The Trouble With Us

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon filled the air as Emery James wiped down the counter of The Perch, her cozy little café nestled in the heart of Willow Bay. The morning rush had just tapered off, leaving her a moment of rare silence. She loved these in-between moments- the quiet hum of the espresso machine, the faint sound of waves in the distance, and the certainty that she had built something truly hers.

She leaned against the counter, stretching out the tension in her shoulders. Business had been steady, and despite the occasional hiccup, The Perch had become a beloved spot in town. It was her safe place, her dream realized. Nothing and no one could take that away from her.

The jingling of the doorbell shattered the brief peace. She glanced up, expecting to see one of her regulars, maybe Mrs. Holloway with her usual chamomile tea order or Noah from the bookstore grabbing his afternoon pick-me-up.

Instead, a ghost from her past stepped through the door.

Desmond Proctor.

The air thickened, pressing down on her like an invisible weight. He stood there, tall and effortless in his confidence, dressed in a sharp navy suit that looked completely out of place in the relaxed, seaside town. The same piercing blue eyes, the same devastatingly perfect jawline. Years had passed, but time had done nothing to dull the effect he had on a room.

Emery gripped the counter, grounding herself. "You've got to be kidding me."

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Hello to you too, Emery."

Heat pricked her skin, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer audacity of him standing here like they hadn't ended things in a tangled mess of silence and unspoken words. She hadn't seen Desmond since the night he walked away, since the moment she realized their friendship had never been as unbreakable as she once believed.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

He took a step closer, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Talk?" A dry laugh escaped her lips. "Last time we talked, you disappeared without so much as a goodbye."

His jaw tensed, but his expression remained unreadable. "That's not exactly how it happened."

"No?" She folded her arms. "Then why don't you enlighten me?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with everything they hadn't said. Desmond had always been good at holding his cards close to his chest, but Emery wasn't the same girl who used to wait around, hoping he'd let her in.

He exhaled, shifting his weight. "I didn't come here to argue, Emery. I came to talk about the café."

The café.

The words sliced through her defenses like a blade. Her fingers tightened around the cloth in her hand. "What about it?"

"I own the building now."

The room tilted slightly, and for a second, she thought she might be hearing things. "Excuse me?"

Desmond ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, looking almost apologetic. Almost. "I bought it from Mr. Larkwood last week."

Disbelief turned to something heavier, something close to panic. "That's not possible. He would have told me-"

"He was planning to, but the sale went through faster than expected."

The floor beneath her feet felt unsteady, her carefully built world suddenly teetering on the edge. The Perch was more than just a business; it was her home, her livelihood, the one thing she had fought to create on her own. And now, in the span of a few seconds, the man who had once shattered her heart had come back to do it all over again.

She took a steadying breath. "What does this mean for me?"

Desmond's gaze softened, but she refused to let it disarm her. "I don't want to shut you down, Emery."

"That's comforting," she said flatly. "Then what do you want?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he finally spoke. "I want to renovate the building. Bring in new businesses, modernize the space. But I don't want to push you out."

Her heart pounded against her ribs. "So what? You expect me to sit here and wait for you to decide my fate?"

"I expect us to figure it out together."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "You don't get to say 'together,' Desmond. You lost that right a long time ago."

His expression darkened, but he didn't argue. Tension stretched between them, the weight of old wounds pressing against the fragile present. Emery wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him to get the hell out and never come back. But this wasn't just about the past anymore-this was about her future, and she wasn't about to let Desmond Proctor take that away from her.

She squared her shoulders. "If you think I'm going to roll over and let you decide what happens to my café, you don't know me at all."

"I never said that." His voice was calm, infuriatingly so. "I want to find a solution that works for both of us."

She scoffed. "And if I don't want anything to do with your plans?"

A shadow crossed his face, but he didn't back down. "Then we have a problem."

Emery stared at him, heart hammering against her chest. Desmond might have been the one holding the deed, but this café was hers. No matter what it took, she wasn't going to let him take it from her.

Her chin lifted. "Then I guess we do."

Desmond watched her with the same quiet intensity he always had, like he was waiting for her to crack first. But Emery wasn't that girl anymore- the one who let him hold all the power in their relationship, the one who always gave more than she got.

She turned away from him, busying herself by rearranging a stack of sugar packets that didn't actually need adjusting. "So, let me get this straight," she said, keeping her voice steady. "You want to change everything about this place, but somehow, I'm just supposed to trust that you won't destroy the one thing I've built for myself?"

