Abruptly, Griffin stops and leans in close, speaking from the side of his mouth. “To your left, at the corner, there’s a group of old people congregating in front of the general store. Those are the elders and the biggest gossips in town. Tell them something, and everyone will find out within an hour. Trust me on this.”

From the corner of my eye, I take in the group of older gentlemen huddled around a newspaper stand, canes and walkers in hand. They look innocent enough, but I can see how they could cause a stir.

“Okay, noted.”

He nods in the other direction. “Come on, this way.” He heads toward the end of the street, where there’s a giant white building covered in shingles and red trim with a bright teal door. It grabs my attention immediately, and I smile at the store’s sign.

“The Lobster Landing. That’s what’s on your shirt, right?”

“Yup. My family owns the business. If you’re looking to gain a few pounds, come to us; we’ll fill you up with fudge and pastries, dress you in all the lobster gear, and send you on your way.”

“Fudge and pastries? Uh-oh, that can’t be good for my hips. So do you go there often when you’re not working at the station?”

“I actually volunteer at the station and work full time at the Landing. I’m in charge of all the day-to-day business. My parents semiretired and have casually been stepping aside.”

“Really? Wow, you must be busy, then.”

“You can say that. I enjoy the work, though.” He points to the other side of the street. “We can cross here.” Since the roads are still pretty clear, we make it across without having to pick up our speed, which I’m grateful for. I’m finding myself savoring his company, wanting to draw out our conversation as much as I can. “Up that little hill over there is the school, K through twelve. I’m assuming that’s where you’ll be working. Not much of a walk from your house, but during the winter, I would get your car running; the windchill alone might freeze you in place.”

“Moving here, I realized I might suffer the first couple of winters trying to get acclimated, but I’m ready for the challenge, ready for the seasons. Southern California doesn’t provide you with much change when it comes to seasons, so I’m kind of excited to see what a real New England fall is like.”

As we arrive at the coffeehouse, Griffin reaches out and opens the door for both of us. Such a gentleman. We step inside, and I’m immediately hit with the sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee and then taken aback by the exposed brick, plank hardwood floors, and exposed beams in the ceiling. Decorated in earthy tones, the coffeehouse somehow manages to pull off a country-industrial feel.

“The fall will blow your mind, trust me. Unlike anything you’ll ever see. And even though the winter will freeze your eyelids shut, it’s still beautiful.”

“Hey, Griff,” the lady behind the counter calls out. “Heard you rescued a damsel in distress yesterday. Did you really scale a tree with just a rope to get to her?”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Griffin walks up to the counter. “Come on, Ruth, you know better than to believe that crap.”

“I know,” she says wistfully, rolling her pretty brown eyes up to the ceiling. “But it’s fun to think about. Let me indulge.”

“No,” he answers, smiling. “Not when the damsel in distress is standing right next to me.”

Ruth blushes, standing upright and smoothing down her dress. She can’t be much younger than me, her blonde hair just touching her shoulders and her lips beautifully wide like Julia Roberts’s. I bet she has a great laugh just like her too.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Ruth. I own Snow Roast. Welcome to Port Snow.”

“Thank you.” I take her hand, give it a shake, and then release it. “I’m Ren, the new algebra teacher.”

“Oh, algebra, huh? I was never good at math, couldn’t quite get a handle on it like my brothers. Pure geniuses, those guys.” She tosses a towel over her shoulder like a bartender. “What can I get you two? The usual for you, Griff?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

As Ruth starts moving around, I take in the little case of food in front of me, full of breakfast sandwiches and pastries. “Uh, can I have a turkey-bacon-egg sandwich and a black roast?”

“Sure thing.”

Griffin nudges me with his elbow. “Black coffee? Got some hair on your chest?” he teases.

My cheeks heat up as I think about my chest, the one he clearly got a good view of yesterday. “It’s always been my goal to grow hair on my chest. But no matter how much coffee I drink, I can’t seem to sprout a single one.”

