweet, heavy depth of his Southern drawl filling the space between us.
“S...sure,” I said, turning quickly to grab a paper cup. My hands were shaking so badly I fumbled it, dropping it straight onto the floor. I laughed awkwardly, my face scorching as I bent over to pick it up and toss it in the trash.
When I straightened back up, I glanced at him only to find his hazel eyes intently focused on me. When our eyes met, my stomach did a violent flip, releasing a swarm of nervous butterflies through my chest. Instantly, I looked away, grabbing another cup and filling it with dark roast.
As I instinctively began reaching for the sugar container, a sudden, warm hand lightly touched my hip from behind the counter.
I gasped, freezing in place before turning to see him leaning right over the high wooden counter, his eyes hot and burning into mine.
“Y...yes?” I choked out, barely able to hold my composure under his sudden proximity.
“Black coffee,” he said, the look on his face purely amused, his deep voice dropping an octave as his eyes held mine captive.
With a smooth, deliberate motion, he drew his hand back, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire as they smoothed over the fabric of my jeans.
“Right. I’m so sorry,” I said, handing him the hot cup.
He wrapped his hand deliberately around mine on the cup. “No, don’t worry,” his voice dropped low as he leaned in closer, my breath hitching as a sharp jolt hit my center. “Have a great day, honey.”
He winked as I let go of the cup. The way his lingering touch felt on the back of my hand gave me instant goosebumps—goosebumps I quickly tried to rub away as he turned on his heavy leather work boots and walked out into the morning air.
My entire face felt scorched. I stood frozen until Jesse finally burst through the back door, trailing the faint smell of weed as he threw his keys onto the counter. He snapped his blue eyes toward me, a sharp, uncharacteristic irritation tightening his jaw.
“Who was that?” Jesse asked, his tone clipping as he organized the cups aggressively. “You were practically drooling over him, Nat. You don’t even talk to regular customers like that.”
I shrank back slightly, uncomfortable with the sudden bite in his voice. “I—I couldn’t help it, Jesse,” I murmured, looking down at my sneakers and defending myself softly. “He just... took me by surprise. And you were late, so I had to cover the counter.”
Jesse muttered something under his breath, turning his back to me. I rolled my eyes, brushed past him to hang up my apron in the back office, and told Jean goodbye.
My hands were still shaking. My mind was completely hijacked by him. The way his eyes burned on me... I couldn’t believe it. Why would someone like him be attracted to me? That’s probably how he looks at all women... I sighed.
What if he’s still outside getting into his truck? I thought, my chest tightening as I walked toward the front entrance. I kind of wanted to get another glimpse before he drove away.
Anxious for one last look, I peered through the glass doors as I stepped—and completely missed the raised metal threshold with my toe.
My sneaker caught hard. Air rushed past my ears as the pavement came rushing up.
I fell hard, face-first onto the concrete sidewalk, landing across the back of a pair of heavy, dust-caked leather work boots.
Oh my God. Please let the earth open up and swallow me whole right now.