Desmond took a slow step closer. "I never said I wanted to change everything."

"Modernizing is a fancy word for gutting something and making it unrecognizable." She finally turned back to face him. "And you know what? That makes sense. You never were good at staying in one place, were you? Always looking for the next big thing, the next opportunity, the next-"

His jaw clenched. "You think I'm here to rip your life apart?"

Her throat tightened. "Aren't you?"

The way he looked at her made her stomach twist. He had no right to come back and throw her world off balance like this. No right to stand in her café like he still belonged in it.

"I don't want to fight with you, Emery," he said, softer this time. "I came here to figure out a way forward."

A bitter laugh bubbled up. "A way forward?" She gestured around them. "This place is my way forward, Desmond. And you-" she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You are the past."

Something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? Regret? She didn't know, and she refused to care.

The door opened again, and Emery tore her gaze away from him as her best friend, Sadie Whitmore, strolled in, all sunshine and confidence.

"Hey, Em, do you have any of those lemon scones left-" Sadie's voice trailed off as she spotted Desmond. Her smile instantly vanished. "Oh. What the hell is he doing here?"

Desmond smirked. "Nice to see you too, Sadie."

Sadie crossed her arms. "Can't say the feeling's mutual."

Emery almost laughed at how quickly her friend had gone into protective mode. Sadie had never liked Desmond much to begin with, and after everything that happened, her loyalty had only solidified.

Desmond sighed, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. "I don't suppose I should expect a warm welcome from anyone in this town."

"You could try not dropping in unannounced like some villain in a soap opera," Sadie shot back. "Might help your case."

Emery bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay composed. "Sadie, he owns the building."

Sadie's eyes widened. "What?"

Desmond gave a tight nod. "Just finalized the deal."

A long pause stretched between them before Sadie turned back to Emery. "Please tell me you're planning to poison his coffee."

Emery let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Tempting, but I'd rather keep my business license."

Sadie narrowed her eyes at Desmond. "So, what's the plan? You gonna run her out of here so you can put in some soulless chain restaurant?"

Desmond exhaled. "I don't want to run her out."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing it."

Emery held up a hand, stopping the back-and-forth before it escalated. "Enough." She turned to Desmond, her voice unwavering. "If you really want to talk about this, fine. But I'm not making any decisions right now."

Desmond studied her, then gave a small nod. "Fair enough."

"Good," she said firmly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a business to run."

Something unreadable passed over his face before he took a step back. "I'll be in touch."

He turned and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

Sadie let out a dramatic sigh. "So. Are we getting drunk tonight, or are we getting drunk tonight?"

Emery huffed out a laugh despite herself. "It's not even noon, Sadie."

"Yeah, well, emergencies call for day drinking. And this? This is a five-mimosa situation."

Emery shook her head but didn't argue. Because the truth was, she had no idea how to handle the storm Desmond had just brought back into her life. And something told her this was only the beginning.

The wine bottle sat half-empty on the small table between them, condensation beading along the glass. Emery tipped her glass back, letting the crisp white liquid cool the fire still burning inside her. Across from her, Sadie twirled the stem of her own glass between her fingers, her expression locked somewhere between frustration and mischief.

"This is bad," Sadie declared, breaking the comfortable silence of their shared annoyance. "Like, apocalypse-level bad. Worse than the time the bakery ran out of chocolate croissants."

Emery snorted, setting her glass down with a bit more force than necessary. "He's not the apocalypse."

"Yeah?" Sadie raised a brow. "Then why do you look like the world just caved in?"

The words struck a little too close to home. A headache pressed behind Emery's temples, though she wasn't sure if it was from Desmond's unexpected reappearance or the steady stream of alcohol she'd been consuming. Probably both.

"He just-" She exhaled, shaking her head. "He just showed up, Sadie. No warning. No nothing. And then he drops that on me? That he owns my damn building? How the hell am I supposed to process that?"

Sadie topped off both their glasses before answering. "You're supposed to rage, cry a little, and then plot his downfall."

A weak laugh slipped from Emery's lips. "You're really set on the revenge thing, huh?"

"I'm just saying, a well-placed stink bomb in his fancy car would do wonders for your soul."

It was tempting. Ridiculously tempting. But that wasn't who she was, and they both knew it. Emery had spent too long carving out her place in Willow Bay, proving she didn't need anyone-especially not Desmond Proctor-to determine her fate.

A breeze rolled in through the open balcony doors of her small apartment, carrying the scent of salt and sea. She let it fill her lungs, hoping it would ground her. "What if he actually does want to help?"