Silence falls between us as Griffin’s brows pull together, my face once again heating up in embarrassment. Sometimes I forget how quirky and awkward I am in front of extremely attractive men. It’s bad enough he’s already seen me in hysterics, but now I’m morphing into an uncomfortable teenager.

I say weird things.

Things I should probably keep to myself.

Things that would make you cringe if you were watching me on the big screen, slowly shaking your head and whispering under your breath, Why, why, why?

It’s been that way ever since I can remember. I’ve never been smooth around the opposite sex, always stammering over my words and sweating enough to put a major-league baseball team to shame. I’ve had a boyfriend here and there, but nothing ever long lasting, and nothing that truly grew into anything more than teenage puppy love (or just plain lust when I got older).

I shouldn’t be surprised that my awkward tendencies are quickly transferring over to my new town. And here I wanted a fresh start, a new beginning, to become someone independent and strong.

But I guess you can’t squeeze the awkward out of the girl.

Before I can embarrass myself further, Griffin chuckles, disbelief written across his features. “Don’t give up on your dreams. You never know: you very well might sprout that hair one day.” Ruth sets his drink on the counter, and grabbing it, he leaves behind a tip and gives her a quick wave before heading for the door. “See you around, Ren.”

He exits the coffeehouse, leaving me with a pounding heart and racing thoughts.

Dear Lord, did I just tell him I wish I had chest hair?

I kind of want to go crawl in a corner right about now.

As Ruth hands me my coffee and sandwich, I go to pay her, but she holds up her hand. “It’s on me, not just because you’re new but to welcome you to the club.”

“The club?”

She nods. “The ‘I said something idiotic to Griffin Knightly’ club. Happens to all of us at some point.” She winks and then starts wiping down the counter. “He might be untouchable, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still act like fools around him.”

Untouchable? Bad case of love? There’s something I’m missing here when it comes to Griffin Knightly, but no matter how curious I might be, I’m not about to ask. Strange as it might seem, I feel loyal to Griffin. He’s the guy who pulled me out of my car, and he’s been so incredibly kind to me. I don’t want to go digging around for dirt when I don’t need to, especially with the way the gossip is around here. You never know what’s true and what’s not.

And hell, I hope to God Ruth isn’t one of the people I need to worry about when it comes to gossiping. If word got out that the new algebra teacher wants to grow chest hair, the town telephone line might very well explode.

I have a half hour to burn until my landlord arrives with the lease. I spend it sitting in the back of the coffeehouse next to a window, people watching, taking in all the patrons who come into the coffeehouse and all the people walking by on the streets. Just from a small amount of time observing, I can already start to tell who’s a tourist and who’s a local.

The locals have a faster, more purposeful step, while the tourists take their time, getting a feel for the town while they cautiously make their way down the sidewalk. I hope to be a combination of both, sure of where I’m going but also happy to take in the sights, sounds, and smells as I make my way through my new home.

The door to the coffee shop opens, a light breeze floating around the tables and chairs. I focus on the figure in the doorframe, tall and broad, the spitting image of Griffin. But instead of short hair, this man’s hair is longer, curling over his ears, and instead of a white lobster shirt, he’s wearing black jeans and a black button-up shirt, unbuttoned at the top and showing off a small V of his skin. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, a tic pulls at his jaw as he takes in the coffee shop, eyes searching. He’s a man on a mission.

And then a pair of familiar electric-blue eyes spots me, and I’m having a hard time looking away. “Usual, please,” he calls out to Ruth as he walks toward me.

I swear this man is Griffin in a wig. I’m so thrown off it takes a moment to register that he’s standing in front of me, hand held out as a greeting.

“Uh, are you okay?” He bends down slightly to take me in.

“Yes, sorry.” I shake my head, trying to get it together. “Hi, I’m Ren.”

“Rogan from Rogue Realty. Nice to meet you.”

This man is my landlord?