On her first morning back in town, she stepped into the old corner coffee shop—only to stop dead when she saw him behind the counter, leaning back like he’d invented the place. His dreads were gone, replaced with sharp, immaculate braids that suited him infuriatingly well, and of course he caught her staring. Tom’s smirk kicked up instantly, all smug amusement and the kind of confidence that used to make her want to kiss him or strangle him depending on the day. “Look who crawled back,” he said, voice low and irritatingly smooth, as if her return were some joke he’d been waiting years to laugh at. She felt the familiar spark of annoyance flare—sharp, hot, and way too satisfying. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, but the truth was she hated how easily he got under her skin, hated that he still knew exactly how to do it, and hated most of all that a tiny, traitorous part of her had missed this more than she’d ever admit.