Sadie nearly choked on her wine. "What?"

"I mean, it's possible, isn't it? He said he doesn't want to shut me down."

Sadie gave her a look that screamed Are you hearing yourself right now? "Right, and I'm sure he just magically decided to be a good person after all these years."

Emery wanted to argue, to say Desmond had never been a bad person. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He had been good. Too good. Until he wasn't.

"I just don't know what his angle is," she admitted. "People like him don't just buy property without a plan. So what's the plan, Sadie?"

Sadie leaned forward, eyes gleaming with determination. "Then we find out."

The idea settled into Emery's bones, a slow burn of resolve taking root. If Desmond wanted to play games, fine. But she wasn't going to sit back and let him make decisions about her future without a fight.

The next morning, Emery arrived at The Perch earlier than usual, unlocking the doors before the sun had fully risen over the sleepy town. The café smelled like home-fresh coffee, baked goods, and the faintest hint of vanilla from the candles she kept near the register.

She set up for the morning rush, trying to push thoughts of Desmond out of her mind. It worked for exactly ten minutes before the bell above the door chimed and, like a cruel joke from the universe, there he was.

Desmond stood in the doorway, looking effortlessly put together in a dark button-up and jeans that somehow still made him look like he belonged in a corporate boardroom rather than a small-town café.

She set down the stack of plates in her hand with exaggerated care. "If you keep showing up like this, people are going to start thinking you actually like coffee."

A smirk ghosted across his lips. "I do like coffee."

"You like overpriced, big-city, artisanal coffee that tastes like regret and hipster tears."

His laughter came too easily, too familiar. "I'm willing to expand my horizons."

She folded her arms, leveling him with a look. "What do you want, Desmond?"

"I meant what I said yesterday. I want to find a way to make this work for both of us."

Emery studied him, searching for cracks in his polished exterior. "And what does 'making it work' look like to you?"

"A partnership," he said without hesitation. "I want to renovate the building, but I also want to keep the café intact. We modernize without stripping away what makes this place special."

The word partnership rolled around in her mind, sharp and dangerous. "And you think I'd just agree to that?"

"I think you don't have much of a choice."

Anger flared. "Excuse me?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, Emery. The reality is, I own this building now. And whether you like it or not, changes are coming. But I don't want to push you out. I want to give you a say in what happens here."

The offer should have sounded reasonable. Fair, even. But Emery had spent too many years picking up the pieces of her life after Desmond walked away. Now, he wanted her to believe he wouldn't do it again?

She shook her head. "You don't get to waltz in here, throw around words like partnership, and expect me to trust you."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "I know."

"Then why are you even trying?"

"Because I owe you that much."

The confession caught her off guard. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of their past settling into the space between them.

Emery exhaled sharply. "You want me to consider this? Fine. But I'm not making any promises."

Desmond nodded, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "That's all I'm asking."

He turned toward the door but hesitated. "And for the record, I really do like coffee."

The corners of her lips twitched despite herself. "Then prove it. Try something other than whatever overpriced nonsense you drink."

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "You got it."

Then he was gone, leaving Emery staring after him, heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit.

The door swung shut behind Desmond, and Emery let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. A partnership? The idea should have sent her into a panic, but instead, it left her feeling something even worse- uncertainty.

"Hey, Em, I saw the devil walk out of here. Should I call an exorcist, or are you handling it?"

Emery turned to see Sadie standing behind the counter, arms crossed, her sharp gaze locked on the door Desmond had just exited.

"I think I can handle it," Emery muttered, grabbing a rag and aggressively wiping down the already-clean counter.

Sadie slid onto a stool, resting her elbows on the surface. "So? What did the prince of darkness want this time?"

"To offer me a partnership." The words tasted foreign, like something she wasn't supposed to say out loud.

Sadie made a choking sound. "A what?"

"You heard me."

Sadie stared at her, then shook her head. "I think the heat's finally fried your brain."

"Sadie."

"No, really. Did you forget who we're talking about? Because I sure as hell didn't."

Emery tossed the rag onto the counter, irritation bubbling to the surface. "I didn't forget."

Sadie leaned forward. "Then why aren't you laughing in his face?"

Emery pressed her palms against the counter, inhaling slowly before answering. "Because he owns the building, and if I don't at least listen, he could make my life a living hell."

Sadie narrowed her eyes. "And you think listening to him won't end in disaster?"

"I don't know." And that was the worst part. Emery wasn't sure of anything anymore.

