The Deal We Didn’t Mean To Keep

Lila Bennett knew she had made a mistake approximately three seconds after stepping out of her car.

It wasn’t the town.

The town—Maplewood Cove—was exactly what the real estate listing had promised. Quaint. Charming. The kind of place that looked like it existed solely for the purpose of postcards and seasonal festivals. A stretch of shops lined the main street; all painted in soft pastels that had probably been chosen decades ago and never changed. Flower boxes overflowed beneath the windows. A bell chimed somewhere as someone opened a café door. There was even a lake visible at the end of the street, shimmering under the late afternoon sun like something out of a painting.

No, the mistake wasn’t the town.

The mistake was thinking she could start over here without it feeling like… this.

Like every single person had noticed her the second she arrived.

Lila adjusted her grip on her keys and tried not to fidget as two women across the street paused mid-conversation to look at her. Not subtly, either. Fully. Openly. Like she was a new exhibit that had just been wheeled into place.

“Okay,” she muttered under her breath. “Friendly. That’s good. Friendly is good.”

She slammed her car door shut and immediately regretted how loud it sounded.

Smooth.

The sign above the shop in front of her creaked gently in the breeze.

Bennett’s Books & Brew

Her shop.

Her new beginning.

Her slightly impulsive, possibly reckless, definitely life-altering decision.

Lila tilted her head back and stared at the sign for a moment longer than necessary, letting the reality settle in. She had signed the papers. Transferred the funds. Packed up her entire life and driven six hours to a town she had only ever seen in photos.

No backup plan.

No safety net.

Just… this.

“Don’t panic,” she whispered to herself.

Then she unlocked the door.

The smell hit her first.

Dust.

Old wood.

And something faintly… damp.

Lila froze in the doorway.

“That’s… not ideal.”

She stepped inside slowly, her shoes creaking against the worn wooden floor. Sunlight streamed through the front windows, catching particles of dust that floated lazily in the air. Shelves lined the walls—mostly empty, a few forgotten books scattered here and there like relics of whatever this place used to be.

It had potential.

It really did.

If you ignored the water stain spreading across the ceiling.

Lila blinked.

“No,” she said softly. “No, no, no—”

A drop of water hit the floor.

Then another.

Her stomach dropped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She moved quickly now, stepping further into the shop and craning her neck upward. The stain wasn’t small. It stretched across a good portion of the ceiling, dark and uneven.

Another drop fell.

Right onto her shoulder.

Lila stared at it.

Then up at the ceiling again.

Then back at her shoulder.

“This is fine,” she said.

A beat.

“This is absolutely not fine.”

“You’re going to need that fixed.”

The voice came from behind her.

Deep. Calm. Annoyingly certain.

Lila spun around so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet.

A man stood in the doorway.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a worn flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His arms were dusted with sawdust, like he had come straight from a job site. Dark hair. Light stubble. And eyes that scanned the shop—quick, assessing, already figuring things out before she could say a word.

He didn’t look surprised to see her.

If anything, he looked like he had expected this.

“Do people in this town usually just walk into buildings unannounced?” Lila asked, trying for sharp but landing somewhere closer to flustered.

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Door was open.”

“I just opened it.”

“Still open.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You could’ve knocked.”

“You could’ve put up a sign.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she shot back. “I didn’t realize I needed to prepare for random inspections within the first five minutes of owning the place.”

That almost-smile deepened.

Not friendlier.

If anything, more amused.

“Not an inspection,” he said. “Just stating the obvious.”

Lila crossed her arms.

“And the obvious is…?”

He nodded toward the ceiling.

“You’ve got a leak. Probably been there a while.”

“Yes,” she said tightly. “I gathered that when the building started… dripping on me.”

He stepped inside without asking, boots heavy against the floor as he moved further into the shop. His gaze traveled upward again, more focused this time.

“Roof, most likely,” he added. “Could be worse underneath.”

“Worse?” Lila echoed. “How is that worse?”

“Mold. Rot. Structural damage.”

She stared at him.

“Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“No.”

At least he was honest.

“Look,” Lila said, exhaling slowly. “I just bought this place. Today. I haven’t even had time to—” She gestured vaguely at everything. “—exist in it yet.”

He nodded once, like that confirmed something for him.

“New owner,” he said.

“Yes.”

“From out of town.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lila bristled slightly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.”

He walked over to one of the walls, pressing his hand lightly against the wood like he was testing something.

“You got a contractor yet?” he asked.

“No.”

“You’re going to need one.”

“I figured that part out.”

Another almost-smile.

Lila was starting to find that expression deeply irritating.

“Cole Harper.”

She blinked.

“What?”

He turned toward her, extending a hand.

“Name’s Cole.”

Lila hesitated for half a second before shaking it.

“Lila Bennett.”

His grip was firm. Warm.

And entirely too steady.

“Harper Construction,” he added. “I run most of the repair work around here.”

Of course he did.

Of course the first person she met in this town was someone who clearly knew exactly what they were doing while she stood there feeling like she had just made the worst financial decision of her life.

“Convenient,” she said.

“Usually is.”

She pulled her hand back.

“So,” Lila said, lifting her chin slightly. “Hypothetically speaking… if someone needed this place fixed quickly—”

“Not hypothetical,” he cut in.

She ignored that.

“—how long would it take?”

He looked around again. Slower this time. More thorough.

“Depends how bad it is,” he said. “Best case? A couple weeks.”

“A couple—weeks?” she repeated.

“Best case.”

“And worst case?”

He met her eyes.

“You don’t want worst case.”

Lila let out a small, incredulous laugh.

“Fantastic. Really reassuring. Love that for me.”

Cole watched her for a moment.

Really watched her.

Like he was trying to figure something out.

“You’re planning to open soon,” he said.

Again—not a question.

“Yes,” Lila said. “That was the idea.”

He nodded once.

“You’re not going to hit that timeline without help.”

Her jaw tightened.

“I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Good,” he said evenly. “Because I’m not giving one.”

A drop of water hit the floor between them.

Both of them glanced down at it.

Then back up at the ceiling.

Then at each other.

Lila exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” she said. “Fine. You win.”

“I’m not competing.”

“Congratulations anyway,” she muttered.

That almost-smile again.

She straightened.

“How much?” she asked.

“For what?”

“For you to fix it.”

Cole considered her for a moment.

“Let me take a proper look first,” he said. “Then I’ll give you a number.”

Lila hesitated.

Something about the way he said it—calm, confident, completely unbothered—made her feel like she was already agreeing to something bigger than she intended.

But she didn’t exactly have options.

“Fine,” she said. “Take your look.”

As he moved toward the back of the shop, Lila watched him go.

And tried very hard to ignore the small, inconvenient thought that slipped into her mind.

This man was going to be a problem.

She just didn’t know how much of one yet.