The front door chimed again, and this time it was Grace Thompson, one of her regulars. The elderly woman beamed at them as she shuffled to the counter, completely oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

"Good morning, darlings," Grace said, adjusting the bright floral scarf around her neck. "I hope you've got my usual ready because I'm running late for book club."

Emery forced a smile, grateful for the distraction. "Of course, Grace. One large vanilla latte with extra cinnamon coming right up."

Grace clapped her hands together. "That's my girl."

While Emery prepared the drink, Sadie slid off the stool, muttering under her breath. "This isn't over."

Emery knew that much was true. The lunch rush had just died down when the last person Emery wanted to see walked through the door again.

Desmond didn't bother with pleasantries this time. Instead, he slid into the seat across from her at one of the small tables near the window.

"You've been thinking about it," he said.

Emery frowned. "That's not a question."

"It doesn't need to be."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "What do you really want, Desmond? And don't give me the corporate answer."

His jaw tensed slightly, but then he exhaled and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "I want to fix what I messed up."

The words were simple, but they knocked the air right out of her lungs.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking-dare she say it-genuine. "I know I hurt you, Emery. I know I left without giving you the answers you deserved. And I'm not here to pretend that didn't happen. But I also can't change the past. All I can do is try to do something right now."

She hated how her heart clenched at his words. Hated that part of her wanted to believe him. But belief had never gotten her anything except heartache.

"You can't just come back and expect things to be okay." Her voice was quieter now, edged with something too close to vulnerability. "That's not how it works."

"I know." He hesitated before adding, "But can we at least try?"

Her fingers curled around the edge of the table.

He was asking for a chance-not to fix the past, but to build something new. And that was even more terrifying. Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, Emery let out a slow breath.

"I'll think about it."

Desmond gave a small nod, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. "That's all I'm asking."

For now.

The rhythmic hum of the espresso machine filled the café, blending with the soft chatter of customers and the occasional clinking of ceramic mugs. Emery focused on steaming milk, pouring it into a mug with practiced ease, creating the perfect swirl of foam. It should have been calming- her routine, her space, her control- but the conversation with Desmond lingered at the back of her mind like a stubborn stain.

"Are you really considering it?" Sadie's voice cut through the buzz of the café.

Emery slid the latte across the counter to a waiting customer before turning to face her best friend. Sadie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"I said I'd think about it," Emery replied, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Right, because thinking about making a deal with the enemy is a totally sane thing to do."

"You're being dramatic."

"No, I'm being realistic. You have trust issues, and for good reason. And now, the guy who wrecked your heart and owns your building wants a partnership? Come on, Em."

A sigh pushed past Emery's lips. "It's not just about him. It's about the café. If I say no, he could turn around and decide to triple the rent or renovate without my input. This way, I have some say in what happens."

Sadie studied her for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't trust him."

"I don't trust him either."

"Then why are you even entertaining this?"

Because the alternative was worse. Because the idea of losing The Perch was unbearable. Because Desmond had looked at her with something close to regret, and she wasn't sure if she was foolish enough to believe it mattered.

The bell above the door chimed, pulling them from their conversation. Mr. Halloway, one of their long-time customers, walked in, tipping his hat toward them as he made his way to the counter.

"Morning, ladies," he greeted with a warm smile.

Emery plastered on a cheerful expression, grateful for the distraction. "Morning, Mr. Halloway. The usual?"

"You know me too well," he chuckled.

While she prepared his black coffee, she could feel Sadie's gaze burning into the side of her face. The conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Evening crept in too quickly, and before Emery could blink, the café had quieted down, leaving only the low hum of the radio and the soft scratching of a pen against paper.

Desmond sat at a corner table, scribbling notes in a leather-bound notebook. He hadn't left since coming in that afternoon, and despite the fact that she should have ignored him, her gaze kept drifting back to him.

The man had always been too comfortable in any setting, too at ease in spaces he didn't belong. Yet, there he was, sitting in her café like he had every right to be there. Maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

She approached the table before she could talk herself out of it, sliding into the chair across from him.

"You're taking up valuable real estate," she said.

Desmond looked up, smirking. "Am I?"

"This table could be used for paying customers."

"I am a paying customer." He gestured to the untouched coffee beside him.

"Buying one coffee and nursing it for five hours doesn't count."

"I'll leave a generous tip."

Emery rolled her eyes. "What are you working on?"

His smirk faded slightly as he closed the notebook. "Plans. Ideas."

"For the café?"

"For the building."

A lump formed in her throat. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

Something about the way he said it-calm, unwavering-sent a shiver down her spine.

Fingers drummed against the table as she debated her next words. "I meant what I said earlier. I'll think about it. But I need more than just words, Desmond. If I do this, I need guarantees."

His gaze didn't waver. "Name them."

A test. He was calling her bluff, but Emery never made threats she wasn't prepared to follow through on.

"I want a contract. I want to be involved in every decision about the café. No surprises, no last-minute changes. I also want a clause that protects my lease, so if this goes south, I don't end up homeless."

Desmond nodded, expression unreadable. "Done."

Just like that?

Suspicion prickled at the back of her mind. "You're agreeing pretty quickly."

"Because I don't want to fight you on this, Emery. I want this to work."

Her heart did an annoying little flip at the way he said her name, but she ignored it.

"If I say yes," she started carefully, "I'm not giving you a free pass. I'll be watching your every move."

Desmond smirked. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

God help her, she might actually be considering this.

Later that night, after locking up, Emery sat on her couch with a glass of wine, staring at the ceiling.

Her phone buzzed beside her.

Desmond: Thank you for considering it. I know this isn't easy.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. Typing. Erasing. Typing again.

Emery: It's not. But if you screw me over, I'll make you regret it.

The reply came almost instantly.

Desmond: I'd expect nothing less.

She hated how those four little words made her stomach twist. This was dangerous ground. But maybe- just maybe- it was worth the risk.

Sleep didn't come easily. Emery tossed and turned, her mind running through every possible worst-case scenario of working with Desmond. A partnership with him wasn't just a business risk- it was a risk to her heart, to the carefully constructed walls she had built since the last time he walked away.

When morning finally arrived, it felt like she had only closed her eyes for minutes. The sun bled through her curtains, and her alarm blared, signaling the start of a new day whether she was ready for it or not.

By the time she arrived at The Perch, Sadie was already behind the counter, setting up for the morning rush. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, normally a comforting scent, but today, it did nothing to settle the tension sitting heavy in Emery's chest.

Sadie arched an eyebrow as Emery walked in. "You look like you fought off demons in your sleep."

"Not demons. Just bad decisions."

"That's the same thing."

Emery sighed, tying her apron around her waist. "I haven't decided yet."

Sadie scoffed. "You're stalling."

"Maybe."

The bell above the door chimed before Sadie could respond. A group of regulars filtered in, saving Emery from another lecture-for now. She busied herself with making drinks, but her focus was split, her mind drifting to Desmond and the choices in front of her.

Halfway through the morning rush, the café door swung open again, and there he was.

Desmond walked in like he owned the place, which, technically, he did. He wore a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the strong forearms that Emery hated noticing. His gaze found hers instantly, and a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She wanted to throw a coffee at him. Instead, she pasted on a neutral expression and continued making drinks, pretending not to notice when he strolled to the counter.

"Morning, Emery."

"Desmond."

Sadie narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you want?"

"A cappuccino. And to talk."

"I vote no on both."

Desmond chuckled, leaning against the counter. "You're always such a ray of sunshine, Sadie."

"You bring out the worst in me."

Emery placed a cappuccino on the counter, sliding it toward him. "You said you wanted to talk?"

Desmond nodded, picking up the cup. "Somewhere private."

Every part of her screamed that this was a bad idea. But customers were watching, and she wasn't about to make a scene in the middle of her café.

With a reluctant sigh, she untied her apron and gestured toward the back. "Fine. Five minutes."

Sadie shot her a warning look, but Emery ignored it, leading Desmond into the small office behind the counter.

The moment the door closed, Emery crossed her arms. "Talk."

Desmond set his cappuccino on the desk and leaned against the wall, studying her. "Have you made a decision?"

"I'm close."

"And?"

She sighed. "If I agree, I want everything in writing. I want my control over the café protected. No loopholes, no sudden changes."

"You have my word."

"Your word doesn't mean much, Desmond."

Something flickered in his eyes-regret, maybe-but it was gone too quickly to be sure. "Then let's put it in a contract. I'll have my lawyer draft one, and you can review it with yours."

Emery blinked. "You're serious?"

"I told you, I want to do this right."

A mix of apprehension and something else-something dangerously close to hope-curled in her stomach.

"Fine. Send me the contract."

A slow smile spread across Desmond's face. "I will."

She should have felt victorious. Instead, she felt like she had just stepped onto unsteady ground, and Desmond Proctor was the earthquake waiting to bring everything crashing down.